Gardiner monologue (Act 3) — Queen Mary; and, Harold

What, if a mad dog bit your hand, my Lord, Would you not chop the bitten finger off, Lest your whole body should madden with the poison? I would not, were I Queen, tolerate the heretic, No, not an hour. The ruler of a land Is bounden by his power and place to see His people be not poison'd. Tolerate them! Why? do they tolerate you? Nay, many of them Would burn--have burnt each other; call they not The one true faith, a loathsome idol-worship? Beware, Lord Legate, of a heavier crime Than heresy is itself; beware, I say, Lest men accuse you of indifference To all faiths, all religion; for you know Right well that you yourself have been supposed Tainted with Lutheranism in Italy.