BOURNE.--and now that your good bishop, Bonner, who hath lain so long under bonds for the faith-- [_Hubbub_. NOAILLES. Friend Roger, steal thou in among the crowd, And get the swine to shout Elizabeth. Yon gray old Gospeller, sour as midwinter, Begin with him. ROGER (_goes_). By the mass, old friend, we'll have no pope here while the Lady Elizabeth lives. GOSPELLER. Art thou of the true faith, fellow, that swearest by the mass? ROGER. Ay, that am I, new converted, but the old leaven sticks to my tongue yet. FIRST CITIZEN. He says right; by the mass we'll have no mass here. VOICES OF THE CROWD. Peace! hear him; let his own words damn the Papist. From thine own mouth I judge thee--tear him down! BOURNE.--and since our Gracious Queen, let me call her our second Virgin Mary, hath begun to re-edify the true temple----, FIRST CITIZEN. Virgin Mary! we'll have no virgins here--we'll have the Lady Elizabeth! [_Swords are drawn, a knife is hurled and sticks in the pulpit. The mob throng to the pulpit stairs_. MARCHIONESS OF EXETER. Son Courtenay, wilt thou see the holy father Murdered before thy face? up, son, and save him! They love thee, and thou canst not come to harm. COURTENAY (_in the pulpit_). Shame, shame, my masters! are you English-born, And set yourselves by hundreds against one? CROWD. A Courtenay! a Courtenay! [_A train of Spanish servants crosses at the back of the stage_. NOAILLES. These birds of passage come before their time: Stave off the crowd upon the Spaniard there. ROGER. My masters, yonder's fatter game for you Than this old gaping gurgoyle: look you there-- The Prince of Spain coming to wed our Queen! After him, boys! and pelt him from the city. [_They seize stones and follow the Spaniards. Exeunt on the other side_ MARCHIONESS OF EXETER _and_ ATTENDANTS. NOAILLES (_to_ ROGER). Stand from me. If Elizabeth lose her head-- That makes for France. And if her people, anger'd thereupon, Arise against her and dethrone the Queen-- That makes for France. And if I breed confusion anyway-- That makes for France. Good-day, my Lord of Devon; A bold heart yours to beard that raging mob! COURTENAY. My mother said, Go up; and up I went. I knew they would not do me any wrong, For I am mighty popular with them, Noailles. NOAILLES. You look'd a king. COURTENAY. Why not? I am king's blood. NOAILLES. And in the whirl of change may come to be one. COURTENAY. Ah! NOAILLES. But does your gracious Queen entreat you kinglike? COURTENAY. 'Fore God, I think she entreats me like a child. NOAILLES. You've but a dull life in this maiden court, I fear, my Lord? COURTENAY. A life of nods and yawns. NOAILLES. So you would honour my poor house to-night, We might enliven you. Divers honest fellows, The Duke of Suffolk lately freed from prison, Sir Peter Carew and Sir Thomas Wyatt, Sir Thomas Stafford, and some more--we play.