No More Learning

So far, good. I say
I came to sue your Council and yourself
To declare war against the King of France.

MARY. Not to see me?

PHILIP. Ay, Madam, to see you.
Unalterably and pesteringly fond! [_Aside_.
But, soon or late you must have war with France;
King Henry warms your traitors at his hearth.
Carew is there, and Thomas Stafford there.
Courtenay, belike--

MARY. A fool and featherhead!

PHILIP. Ay, but they use his name. In brief, this Henry
Stirs up your land against you to the intent
That you may lose your English heritage.
And then, your Scottish namesake marrying
The Dauphin, he would weld France, England, Scotland,
Into one sword to hack at Spain and me.

MARY. And yet the Pope is now colleagued with France;
You make your wars upon him down in Italy:--
Philip, can that be well?

PHILIP. Content you, Madam;
You must abide my judgment, and my father's,
Who deems it a most just and holy war.
The Pope would cast the Spaniard out of Naples:
He calls us worse than Jews, Moors, Saracens.
The Pope has pushed his horns beyond his mitre--
Beyond his province. Now,
Duke Alva will but touch him on the horns,
And he withdraws; and of his holy head--
For Alva is true son of the true church--
No hair is harm'd. Will you not help me here?

MARY. Alas! the Council will not hear of war.
They say your wars are not the wars of England.
They will not lay more taxes on a land
So hunger-nipt and wretched; and you know
The crown is poor. We have given the church-lands back:
The nobles would not; nay, they clapt their hands
Upon their swords when ask'd; and therefore God
Is hard upon the people. What's to be done?