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? Sir, I will move them in your cause again, And we will raise us loans and subsidies Among the merchants; and Sir Thomas Gresham Will aid us. There is Antwerp and the Jews. PHILIP. Madam, my thanks. MARY. And you will stay your going? PHILIP. And further to discourage and lay lame The plots of France, altho' you love her not, You must proclaim Elizabeth your heir. She stands between you and the Queen of Scots. MARY. The Queen of Scots at least is Catholic. PHILIP. Ay, Madam, Catholic; but I will not have The King of France the King of England too. MARY. But she's a heretic, and, when I am gone, Brings the new learning back. PHILIP. It must be done. You must proclaim Elizabeth your heir. MARY. Then it is done; but you will stay your going Somewhat beyond your settled purpose? PHILIP. No! MARY. What, not one day? PHILIP. You beat upon the rock. MARY. And I am broken there. PHILIP. Is this a place To wail in, Madam? what! a public hall. Go in, I pray you. MARY. Do not seem so changed. Say go; but only say it lovingly. PHILIP. You do mistake. I am not one to change. I never loved you more. MARY. Sire, I obey you. Come quickly. PHILIP. Ay. [_Exit_ MARY. _Enter_ COUNT DE FERIA. FERIA (_aside_). The Queen in tears! PHILIP. Feria! Hast thou not mark'd--come closer to mine ear-- How doubly aged this Queen of ours hath grown Since she lost hope of bearing us a child? FERIA. Sire, if your Grace hath mark'd it, so have I. PHILIP. Hast thou not likewise mark'd Elizabeth, How fair and royal--like a Queen, indeed? FERIA. Allow me the same answer as before-- That if your Grace hath mark'd her, so have I. PHILIP. Good, now; methinks my Queen is like enough To leave me by and by. FERIA. To leave you, sire? PHILIP. I mean not like to live. Elizabeth-- To Philibert of Savoy, as you know, We meant to wed her; but I am not sure She will not serve me better--so my Queen Would leave me--as--my wife.