MARY. Ay, and then as cold as ever.
Is Calais taken?
POLE. Cousin, there hath chanced
A sharper harm to England and to Rome,
Than Calais taken. Julius the Third
Was ever just, and mild, and father-like;
But this new Pope Caraffa, Paul the Fourth,
Not only reft me of that legateship
Which Julius gave me, and the legateship
Annex'd to Canterbury--nay, but worse--
And yet I must obey the Holy Father,
And so must you, good cousin;--worse than all,
A passing bell toll'd in a dying ear--
He hath cited me to Rome, for heresy,
Before his Inquisition.
MARY. I knew it, cousin,
But held from you all papers sent by Rome,
That you might rest among us, till the Pope,
To compass which I wrote myself to Rome,
Reversed his doom, and that you might not seem
To disobey his Holiness.
POLE. He hates Philip;
He is all Italian, and he hates the Spaniard;
He cannot dream that _I_ advised the war;
He strikes thro' me at Philip and yourself.
Nay, but I know it of old, he hates me too;
So brands me in the stare of Christendom
A heretic!
Now, even now, when bow'd before my time,
The house half-ruin'd ere the lease be out;
When I should guide the Church in peace at home,
After my twenty years of banishment,
And all my lifelong labour to uphold
The primacy--a heretic.
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