STAFFORD. Lady Jane?
CROWD (_going off_).
God save their Graces!
STAFFORD. Did you see her die?
BAGENHALL. No, no; her innocent blood had blinded me.
You call me too black-blooded--true enough
Her dark dead blood is in my heart with mine.
If ever I cry out against the Pope
Her dark dead blood that ever moves with mine
Will stir the living tongue and make the cry.
STAFFORD. Yet doubtless you can tell me how she died?
BAGENHALL. Seventeen--and knew eight languages--in music
Peerless--her needle perfect, and her learning
Beyond the churchmen; yet so meek, so modest,
So wife-like humble to the trivial boy
Mismatch'd with her for policy! I have heard
She would not take a last farewell of him,
She fear'd it might unman him for his end.
She could not be unmann'd--no, nor outwoman'd--
Seventeen--a rose of grace!
Girl never breathed to rival such a rose;
Rose never blew that equall'd such a bud.
STAFFORD. Pray you go on.
BAGENHALL. She came upon the scaffold,
And said she was condemn'd to die for treason;
She had but follow'd the device of those
Her nearest kin: she thought they knew the laws.
But for herself, she knew but little law,
And nothing of the titles to the crown;
She had no desire for that, and wrung her hands,
And trusted God would save her thro' the blood
Of Jesus Christ alone.
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