Madam, your Chancellor, Sir
Nicholas
Heath.
Tennyson
MARY. And the gray dawn
Of an old age that never will be mine
Is all the clearer seen. No, no; what matters?
Forlorn I am, and let me look forlorn.
_Enter_ SIR NICHOLAS HEATH.
HEATH. I bring your Majesty such grievous news
I grieve to bring it. Madam, Calais is taken.
MARY. What traitor spoke? Here, let my cousin Pole
Seize him and burn him for a Lutheran.
HEATH. Her Highness is unwell. I will retire.
LADY CLARENCE.
Madam, your Chancellor, Sir Nicholas Heath.
MARY. Sir Nicholas! I am stunn'd--Nicholas Heath?
Methought some traitor smote me on the head.
What said you, my good Lord, that our brave English
Had sallied out from Calais and driven back
The Frenchmen from their trenches?
HEATH. Alas! no.
That gateway to the mainland over which
Our flag hath floated for two hundred years
Is France again.
MARY. So; but it is not lost--
Not yet. Send out: let England as of old
Rise lionlike, strike hard and deep into
The prey they are rending from her--ay, and rend
The renders too. Send out, send out, and make
Musters in all the counties; gather all
From sixteen years to sixty; collect the fleet;
Let every craft that carries sail and gun
Steer toward Calais. Guisnes is not taken yet?
HEATH.
