FERIA. Sire, even so.
PHILIP. She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy.
FERIA. No, sire.
PHILIP. I have to pray you, some odd time,
To sound the Princess carelessly on this;
Not as from me, but as your phantasy;
And tell me how she takes it.
FERIA. Sire, I will.
PHILIP. I am not certain but that Philibert
Shall be the man; and I shall urge his suit
Upon the Queen, because I am not certain:
You understand, Feria.
FERIA. Sire, I do.
PHILIP. And if you be not secret in this matter,
You understand me there, too?
FERIA. Sire, I do.
PHILIP. You must be sweet and supple, like a Frenchman.
She is none of those who loathe the honeycomb.
[_Exit_ FERIA.
_Enter_ RENARD.
RENARD. My liege, I bring you goodly tidings.
PHILIP. Well?
RENARD. There _will_ be war with France, at last, my liege;
Sir Thomas Stafford, a bull-headed ass,
Sailing from France, with thirty Englishmen,
Hath taken Scarboro' Castle, north of York;
Proclaims himself protector, and affirms
The Queen has forfeited her right to reign
By marriage with an alien--other things
As idle; a weak Wyatt! Little doubt
This buzz will soon be silenced; but the Council
(I have talk'd with some already) are for war.
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