VOICES OF THE CROWD. Peace! hear him; let his own words damn the
Papist. From thine own mouth I judge thee--tear him down!

BOURNE.--and since our Gracious Queen, let me call her our second
Virgin Mary, hath begun to re-edify the true temple----,

FIRST CITIZEN. Virgin Mary! we'll have no virgins here--we'll have the
Lady Elizabeth!

[_Swords are drawn, a knife is hurled and sticks in
the pulpit. The mob throng to the pulpit stairs_.

MARCHIONESS OF EXETER. Son Courtenay, wilt thou see the holy father
Murdered before thy face? up, son, and save him! They love thee, and
thou canst not come to harm.

COURTENAY (_in the pulpit_). Shame, shame, my masters! are you
English-born, And set yourselves by hundreds against one?

CROWD. A Courtenay! a Courtenay!

[_A train of Spanish servants crosses at the back of the stage_.

NOAILLES. These birds of passage come before their time:
Stave off the crowd upon the Spaniard there.

ROGER. My masters, yonder's fatter game for you
Than this old gaping gurgoyle: look you there--
The Prince of Spain coming to wed our Queen!
After him, boys! and pelt him from the city.