No More Learning

I myself
Will down into the battle and there bide
The upshot of my quarrel, or die with those
That are no cowards and no Courtenays.

COURTENAY. I do not love your Grace should call me coward.

_Enter another_ MESSENGER.

MESSENGER. Over, your Grace, all crush'd; the brave Lord William
Thrust him from Ludgate, and the traitor flying
To Temple Bar, there by Sir Maurice Berkeley
Was taken prisoner.

MARY. To the Tower with _him_!

MESSENGER. 'Tis said he told Sir Maurice there was one
Cognisant of this, and party thereunto,
My Lord of Devon.

MARY. To the Tower with _him_!

COURTENAY. O la, the Tower, the Tower, always the Tower,
I shall grow into it--I shall be the Tower.

MARY.
Your Lordship may not have so long to wait. Remove him!

COURTENAY. La, to whistle out my life,
And carve my coat upon the walls again!
[_Exit_ COURTENAY _guarded_.

MESSENGER. Also this Wyatt did confess the Princess
Cognisant thereof, and party thereunto.

MARY. What? whom--whom did you say?

MESSENGER. Elizabeth,
Your Royal sister.

MARY. To the Tower with _her_!
My foes are at my feet and I am Queen.

[GARDINER _and her_ LADIES _kneel to her_.