All greed, no faith, no courage!
Why, ev'n the haughty prince, Northumberland,
The leader of our Reformation, knelt
And blubber'd like a lad, and on the scaffold
Recanted, and resold himself to Rome.
STAFFORD. I swear you do your country wrong, Sir Ralph.
I know a set of exiles over there,
Dare-devils, that would eat fire and spit it out
At Philip's beard: they pillage Spain already.
The French King winks at it. An hour will come
When they will sweep her from the seas. No men?
Did not Lord Suffolk die like a true man?
Is not Lord William Howard a true man?
Yea, you yourself, altho' you are black-blooded:
And I, by God, believe myself a man.
Ay, even in the church there is a man--
Cranmer.
Fly would he not, when all men bad him fly.
And what a letter he wrote against the Pope!
There's a brave man, if any.
BAGENHALL. Ay; if it hold.
CROWD (_coming on_).
God save their Graces!
STAFFORD. Bagenhall, I see
The Tudor green and white. (_Trumpets_.) They are coming now.
And here's a crowd as thick as herring-shoals.
BAGENHALL. Be limpets to this pillar, or we are torn
Down the strong wave of brawlers.
CROWD. God save their Graces!
[_Procession of Trumpeters, Javelin-men, etc.; then
Spanish and Flemish Nobles intermingled_.
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