No More Learning

Ah, heaven!

POLE. Unwell, your Grace?

MARY. No, cousin, happy--
Happy to see you; never yet so happy
Since I was crown'd.

POLE. Sweet cousin, you forget
That long low minster where you gave your hand
To this great Catholic King.

PHILIP. Well said, Lord Legate.

MARY. Nay, not well said; I thought of you, my liege,
Ev'n as I spoke.

PHILIP. Ay, Madam; my Lord Paget
Waits to present our Council to the Legate.
Sit down here, all; Madam, between us you.

POLE.
Lo, now you are enclosed with boards of cedar,
Our little sister of the Song of Songs!
You are doubly fenced and shielded sitting here
Between the two most high-set thrones on earth,
The Emperor's highness happily symboll'd by
The King your husband, the Pope's Holiness
By mine own self.

MARY. True, cousin, I am happy.
When will you that we summon both our houses
To take this absolution from your lips,
And be regather'd to the Papal fold?

POLE. In Britain's calendar the brightest day
Beheld our rough forefathers break their Gods,
And clasp the faith in Christ; but after that
Might not St. Andrew's be her happiest day?

MARY. Then these shall meet upon St. Andrew's day.

_Enter_ PAGET, _who presents the Council. Dumb show_.

POLE. I am an old man wearied with my journey,
Ev'n with my joy. Permit me to withdraw.