NOAILLES. Hast thou let fall those papers in the palace?

ROGER. Ay, sir.

NOAILLES. 'There will be no peace for Mary till
Elizabeth lose her head.'

ROGER. Ay, sir.

NOAILLES. And the other, 'Long live Elizabeth the Queen!'

ROGER. Ay, sir; she needs must tread upon them.

NOAILLES. Well.
These beastly swine make such a grunting here,
I cannot catch what Father Bourne is saying.

ROGER. Quiet a moment, my masters; hear what the shaveling has to say
for himself.

CROWD. Hush--hear!

BOURNE.--and so this unhappy land, long divided in itself, and
sever'd from the faith, will return into the one true fold, seeing
that our gracious Virgin Queen hath----

CROWD. No pope! no pope!

ROGER (_to those about him, mimicking_ BOURNE).--hath sent for the
holy legate of the holy father the Pope, Cardinal Pole, to give us all