POLE. Ay, cousin, as the heathen giant Had but to touch the ground, his force return'd-- Thus, after twenty years of banishment, Feeling my native land beneath my foot, I said thereto: 'Ah, native land of mine, Thou art much beholden to this foot of mine, That hastes with full commission from the Pope To absolve thee from thy guilt of heresy. Thou hast disgraced me and attainted me, And mark'd me ev'n as Cain, and I return As Peter, but to bless thee: make me well.' Methinks the good land heard me, for to-day My heart beats twenty, when I see you, cousin. Ah, gentle cousin, since your Herod's death, How oft hath Peter knock'd at Mary's gate! And Mary would have risen and let him in, But, Mary, there were those within the house Who would not have it. MARY. True, good cousin Pole; And there were also those without the house Who would not have it. POLE. I believe so, cousin. State-policy and church-policy are conjoint, But Janus-faces looking diverse ways. I fear the Emperor much misvalued me. But all is well; 'twas ev'n the will of God, Who, waiting till the time had ripen'd, now, Makes me his mouth of holy greeting. 'Hail, Daughter of God, and saver of the faith. Sit benedictus fructus ventris tui!' MARY. 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. To Lambeth? PHILIP. Ay, Lambeth has ousted Cranmer. It was not meet the heretic swine should live In Lambeth. MARY. There or anywhere, or at all. PHILIP. We have had it swept and garnish'd after him. POLE. Not for the seven devils to enter in? PHILIP. No, for we trust they parted in the swine.