I feel it but a duty--you will find in it
Pleasure as well as duty, worthy Bonner,--
To test their sect. Sir, I attend the Queen
To crave most humble pardon--of her most
Royal, Infallible, Papal Legate-cousin.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE V.--WOODSTOCK.
ELIZABETH, LADY IN WAITING.
ELIZABETH. So they have sent poor Courtenay over sea.
LADY. And banish'd us to Woodstock, and the fields.
The colours of our Queen are green and white,
These fields are only green, they make me gape.
ELIZABETH. There's whitethorn, girl.
LADY. Ay, for an hour in May.
But court is always May, buds out in masques,
Breaks into feather'd merriments, and flowers
In silken pageants. Why do they keep us here?
Why still suspect your Grace?
ELIZABETH. Hard upon both.
[_Writes on the window with a diamond_.
Much suspected, of me
Nothing proven can be.
Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.
LADY. What hath your Highness written?
ELIZABETH. A true rhyme.
LADY. Cut with a diamond; so to last like truth.
ELIZABETH. Ay, if truth last.
LADY. But truth, they say, will out,
So it must last. It is not like a word,
That comes and goes in uttering.
ELIZABETH. Truth, a word!
The very Truth and very Word are one.
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