Pole monologue (Act 5) — Queen Mary; and, Harold

He hates Philip; He is all Italian, and he hates the Spaniard; He cannot dream that _I_ advised the war; He strikes thro' me at Philip and yourself. Nay, but I know it of old, he hates me too; So brands me in the stare of Christendom A heretic! Now, even now, when bow'd before my time, The house half-ruin'd ere the lease be out; When I should guide the Church in peace at home, After my twenty years of banishment, And all my lifelong labour to uphold The primacy--a heretic. Long ago, When I was ruler in the patrimony, I was too lenient to the Lutheran, And I and learned friends among ourselves Would freely canvass certain Lutheranisms. What then, he knew I was no Lutheran. A heretic! He drew this shaft against me to the head, When it was thought I might be chosen Pope, But then withdrew it. In full consistory, When I was made Archbishop, he approved me. And how should he have sent me Legate hither, Deeming me heretic? and what heresy since? But he was evermore mine enemy, And hates the Spaniard--fiery-choleric, A drinker of black, strong, volcanic wines, That ever make him fierier. I, a heretic? Your Highness knows that in pursuing heresy I have gone beyond your late Lord Chancellor,-- He cried Enough! enough! before his death.-- Gone beyond him and mine own natural man (It was God's cause); so far they call me now, The scourge and butcher of their English church.