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

(_sitting_) This is the loveliest day that ever smiled On England. All her breath should, incenselike, Rise to the heavens in grateful praise of Him Who now recalls her to His ancient fold. Lo! once again God to this realm hath given A token of His more especial Grace; For as this people were the first of all The islands call'd into the dawning church Out of the dead, deep night of heathendom, So now are these the first whom God hath given Grace to repent and sorrow for their schism; And if your penitence be not mockery, Oh how the blessed angels who rejoice Over one saved do triumph at this hour In the reborn salvation of a land So noble. [_A pause_. For ourselves we do protest That our commission is to heal, not harm; We come not to condemn, but reconcile; We come not to compel, but call again; We come not to destroy, but edify; Nor yet to question things already done; These are forgiven--matters of the past-- And range with jetsam and with offal thrown Into the blind sea of forgetfulness. [_A pause_. Ye have reversed the attainder laid on us By him who sack'd the house of God; and we, Amplier than any field on our poor earth Can render thanks in fruit for being sown, Do here and now repay you sixty-fold, A hundred, yea, a thousand thousand-fold, With heaven for earth.