Mother of God,
Thou knowest never woman meant so well,
And fared so ill in this
disastrous
world.
Tennyson
MARY (_seeing the paper draft by_ POLE).
There! there! another paper! Said you not
Many of these were loyal? Shall I try
If this be one of such?
LADY CLARENCE. Let it be, let it be.
God pardon me! I have never yet found one. [_Aside_.
MARY (_reads_). 'Your people hate you as your husband hates you.'
Clarence, Clarence, what have I done? what sin
Beyond all grace, all pardon?
Mother of God,
Thou knowest never woman meant so well,
And fared so ill in this
disastrous
world.
My people hate me and desire my death.
LADY CLARENCE. No, Madam, no.
MARY. My husband hates me, and desires my death.
LADY CLARENCE. No, Madam; these are libels.
MARY. I hate myself, and I desire my death.
LADY CLARENCE. Long live your Majesty! Shall Alice sing you
One of her pleasant songs? Alice, my child,
Bring us your lute (ALICE _goes_). They say the gloom of Saul
Was lighten'd by young David's harp.
