heir to the crown. What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was rightful heir to the crown? That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said that he was, and that the king was an usurper. Who is there? Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear more of your matter before the King. And as for you, that love to be protected Under the wings of our protector's grace, Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go. Come, let's be gone. My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, Is this the fashion in the court of England? 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? 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 And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France, 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, His weapons holy saws of sacred writ, His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves Are brazen images of canonized saints. I would the college of the cardinals Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, And set the triple crown upon his head: That were a state fit for his holiness. Madam, be patient: as I was cause Your highness came to England, so will I In England work your grace's full content. Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort, The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham, And grumbling York: and not the least of these But can do more in England than the king. And he of these that can do most of all Cannot do more in England than the Nevils: Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers. Not all these lords do vex me half so much As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife. She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife: Strangers in court do take her for the queen: She bears a duke's revenues on her back, And in her heart she scorns our poverty: Shall I not live to be avenged on her? Contemptuous base-born callet as she is, She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day, The