_Sec. Petit._ Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector. _Suf._ How now, fellow! wouldst any thing with me?   ·bac010· _First Petit._ I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord protector. _Queen._ [_Reading_] ‘To my Lord Protector!’ Are your   [bac013] supplications to his lordship? Let me see them: what is thine?   ·bac015· _First Petit._ Mine is, an’t please your grace, against   [bac016] John Goodman, my lord cardinal’s man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. _Suf._ Thy wife too! that’s some wrong, indeed. What’s yours? What’s here! [_Reads_] ‘Against the Duke   [bac020] of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.’ How   [bac021] now, sir knave! _Sec. Petit._ Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township. _Peter_ [_giving his petition_]. Against my master, Thomas   [bac025] Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown. _Queen._ What say’st thou? did the Duke of York say   [bac028] he was rightful heir to the crown? _Peter._ That my master was? no, forsooth: my master   [bac030] said that he was, and that the king was an usurper. _Suf._ Who is there? [_Enter Servant._] Take this fellow   [bac032] in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently: we’ll hear more of your matter before the king. [_Exit Servant with Peter._   [bac034] _Queen._ And as for you, that love to be protected   ·bac035· Under the wings of our protector’s grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [_Tears the supplications._   [bac037] Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. _All._ Come, let’s be gone. [_Exeunt._   [bac039] _Queen._ My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,   ·bac040· Is this the fashion in the court of England?   [bac041] Is this the government of Britain’s isle, And this the royalty of Albion’s king? What, shall King Henry be a pupil still Under the surly Gloucester’s governance?   ·bac045· Am I a queen in title and in style, And must be made a subject to a duke? I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours Thou ran’st a tilt in honour of my love   [bac049] And stolest away the ladies’ hearts of France,   ·bac050· I thought King Henry had resembled thee In courage, courtship and proportion: But all his mind is bent to holiness, To number Ave-Maries on his beads; His champions are the prophets and apostles,   ·bac055· His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints.   [bac058] I would the college of the cardinals   [bac059] Would choose him pope and carry him to Rome,   ·bac060· And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness. _Suf._ Madam, be patient: as I was cause   [bac063] Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace’s full content.   ·bac065·