... Thou hast learnt
Thy lesson, and I mine. There is no need
For Philip so to shame himself again.
Return,
And tell him that I know he comes no more.
Tell him at last I know his love is dead,
And that I am in state to bring forth death--
Thou art commission'd to Elizabeth,
And not to me!
FERIA. Mere compliments and wishes.
But shall I take some message from your Grace?
MARY. Tell her to come and close my dying eyes,
And wear my crown, and dance upon my grave.
FERIA. Then I may say your Grace will see your sister?
Your Grace is too low-spirited. Air and sunshine.
I would we had you, Madam, in our warm Spain.
You droop in your dim London.
MARY. Have him away!
I sicken of his readiness.
LADY CLARENCE. My Lord Count,
Her Highness is too ill for colloquy.
FERIA (_kneels, and kisses her hand_).
I wish her Highness better. (_Aside_) How her hand burns!
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE III.--A HOUSE NEAR LONDON.
ELIZABETH, STEWARD OF THE HOUSEHOLD, ATTENDANTS.
ELIZABETH. There's half an angel wrong'd in your account;
Methinks I am all angel, that I bear it
Without more ruffling. Cast it o'er again.
STEWARD. I were whole devil if I wrong'd you, Madam.
[_Exit_ STEWARD.
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