Chapter 7

SIR THOMAS WHITE (The Lord Mayor), LORD WILLIAM HOWARD, SIR RALPH BAGENHALL, ALDERMEN _and_ CITIZENS.

WHITE. I trust the Queen comes hither with her guards.

HOWARD. Ay, all in arms.

[_Several of the citizens move hastily out of the hall_.

Why do they hurry out there?

WHITE. My Lord, cut out the rotten from your apple, Your apple eats the better. Let them go. They go like those old Pharisees in John Convicted by their conscience, arrant cowards, Or tamperers with that treason out of Kent. When will her Grace be here?

HOWARD. In some few minutes. She will address your guilds and companies. I have striven in vain to raise a man for her. But help her in this exigency, make Your city loyal, and be the mightiest man This day in England.

WHITE. I am Thomas White. Few things have fail'd to which I set my will. I do my most and best.

HOWARD. You know that after The Captain Brett, who went with your train bands To fight with Wyatt, had gone over to him With all his men, the Queen in that distress Sent Cornwallis and Hastings to the traitor, Feigning to treat with him about her marriage-- Know too what Wyatt said.

WHITE. He'd sooner be, While this same marriage question was being argued, Trusted than trust--the scoundrel--and demanded Possession of her person and the Tower.

HOWARD. And four of her poor Council too, my Lord, As hostages.

WHITE. I know it. What do and say Your Council at this hour?

HOWARD. I will trust you. We fling ourselves on you, my Lord. The Council, The Parliament as well, are troubled waters; And yet like waters of the fen they know not Which way to flow. All hangs on her address, And upon you, Lord Mayor.

WHITE. How look'd the city When now you past it? Quiet?

HOWARD. Like our Council, Your city is divided. As we past, Some hail'd, some hiss'd us. There were citizens Stood each before his shut-up booth, and look'd As grim and grave as from a funeral. And here a knot of ruffians all in rags, With execrating execrable eyes, Glared at the citizen. Here was a young mother, Her face on flame, her red hair all blown back, She shrilling 'Wyatt,' while the boy she held Mimick'd and piped her 'Wyatt,' as red as she In hair and cheek; and almost elbowing her, So close they stood, another, mute as death, And white as her own milk; her babe in arms Had felt the faltering of his mother's heart, And look'd as bloodless. Here a pious Catholic, Mumbling and mixing up in his scared prayers Heaven and earth's Maries; over his bow'd shoulder Scowl'd that world-hated and world-hating beast, A haggard Anabaptist. Many such groups. The names of Wyatt, Elizabeth, Courtenay, Nay the Queen's right to reign--'fore God, the rogues-- Were freely buzzed among them. So I say Your city is divided, and I fear One scruple, this or that way, of success Would turn it thither. Wherefore now the Queen In this low pulse and palsy of the state, Bad me to tell you that she counts on you And on myself as her two hands; on you, In your own city, as her right, my Lord, For you are loyal.

WHITE. Am I Thomas White? One word before she comes. Elizabeth-- Her name is much abused among these traitors. Where is she? She is loved by all of us. I scarce have heart to mingle in this matter, If she should be mishandled.

HOWARD. No; she shall not. The Queen had written her word to come to court: Methought I smelt out Renard in the letter, And fearing for her, sent a secret missive, Which told her to be sick. Happily or not, It found her sick indeed.

WHITE. God send her well; Here comes her Royal Grace.

_Enter_ GUARDS, MARY _and_ GARDINER. SIR THOMAS WHITE _leads her to a raised seat on the dais_.

WHITE. I, the Lord Mayor, and these our companies And guilds of London, gathered here, beseech Your Highness to accept our lowliest thanks For your most princely presence; and we pray That we, your true and loyal citizens, From your own royal lips, at once may know The wherefore of this coming, and so learn Your royal will, and do it.--I, Lord Mayor Of London, and our guilds and companies.

MARY. In mine own person am I come to you, To tell you what indeed ye see and know, How traitorously these rebels out of Kent Have made strong head against ourselves and you. They would not have me wed the Prince of Spain: That was their pretext--so they spake at first-- But we sent divers of our Council to them, And by their answers to the question ask'd, It doth appear this marriage is the least Of all their quarrel. They have betrayed the treason of their hearts: Seek to possess our person, hold our Tower, Place and displace our councillors, and use Both us and them according as they will. Now what I am ye know right well--your Queen; To whom, when I was wedded to the realm And the realm's laws (the spousal ring whereof, Not ever to be laid aside, I wear Upon this finger), ye did promise full Allegiance and obedience to the death. Ye know my father was the rightful heir Of England, and his right came down to me Corroborate by your acts of Parliament: And as ye were most loving unto him, So doubtless will ye show yourselves to me. Wherefore, ye will not brook that anyone Should seize our person, occupy our state, More specially a traitor so presumptuous As this same Wyatt, who hath tamper'd with A public ignorance, and, under colour Of such a cause as hath no colour, seeks To bend the laws to his own will, and yield Full scope to persons rascal and forlorn, To make free spoil and havock of your goods. Now as your Prince, I say, I, that was never mother, cannot tell How mothers love their children; yet, methinks, A prince as naturally may love his people As these their children; and be sure your Queen So loves you, and so loving, needs must deem This love by you return'd as heartily; And thro' this common knot and bond of love, Doubt not they will be speedily overthrown. As to this marriage, ye shall understand We made thereto no treaty of ourselves, And set no foot theretoward unadvised Of all our Privy Council; furthermore, This marriage had the assent of those to whom The king, my father, did commit his trust; Who not alone esteem'd it honourable, But for the wealth and glory of our realm, And all our loving subjects, most expedient. As to myself, I am not so set on wedlock as to choose But where I list, nor yet so amorous That I must needs be husbanded; I thank God, I have lived a virgin, and I noway doubt But that with God's grace, I can live so still. Yet if it might please God that I should leave Some fruit of mine own body after me, To be your king, ye would rejoice thereat, And it would be your comfort, as I trust; And truly, if I either thought or knew This marriage should bring loss or danger to you, My subjects, or impair in any way This royal state of England, I would never Consent thereto, nor marry while I live; Moreover, if this marriage should not seem, Before our own High Court of Parliament, To be of rich advantage to our realm, We will refrain, and not alone from this, Likewise from any other, out of which Looms the least chance of peril to our realm. Wherefore be bold, and with your lawful Prince Stand fast against our enemies and yours, And fear them not. I fear them not. My Lord, I leave Lord William Howard in your city, To guard and keep you whole and safe from all The spoil and sackage aim'd at by these rebels, Who mouth and foam against the Prince of Spain.

VOICES. Long live Queen Mary! Down with Wyatt! The Queen!

WHITE. Three voices from our guilds and companies! You are shy and proud like Englishmen, my masters, And will not trust your voices. Understand: Your lawful Prince hath come to cast herself On loyal hearts and bosoms, hoped to fall Into the wide-spread arms of fealty, And finds you statues. Speak at once--and all! For whom? Our sovereign Lady by King Harry's will; The Queen of England--or the Kentish Squire? I know you loyal. Speak! in the name of God! The Queen of England or the rabble of Kent? The reeking dungfork master of the mace! Your havings wasted by the scythe and spade-- Your rights and charters hobnail'd into slush-- Your houses fired--your gutters bubbling blood--

ACCLAMATION. No! No! The Queen! the Queen!

WHITE. Your Highness hears This burst and bass of loyal harmony, And how we each and all of us abhor The venomous, bestial, devilish revolt Of Thomas Wyatt. Hear us now make oath To raise your Highness thirty thousand men, And arm and strike as with one hand, and brush This Wyatt from our shoulders, like a flea That might have leapt upon us unawares. Swear with me, noble fellow-citizens, all, With all your trades, and guilds, and companies.

CITIZENS. We swear!

MARY. We thank your Lordship and your loyal city. [_Exit_ MARY _attended_.

WHITE. I trust this day, thro' God, I have saved the crown.

FIRST ALDERMAN. Ay, so my Lord of Pembroke in command Of all her force be safe; but there are doubts.

SECOND ALDERMAN. I hear that Gardiner, coming with the Queen, And meeting Pembroke, bent to his saddle-bow, As if to win the man by flattering him. _Is_ he so safe to fight upon her side?

FIRST ALDERMAN. If not, there's no man safe.

WHITE. Yes, Thomas White. I am safe enough; no man need flatter me.

SECOND ALDERMAN. Nay, no man need; but did you mark our Queen? The colour freely play'd into her face, And the half sight which makes her look so stern, Seem'd thro' that dim dilated world of hers, To read our faces; I have never seen her So queenly or so goodly.

WHITE. Courage, sir, _That_ makes or man or woman look their goodliest. Die like the torn fox dumb, but never whine Like that poor heart, Northumberland, at the block.

BAGENHALL. The man had children, and he whined for those. Methinks most men are but poor-hearted, else Should we so doat on courage, were it commoner? The Queen stands up, and speaks for her own self; And all men cry, She is queenly, she is goodly. Yet she's no goodlier; tho' my Lord Mayor here, By his own rule, he hath been so bold to-day, Should look more goodly than the rest of us.

WHITE. Goodly? I feel most goodly heart and hand, And strong to throw ten Wyatts and all Kent. Ha! ha! sir; but you jest; I love it: a jest In time of danger shows the pulses even. Be merry! yet, Sir Ralph, you look but sad. I dare avouch you'd stand up for yourself, Tho' all the world should bay like winter wolves.

BAGENHALL. Who knows? the man is proven by the hour.

WHITE. The man should make the hour, not this the man; And Thomas White will prove this Thomas Wyatt, And he will prove an Iden to this Cade, And he will play the Walworth to this Wat; Come, sirs, we prate; hence all--gather your men-- Myself must bustle. Wyatt comes to Southwark; I'll have the drawbridge hewn into the Thames, And see the citizens arm'd. Good day; good day. [_Exit_ WHITE.

BAGENHALL. One of much outdoor bluster.

HOWARD. For all that, Most honest, brave, and skilful; and his wealth A fountain of perennial alms--his fault So thoroughly to believe in his own self.

BAGENHALL. Yet thoroughly to believe in one's own self, So one's own self be thorough, were to do Great things, my Lord.

HOWARD. It may be.

BAGENHALL. I have heard One of your Council fleer and jeer at him.

HOWARD. The nursery-cocker'd child will jeer at aught That may seem strange beyond his nursery. The statesman that shall jeer and fleer at men, Makes enemies for himself and for his king; And if he jeer not seeing the true man Behind his folly, he is thrice the fool; And if he see the man and still will jeer, He is child and fool, and traitor to the State. Who is he? let me shun him.

BAGENHALL. Nay, my Lord, He is damn'd enough already.

HOWARD. I must set The guard at Ludgate. Fare you well, Sir Ralph.

BAGENHALL. 'Who knows?' I am for England. But who knows, That knows the Queen, the Spaniard, and the Pope, Whether I be for Wyatt, or the Queen?

[_Exeunt_.