She very well understood.

She had lost him from her lawful bed

For lack of personal graces,

And by prayers to them, and a pious deceit,

She had compass’d his embraces.

But if this hope of a son should fail,

All hope must fail with it then,

For she could not expect by a second device

To compass the King again.

Queen Mary hath had her first heart’s wish —

She hath brought forth a beautiful boy;

And the bells have rung, and masses been sung,

And bonfires have blazed for joy.

And many’s the cask of the good red wine,

And many the cask of the white,

Which was broach’d for joy that morning,

And emptied before it was night.

But now for Queen Mary’s second heart’s wish,

It must be determined now,

And Bishop Boyl, her Confessor,

Is the person who taught her how.

Twelve waxen tapers he hath had made,

In size and weight the same;

And to each of these twelve tapers,

He hath given an Apostle’s name.

One holy Nun had bleach’d the wax,

Another the wicks had spun;

And the golden candlesticks were blest,

Which they were set upon.

From that which should burn the longest,

The infant his name must take;

And the Saint who own’d it was to be

His Patron for his name’s sake.

A godlier or a goodlier sight

Was nowhere to be seen,

Methinks, that day, in Christendom,

Than in the chamber of that good Queen.

Twelve little altars have been there

Erected, for the nonce;

And the twelve tapers are set thereon,

Which are all to be lit at once.

Altars more gorgeously drest

You nowhere could desire;

At each there stood a minist’ring Priest

In his most rich attire.

A high altar hath there been raised,

Where the crucifix you see;

And the sacred Pix that shines with gold

And sparkles with jewelry.

Bishop Boyl, with his precious mitre on,

Hath taken there his stand,

In robes which were embroidered

By the Queen’s own royal hand.

In one part of the ante-room

The Ladies of the Queen,

All with their rosaries in hand,

Upon their knees are seen.

In the other part of the ante-room

The Chiefs of the realm you behold,

Ricos Omes, and Bishops and Abbots,

And Knights and Barons bold.

Queen Mary could behold all this

As she lay in her state bed;

And from the pillow needed not

To lift her languid head.

One fear she had, though still her heart

The unwelcome thought eschew’d,

That haply the unlucky lot

Might fall upon St. Jude.

But the Saints, she trusted, that ill chance

Would certainly forefend;

And moreover there was a double hope

Of seeing the wish’d-for end:

Because there was a double chance

For the best of all good names;

If it should not be Santiago himself,

It might be the lesser St. James.

And now Bishop Boyl hath said the mass;

And as soon as the mass was done,

The priests who by the twelve tapers stood

Each instantly lighted one.

The tapers were short and slender too,

Yet to the expectant throng,

Before they to the socket burnt,

The time, I trow, seem’d long.

The first that went out was St. Peter,

The second was St. John;

And now St. Matthias is going,

And now St. Matthew is gone.

Next there went St. Andrew,

There goes St. Philip too;

And see! there is an end

Of St. Bartholomew.

St. Simon is in the snuff;

But it was a matter of doubt

Whether he or St. Thomas could be said

Soonest to have gone out.