Dear Madam, Philip is but at the wars;
I cannot doubt but that he comes again;
And he is with you in a measure still.
I never look'd upon so fair a likeness
As your great King in armour there, his hand
Upon his helmet.
[_Pointing to the portrait of Philip on the wall_.
MARY. Doth he not look noble?
I had heard of him in battle over seas,
And I would have my warrior all in arms.
He said it was not courtly to stand helmeted
Before the Queen. He had his gracious moment,
Altho' you'll not believe me. How he smiles
As if he loved me yet!
LADY CLARENCE. And so he does.
MARY. He never loved me--nay, he could not love me.
It was his father's policy against France.
I am eleven years older than he,
Poor boy! [_Weeps_.
ALICE. That was a lusty boy of twenty-seven; [_Aside_.
Poor enough in God's grace!
MARY. --And all in vain!
The Queen of Scots is married to the Dauphin,
And Charles, the lord of this low world, is gone;
And all his wars and wisdoms past away:
And in a moment I shall follow him.
LADY CLARENCE. Nay, dearest Lady, see your good physician.
MARY. Drugs--but he knows they cannot help me--says
That rest is all--tells me I must not think--
That I must rest--I shall rest by and by.
Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs
And maims himself against the bars, say 'rest':
Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest--
Dead or alive you cannot make him happy.
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