SUFFOLK.
Who is there?
Enter Servant.
Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently.—We’ll hear more of your matter before the King.
[Exit Servant with Peter.]
QUEEN MARGARET.
And as for you, that love to be protected
Under the wings of our Protector’s grace,
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.
[Tears the supplications.]
Away, base cullions!—Suffolk, let them go.
ALL.
Come, let’s be gone.
[Exeunt.]
QUEEN MARGARET.
My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
Is this the fashion in the court of England?
Is this the government of Britain’s isle,
And this the royalty of Albion’s king?
What, shall King Henry be a pupil still
Under the surly Gloucester’s governance?
Am I a queen in title and in style,
And must be made a subject to a duke?
I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours
Thou ran’st atilt in honour of my love
And stol’st away the ladies’ hearts of France,
I thought King Henry had resembled thee
In courage, courtship, and proportion.
But all his mind is bent to holiness,
To number Ave-Maries on his beads.
His champions are the prophets and apostles,
His weapons holy saws of sacred writ,
His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
Are brazen images of canonized saints.
I would the college of the cardinals
Would choose him pope and carry him to Rome
And set the triple crown upon his head!
That were a state fit for his holiness.