STAFFORD. Pray you go on.
BAGENHALL. Then knelt and said the Misere Mei--
But all in English, mark you; rose again,
And, when the headsman pray'd to be forgiven,
Said, 'You will give me my true crown at last,
But do it quickly;' then all wept but she,
Who changed not colour when she saw the block,
But ask'd him, childlike: 'Will you take it off
Before I lay me down?' 'No, madam,' he said,
Gasping; and when her innocent eyes were bound,
She, with her poor blind hands feeling--'where is it?
Where is it?'--You must fancy that which follow'd,
If you have heart to do it!
CROWD (_in the distance_).
God save their Graces!
STAFFORD. Their Graces, our disgraces! God confound them!
Why, she's grown bloodier! when I last was here,
This was against her conscience--would be murder!
BAGENHALL. The 'Thou shall do no murder,' which God's hand
Wrote on her conscience, Mary rubb'd out pale--
She could not make it white--and over that,
Traced in the blackest text of Hell--'Thou shall!'
And sign'd it--Mary!
STAFFORD. Philip and the Pope
Must have sign'd too. I hear this Legate's coming
To bring us absolution from the Pope.
The Lords and Commons will bow down before him--
You are of the house? what will you do, Sir Ralph?
BAGENHALL.
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