MARY. I whistle to the bird has broken cage, And all in vain. [_Sitting down_. Calais gone--Guisnes gone, too--and Philip gone! LADY CLARENCE. Dear Madam, Philip is but at the wars; I cannot doubt but that he comes again; And he is with you in a measure still. I never look'd upon so fair a likeness As your great King in armour there, his hand Upon his helmet. [_Pointing to the portrait of Philip on the wall_. MARY. Doth he not look noble? I had heard of him in battle over seas, And I would have my warrior all in arms. He said it was not courtly to stand helmeted Before the Queen. He had his gracious moment, Altho' you'll not believe me. How he smiles As if he loved me yet! LADY CLARENCE. And so he does. MARY. He never loved me--nay, he could not love me. It was his father's policy against France. I am eleven years older than he, Poor boy! [_Weeps_. ALICE. That was a lusty boy of twenty-seven; [_Aside_. Poor enough in God's grace! MARY. --And all in vain! The Queen of Scots is married to the Dauphin, And Charles, the lord of this low world, is gone; And all his wars and wisdoms past away: And in a moment I shall follow him. LADY CLARENCE. Nay, dearest Lady, see your good physician. MARY. Drugs--but he knows they cannot help me--says That rest is all--tells me I must not think-- That I must rest--I shall rest by and by. Catch the wild cat, cage him, and when he springs And maims himself against the bars, say 'rest': Why, you must kill him if you would have him rest-- Dead or alive you cannot make him happy. LADY CLARENCE. Your Majesty has lived so pure a life, And done such mighty things by Holy Church, I trust that God will make you happy yet. MARY. What is the strange thing happiness? Sit down here: Tell me thine happiest hour. LADY CLARENCE. I will, if that May make your Grace forget yourself a little. There runs a shallow brook across our field For twenty miles, where the black crow flies five, And doth so bound and babble all the way As if itself were happy. It was May-time, And I was walking with the man I loved. I loved him, but I thought I was not loved. And both were silent, letting the wild brook Speak for us--till he stoop'd and gather'd one From out a bed of thick forget-me-nots, Look'd hard and sweet at me, and gave it me. I took it, tho' I did not know I took it, And put it in my bosom, and all at once I felt his arms about me, and his lips--