MARY. Hath he the large ability of the Emperor?
NOAILLES. No, surely.
MARY. I can make allowance for thee,
Thou speakest of the enemy of thy king.
NOAILLES. Make no allowance for the naked truth.
He is every way a lesser man than Charles;
Stone-hard, ice-cold--no dash of daring in him.
MARY. If cold, his life is pure.
NOAILLES. Why (_smiling_), no, indeed.
MARY. Sayst thou?
NOAILLES. A very wanton life indeed (_smiling_).
MARY. Your audience is concluded, sir.
[_Exit_ NOAILLES.
You cannot
Learn a man's nature from his natural foe.
_Enter_ USHER.
Who waits?
USHER. The Ambassador of Spain, your Grace.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ SIMON RENARD.
MARY (_rising to meet him_).
Thou art ever welcome, Simon Renard. Hast thou
Brought me the letter which thine Emperor promised
Long since, a formal offer of the hand Of Philip?
RENARD. Nay, your Grace, it hath not reach'd me.
I know not wherefore--some mischance of flood,
And broken bridge, or spavin'd horse, or wave
And wind at their old battle: he must have written.
MARY. But Philip never writes me one poor word.
Which in his absence had been all my wealth.
Pages:
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39