FERIA. Sire, even so. PHILIP. She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy. FERIA. No, sire. PHILIP. I have to pray you, some odd time, To sound the Princess carelessly on this; Not as from me, but as your phantasy; And tell me how she takes it. FERIA. Sire, I will. PHILIP. I am not certain but that Philibert Shall be the man; and I shall urge his suit Upon the Queen, because I am not certain: You understand, Feria. FERIA. Sire, I do. PHILIP. And if you be not secret in this matter, You understand me there, too? FERIA. Sire, I do. PHILIP. You must be sweet and supple, like a Frenchman. She is none of those who loathe the honeycomb. [_Exit_ FERIA. _Enter_ RENARD. RENARD. My liege, I bring you goodly tidings. PHILIP. Well? RENARD. There _will_ be war with France, at last, my liege; Sir Thomas Stafford, a bull-headed ass, Sailing from France, with thirty Englishmen, Hath taken Scarboro' Castle, north of York; Proclaims himself protector, and affirms The Queen has forfeited her right to reign By marriage with an alien--other things As idle; a weak Wyatt! Little doubt This buzz will soon be silenced; but the Council (I have talk'd with some already) are for war. This the fifth conspiracy hatch'd in France; They show their teeth upon it; and your Grace, So you will take advice of mine, should stay Yet for awhile, to shape and guide the event. PHILIP. Good! Renard, I will stay then. RENARD. Also, sire, Might I not say--to please your wife, the Queen? PHILIP. Ay, Renard, if you care to put it so. [_Exeunt_. SCENE II.--A ROOM IN THE PALACE. MARY, _sitting: a rose in her hand_. LADY CLARENCE. ALICE _in the background_. MARY. Look! I have play'd with this poor rose so long I have broken off the head. LADY CLARENCE. Your Grace hath been More merciful to many a rebel head That should have fallen, and may rise again. MARY. There were not many hang'd for Wyatt's rising. LADY CLARENCE. Nay, not two hundred. MARY. I could weep for them And her, and mine own self and all the world. LADY CLARENCE. For her? for whom, your Grace? _Enter_ USHER. USHER. The Cardinal. _Enter_ CARDINAL POLE. (MARY _rises_.) MARY. Reginald Pole, what news hath plagued thy heart? What makes thy favour like the bloodless head Fall'n on the block, and held up by the hair? Philip?-- POLE. No, Philip is as warm in life As ever. MARY. Ay, and then as cold as ever. Is Calais taken?