Heretic and rebel
Point at me and make merry. Philip gone!
And Calais gone! Time that I were gone too!
LADY CLARENCE. Nay, if the fetid gutter had a voice
And cried I was not clean, what should I care?
Or you, for heretic cries? And I believe,
Spite of your melancholy Sir Nicholas,
Your England is as loyal as myself.
MARY (_seeing the paper draft by_ POLE).
There! there! another paper! Said you not
Many of these were loyal? Shall I try
If this be one of such?
LADY CLARENCE. Let it be, let it be.
God pardon me! I have never yet found one. [_Aside_.
MARY (_reads_). 'Your people hate you as your husband hates you.'
Clarence, Clarence, what have I done? what sin
Beyond all grace, all pardon? Mother of God,
Thou knowest never woman meant so well,
And fared so ill in this disastrous world.
My people hate me and desire my death.
LADY CLARENCE. No, Madam, no.
MARY. My husband hates me, and desires my death.
LADY CLARENCE. No, Madam; these are libels.
MARY. I hate myself, and I desire my death.
LADY CLARENCE. Long live your Majesty! Shall Alice sing you
One of her pleasant songs? Alice, my child,
Bring us your lute (ALICE _goes_). They say the gloom of Saul
Was lighten'd by young David's harp.
MARY. Too young!
And never knew a Philip.
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