Mere
compliments
and wishes.
Tennyson
Doth he, indeed?
You, sir, do _you_ remember what _you_ said
When last you came to England?
FERIA. Madam, I brought
My King's congratulations; it was hoped
Your Highness was once more in happy state
To give him an heir male.
MARY. Sir, you said more;
You said he would come quickly. I had horses
On all the road from Dover, day and night;
On all the road from Harwich, night and day;
But the child came not, and the husband came not;
And yet he will come quickly. . . . 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_).
You, sir, do _you_ remember what _you_ said
When last you came to England?
FERIA. Madam, I brought
My King's congratulations; it was hoped
Your Highness was once more in happy state
To give him an heir male.
MARY. Sir, you said more;
You said he would come quickly. I had horses
On all the road from Dover, day and night;
On all the road from Harwich, night and day;
But the child came not, and the husband came not;
And yet he will come quickly. . . . 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_).
