And pray Heaven
That you may see according to our sight.
Come, cousin.
[_Exeunt_ QUEEN _and_ POLE, _etc_.
GARDINER. Pole has the Plantagenet face,
But not the force made them our mightiest kings.
Fine eyes--but melancholy, irresolute--
A fine beard, Bonner, a very full fine beard.
But a weak mouth, an indeterminate--ha?
BONNER. Well, a weak mouth, perchance.
GARDINER. And not like thine
To gorge a heretic whole, roasted or raw.
BONNER. I'd do my best, my Lord; but yet the Legate
Is here as Pope and Master of the Church,
And if he go not with you--
GARDINER. Tut, Master Bishop,
Our bashful Legate, saw'st not how he flush'd?
Touch him upon his old heretical talk,
He'll burn a diocese to prove his orthodoxy.
And let him call me truckler. In those times,
Thou knowest we had to dodge, or duck, or die;
I kept my head for use of Holy Church;
And see you, we shall have to dodge again,
And let the Pope trample our rights, and plunge
His foreign fist into our island Church
To plump the leaner pouch of Italy.
For a time, for a time.
Why? that these statutes may be put in force,
And that his fan may thoroughly purge his floor.
BONNER. So then you hold the Pope--
GARDINER. I hold the Pope!
What do I hold him? what do I hold the Pope?
Come, come, the morsel stuck--this Cardinal's fault--
I have gulpt it down.
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