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.
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