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Henry VIII-

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>The Life of King Henry the Eighth Shakespeare homepage | Henry VIII | Entire play ACT I PROLOGUE

   I come no more to make you laugh: things now,
   That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
   Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
   Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
   We now present. Those that can pity, here
   May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
   The subject will deserve it. Such as give
   Their money out of hope they may believe,
   May here find truth too. Those that come to see
   Only a show or two, and so agree
   The play may pass, if they be still and willing,
   I'll undertake may see away their shilling
   Richly in two short hours. Only they
   That come to hear a merry bawdy play,
   A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
   In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,
   Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,
   To rank our chosen truth with such a show
   As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
   Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,
   To make that only true we now intend,
   Will leave us never an understanding friend.
   Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known
   The first and happiest hearers of the town,
   Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see
   The very persons of our noble story
   As they were living; think you see them great,
   And follow'd with the general throng and sweat
   Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see
   How soon this mightiness meets misery:
   And, if you can be merry then, I'll say
   A man may weep upon his wedding-day.

SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace.

   Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM and ABERGAVENNY 

BUCKINGHAM

   Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
   Since last we saw in France?

NORFOLK

   I thank your grace,
   Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
   Of what I saw there.

BUCKINGHAM

   An untimely ague
   Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when
   Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
   Met in the vale of Andren.

NORFOLK

   'Twixt Guynes and Arde:
   I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
   Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
   In their embracement, as they grew together;
   Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd
   Such a compounded one?

BUCKINGHAM

   All the whole time
   I was my chamber's prisoner.

NORFOLK

   Then you lost
   The view of earthly glory: men might say,
   Till this time pomp was single, but now married
   To one above itself. Each following day
   Became the next day's master, till the last
   Made former wonders its. To-day the French,
   All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
   Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
   Made Britain India: every man that stood
   Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
   As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too,
   Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
   The pride upon them, that their very labour
   Was to them as a painting: now this masque
   Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
   Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,
   Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
   As presence did present them; him in eye,
   Still him in praise: and, being present both
   'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner
   Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns--
   For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged
   The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
   Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story,
   Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
   That Bevis was believed.

BUCKINGHAM

   O, you go far.

NORFOLK

   As I belong to worship and affect
   In honour honesty, the tract of every thing
   Would by a good discourser lose some life,
   Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal;
   To the disposing of it nought rebell'd.
   Order gave each thing view; the office did
   Distinctly his full function.

BUCKINGHAM

   Who did guide,
   I mean, who set the body and the limbs
   Of this great sport together, as you guess?

NORFOLK

   One, certes, that promises no element
   In such a business.

BUCKINGHAM

   I pray you, who, my lord?

NORFOLK

   All this was order'd by the good discretion
   Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.

BUCKINGHAM

   The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed
   From his ambitious finger. What had he
   To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder
   That such a keech can with his very bulk
   Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun
   And keep it from the earth.

NORFOLK

   Surely, sir,
   There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
   For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
   Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
   For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
   For eminent assistants; but, spider-like,
   Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
   The force of his own merit makes his way
   A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
   A place next to the king.

ABERGAVENNY

   I cannot tell
   What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye
   Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
   Peep through each part of him: whence has he that,
   If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,
   Or has given all before, and he begins
   A new hell in himself.

BUCKINGHAM

   Why the devil,
   Upon this French going out, took he upon him,
   Without the privity o' the king, to appoint
   Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
   Of all the gentry; for the most part such
   To whom as great a charge as little honour
   He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,
   The honourable board of council out,
   Must fetch him in the papers.

ABERGAVENNY

   I do know
   Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
   By this so sickened their estates, that never
   They shall abound as formerly.

BUCKINGHAM

   O, many
   Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em
   For this great journey. What did this vanity
   But minister communication of
   A most poor issue?

NORFOLK

   Grievingly I think,
   The peace between the French and us not values
   The cost that did conclude it.

BUCKINGHAM

   Every man,
   After the hideous storm that follow'd, was
   A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke
   Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,
   Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
   The sudden breach on't.

NORFOLK

   Which is budded out;
   For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
   Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

ABERGAVENNY

   Is it therefore
   The ambassador is silenced?

NORFOLK

   Marry, is't.

ABERGAVENNY

   A proper title of a peace; and purchased
   At a superfluous rate!

BUCKINGHAM

   Why, all this business
   Our reverend cardinal carried.

NORFOLK

   Like it your grace,
   The state takes notice of the private difference
   Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you--
   And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
   Honour and plenteous safety--that you read
   The cardinal's malice and his potency
   Together; to consider further that
   What his high hatred would effect wants not
   A minister in his power. You know his nature,
   That he's revengeful, and I know his sword
   Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said,
   It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend,
   Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,
   You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock
   That I advise your shunning.
   Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him, certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?
   Where's his examination?

First Secretary

   Here, so please you.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Is he in person ready?

First Secretary

   Ay, please your grace.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham
   Shall lessen this big look.
   Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train

BUCKINGHAM

   This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
   Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
   Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
   Outworths a noble's blood.

NORFOLK

   What, are you chafed?
   Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only
   Which your disease requires.

BUCKINGHAM

   I read in's looks
   Matter against me; and his eye reviled
   Me, as his abject object: at this instant
   He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king;
   I'll follow and outstare him.

NORFOLK

   Stay, my lord,
   And let your reason with your choler question
   What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills
   Requires slow pace at first: anger is like
   A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
   Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
   Can advise me like you: be to yourself
   As you would to your friend.

BUCKINGHAM

   I'll to the king;
   And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
   This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim
   There's difference in no persons.

NORFOLK

   Be advised;
   Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
   That it do singe yourself: we may outrun,
   By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
   And lose by over-running. Know you not,
   The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er,
   In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised:
   I say again, there is no English soul
   More stronger to direct you than yourself,
   If with the sap of reason you would quench,
   Or but allay, the fire of passion.

BUCKINGHAM

   Sir,
   I am thankful to you; and I'll go along
   By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow,
   Whom from the flow of gall I name not but
   From sincere motions, by intelligence,
   And proofs as clear as founts in July when
   We see each grain of gravel, I do know
   To be corrupt and treasonous.

NORFOLK

   Say not 'treasonous.'

BUCKINGHAM

   To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong
   As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox,
   Or wolf, or both,--for he is equal ravenous
   As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief
   As able to perform't; his mind and place
   Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally--
   Only to show his pomp as well in France
   As here at home, suggests the king our master
   To this last costly treaty, the interview,
   That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass
   Did break i' the rinsing.

NORFOLK

   Faith, and so it did.

BUCKINGHAM

   Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal
   The articles o' the combination drew
   As himself pleased; and they were ratified
   As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end
   As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal
   Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,
   Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,--
   Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
   To the old dam, treason,--Charles the emperor,
   Under pretence to see the queen his aunt--
   For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came
   To whisper Wolsey,--here makes visitation:
   His fears were, that the interview betwixt
   England and France might, through their amity,
   Breed him some prejudice; for from this league
   Peep'd harms that menaced him: he privily
   Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,--
   Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor
   Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted
   Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made,
   And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired,
   That he would please to alter the king's course,
   And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know,
   As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal
   Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,
   And for his own advantage.

NORFOLK

   I am sorry
   To hear this of him; and could wish he were
   Something mistaken in't.

BUCKINGHAM

   No, not a syllable:
   I do pronounce him in that very shape
   He shall appear in proof.
   Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard

BRANDON

   Your office, sergeant; execute it.

Sergeant

   Sir,
   My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
   Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
   Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
   Of our most sovereign king.

BUCKINGHAM

   Lo, you, my lord,
   The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish
   Under device and practise.

BRANDON

   I am sorry
   To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
   The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure
   You shall to the Tower.

BUCKINGHAM

   It will help me nothing
   To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me
   Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven
   Be done in this and all things! I obey.
   O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well!

BRANDON

   Nay, he must bear you company. The king
   To ABERGAVENNY
   Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know
   How he determines further.

ABERGAVENNY

   As the duke said,
   The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure
   By me obey'd!

BRANDON

   Here is a warrant from
   The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies
   Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car,
   One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor--

BUCKINGHAM

   So, so;
   These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope.

BRANDON

   A monk o' the Chartreux.

BUCKINGHAM

   O, Nicholas Hopkins?

BRANDON

   He.

BUCKINGHAM

   My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal
   Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already:
   I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
   Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on,
   By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell.
   Exeunt

SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber.

   Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL; CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY VIII's feet on his right side 

KING HENRY VIII

   My life itself, and the best heart of it,
   Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level
   Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks
   To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us
   That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person
   I'll hear him his confessions justify;
   And point by point the treasons of his master
   He shall again relate.
   A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK: she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor.

KING HENRY VIII

   Arise, and take place by us: half your suit
   Never name to us; you have half our power:
   The other moiety, ere you ask, is given;
   Repeat your will and take it.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Thank your majesty.
   That you would love yourself, and in that love
   Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor
   The dignity of your office, is the point
   Of my petition.

KING HENRY VIII

   Lady mine, proceed.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   I am solicited, not by a few,
   And those of true condition, that your subjects
   Are in great grievance: there have been commissions
   Sent down among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart
   Of all their loyalties: wherein, although,
   My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
   Most bitterly on you, as putter on
   Of these exactions, yet the king our master--
   Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he
   escapes not
   Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
   The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
   In loud rebellion.

NORFOLK

   Not almost appears,
   It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,
   The clothiers all, not able to maintain
   The many to them longing, have put off
   The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,
   Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
   And lack of other means, in desperate manner
   Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar,
   And danger serves among then!

KING HENRY VIII

   Taxation!
   Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal,
   You that are blamed for it alike with us,
   Know you of this taxation?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Please you, sir,
   I know but of a single part, in aught
   Pertains to the state; and front but in that file
   Where others tell steps with me.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   No, my lord,
   You know no more than others; but you frame
   Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome
   To those which would not know them, and yet must
   Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,
   Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
   Most pestilent to the bearing; and, to bear 'em,
   The back is sacrifice to the load. They say
   They are devised by you; or else you suffer
   Too hard an exclamation.

KING HENRY VIII

   Still exaction!
   The nature of it? in what kind, let's know,
   Is this exaction?

QUEEN KATHARINE

   I am much too venturous
   In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd
   Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief
   Comes through commissions, which compel from each
   The sixth part of his substance, to be levied
   Without delay; and the pretence for this
   Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths:
   Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
   Allegiance in them; their curses now
   Live where their prayers did: and it's come to pass,
   This tractable obedience is a slave
   To each incensed will. I would your highness
   Would give it quick consideration, for
   There is no primer business.

KING HENRY VIII

   By my life,
   This is against our pleasure.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   And for me,
   I have no further gone in this than by
   A single voice; and that not pass'd me but
   By learned approbation of the judges. If I am
   Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know
   My faculties nor person, yet will be
   The chronicles of my doing, let me say
   'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
   That virtue must go through. We must not stint
   Our necessary actions, in the fear
   To cope malicious censurers; which ever,
   As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow
   That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further
   Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
   By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
   Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft,
   Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
   For our best act. If we shall stand still,
   In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
   We should take root here where we sit, or sit
   State-statues only.

KING HENRY VIII

   Things done well,
   And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;
   Things done without example, in their issue
   Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
   Of this commission? I believe, not any.
   We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
   And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?
   A trembling contribution! Why, we take
   From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber;
   And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
   The air will drink the sap. To every county
   Where this is question'd send our letters, with
   Free pardon to each man that has denied
   The force of this commission: pray, look to't;
   I put it to your care.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   A word with you.
   To the Secretary
   Let there be letters writ to every shire,
   Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved commons
   Hardly conceive of me; let it be noised
   That through our intercession this revokement
   And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you
   Further in the proceeding.
   Exit Secretary
   Enter Surveyor

QUEEN KATHARINE

   I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham
   Is run in your displeasure.

KING HENRY VIII

   It grieves many:
   The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker;
   To nature none more bound; his training such,
   That he may furnish and instruct great teachers,
   And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,
   When these so noble benefits shall prove
   Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt,
   They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly
   Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,
   Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,
   Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find
   His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady,
   Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
   That once were his, and is become as black
   As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear--
   This was his gentleman in trust--of him
   Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount
   The fore-recited practises; whereof
   We cannot feel too little, hear too much.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,
   Most like a careful subject, have collected
   Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

KING HENRY VIII

   Speak freely.

Surveyor

   First, it was usual with him, every day
   It would infect his speech, that if the king
   Should without issue die, he'll carry it so
   To make the sceptre his: these very words
   I've heard him utter to his son-in-law,
   Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced
   Revenge upon the cardinal.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Please your highness, note
   This dangerous conception in this point.
   Not friended by by his wish, to your high person
   His will is most malignant; and it stretches
   Beyond you, to your friends.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   My learn'd lord cardinal,
   Deliver all with charity.

KING HENRY VIII

   Speak on:
   How grounded he his title to the crown,
   Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him
   At any time speak aught?

Surveyor

   He was brought to this
   By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins.

KING HENRY VIII

   What was that Hopkins?

Surveyor

   Sir, a Chartreux friar,
   His confessor, who fed him every minute
   With words of sovereignty.

KING HENRY VIII

   How know'st thou this?

Surveyor

   Not long before your highness sped to France,
   The duke being at the Rose, within the parish
   Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
   What was the speech among the Londoners
   Concerning the French journey: I replied,
   Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious,
   To the king's danger. Presently the duke
   Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted
   'Twould prove the verity of certain words
   Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he,
   'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
   John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour
   To hear from him a matter of some moment:
   Whom after under the confession's seal
   He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke
   My chaplain to no creature living, but
   To me, should utter, with demure confidence
   This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs,
   Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive
   To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke
   Shall govern England.'

QUEEN KATHARINE

   If I know you well,
   You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
   On the complaint o' the tenants: take good heed
   You charge not in your spleen a noble person
   And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed;
   Yes, heartily beseech you.

KING HENRY VIII

   Let him on.
   Go forward.

Surveyor

   On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
   I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions
   The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him
   To ruminate on this so far, until
   It forged him some design, which, being believed,
   It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush,
   It can do me no damage;' adding further,
   That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
   The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads
   Should have gone off.

KING HENRY VIII

   Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!
   There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further?

Surveyor

   I can, my liege.

KING HENRY VIII

   Proceed.

Surveyor

   Being at Greenwich,
   After your highness had reproved the duke
   About Sir William Blomer,--

KING HENRY VIII

   I remember
   Of such a time: being my sworn servant,
   The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence?

Surveyor

   'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed,
   As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd
   The part my father meant to act upon
   The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,
   Made suit to come in's presence; which if granted,
   As he made semblance of his duty, would
   Have put his knife to him.'

KING HENRY VIII

   A giant traitor!

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,
   and this man out of prison?

QUEEN KATHARINE

   God mend all!

KING HENRY VIII

   There's something more would out of thee; what say'st?

Surveyor

   After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,'
   He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
   Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes
   He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor
   Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo
   His father by as much as a performance
   Does an irresolute purpose.

KING HENRY VIII

   There's his period,
   To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd;
   Call him to present trial: if he may
   Find mercy in the law, 'tis his: if none,
   Let him not seek 't of us: by day and night,
   He's traitor to the height.
   Exeunt

SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace.

   Enter Chamberlain and SANDS 

Chamberlain

   Is't possible the spells of France should juggle
   Men into such strange mysteries?

SANDS

   New customs,
   Though they be never so ridiculous,
   Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

Chamberlain

   As far as I see, all the good our English
   Have got by the late voyage is but merely
   A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones;
   For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly
   Their very noses had been counsellors
   To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.

SANDS

   They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it,
   That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin
   Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.

Chamberlain

   Death! my lord,
   Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
   That, sure, they've worn out Christendom.
   Enter LOVELL
   How now!
   What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?

LOVELL

   Faith, my lord,
   I hear of none, but the new proclamation
   That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.

Chamberlain

   What is't for?

LOVELL

   The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
   That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

Chamberlain

   I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs
   To think an English courtier may be wise,
   And never see the Louvre.

LOVELL

   They must either,
   For so run the conditions, leave those remnants
   Of fool and feather that they got in France,
   With all their honourable point of ignorance
   Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks,
   Abusing better men than they can be,
   Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean
   The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,
   Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel,
   And understand again like honest men;
   Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it,
   They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away
   The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at.

SANDS

   'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
   Are grown so catching.

Chamberlain

   What a loss our ladies
   Will have of these trim vanities!

LOVELL

   Ay, marry,
   There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons
   Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies;
   A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.

SANDS

   The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,
   For, sure, there's no converting of 'em: now
   An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
   A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong
   And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady,
   Held current music too.

Chamberlain

   Well said, Lord Sands;
   Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

SANDS

   No, my lord;
   Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Chamberlain

   Sir Thomas,
   Whither were you a-going?

LOVELL

   To the cardinal's:
   Your lordship is a guest too.

Chamberlain

   O, 'tis true:
   This night he makes a supper, and a great one,
   To many lords and ladies; there will be
   The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.

LOVELL

   That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
   A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
   His dews fall every where.

Chamberlain

   No doubt he's noble;
   He had a black mouth that said other of him.

SANDS

   He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him
   Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:
   Men of his way should be most liberal;
   They are set here for examples.

Chamberlain

   True, they are so:
   But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;
   Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,
   We shall be late else; which I would not be,
   For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford
   This night to be comptrollers.

SANDS

   I am your lordship's.
   Exeunt

SCENE IV. A Hall in York Place.

   Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as guests, at one door; at another door, enter GUILDFORD 

GUILDFORD

   Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
   Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates
   To fair content and you: none here, he hopes,
   In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
   One care abroad; he would have all as merry
   As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,
   Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:
   Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL
   The very thought of this fair company
   Clapp'd wings to me.

Chamberlain

   You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.

SANDS

   Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal
   But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these
   Should find a running banquet ere they rested,
   I think would better please 'em: by my life,
   They are a sweet society of fair ones.

LOVELL

   O, that your lordship were but now confessor
   To one or two of these!

SANDS

   I would I were;
   They should find easy penance.

LOVELL

   Faith, how easy?

SANDS

   As easy as a down-bed would afford it.

Chamberlain

   Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,
   Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this:
   His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze;
   Two women placed together makes cold weather:
   My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking;
   Pray, sit between these ladies.

SANDS

   By my faith,
   And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies:
   If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;
   I had it from my father.

ANNE

   Was he mad, sir?

SANDS

   O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:
   But he would bite none; just as I do now,
   He would kiss you twenty with a breath.
   Kisses her

Chamberlain

   Well said, my lord.
   So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen,
   The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
   Pass away frowning.

SANDS

   For my little cure,
   Let me alone.
   Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   You're welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady,
   Or gentleman, that is not freely merry,
   Is not my friend: this, to confirm my welcome;
   And to you all, good health.
   Drinks

SANDS

   Your grace is noble:
   Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
   And save me so much talking.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   My Lord Sands,
   I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours.
   Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen,
   Whose fault is this?

SANDS

   The red wine first must rise
   In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em
   Talk us to silence.

ANNE

   You are a merry gamester,
   My Lord Sands.

SANDS

   Yes, if I make my play.
   Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam,
   For 'tis to such a thing,--

ANNE

   You cannot show me.

SANDS

   I told your grace they would talk anon.
   Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   What's that?

Chamberlain

   Look out there, some of ye.
   Exit Servant

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   What warlike voice,
   And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;
   By all the laws of war you're privileged.
   Re-enter Servant

Chamberlain

   How now! what is't?

Servant

   A noble troop of strangers;
   For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed;
   And hither make, as great ambassadors
   From foreign princes.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Good lord chamberlain,
   Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;
   And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em
   Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
   Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.
   Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed
   You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.
   A good digestion to you all: and once more
   I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all.
   Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him
   A noble company! what are their pleasures?

Chamberlain

   Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd
   To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame
   Of this so noble and so fair assembly
   This night to meet here, they could do no less
   Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,
   But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct,
   Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat
   An hour of revels with 'em.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Say, lord chamberlain,
   They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em
   A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures.
   They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII chooses ANNE

KING HENRY VIII

   The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,
   Till now I never knew thee!
   Music. Dance

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   My lord!

Chamberlain

   Your grace?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Pray, tell 'em thus much from me:
   There should be one amongst 'em, by his person,
   More worthy this place than myself; to whom,
   If I but knew him, with my love and duty
   I would surrender it.

Chamberlain

   I will, my lord.
   Whispers the Masquers

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   What say they?

Chamberlain

   Such a one, they all confess,
   There is indeed; which they would have your grace
   Find out, and he will take it.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Let me see, then.
   By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make
   My royal choice.

KING HENRY VIII

   Ye have found him, cardinal:
   Unmasking
   You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord:
   You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal,
   I should judge now unhappily.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   I am glad
   Your grace is grown so pleasant.

KING HENRY VIII

   My lord chamberlain,
   Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that?

Chamberlain

   An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter--
   The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women.

KING HENRY VIII

   By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart,
   I were unmannerly, to take you out,
   And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!
   Let it go round.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
   I' the privy chamber?

LOVELL

   Yes, my lord.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Your grace,
   I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

KING HENRY VIII

   I fear, too much.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   There's fresher air, my lord,
   In the next chamber.

KING HENRY VIII

   Lead in your ladies, every one: sweet partner,
   I must not yet forsake you: let's be merry:
   Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths
   To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure
   To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream
   Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it.
   Exeunt with trumpets

ACT II SCENE I. Westminster. A street.

   Enter two Gentlemen, meeting 

First Gentleman

   Whither away so fast?

Second Gentleman

   O, God save ye!
   Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
   Of the great Duke of Buckingham.

First Gentleman

   I'll save you
   That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony
   Of bringing back the prisoner.

Second Gentleman

   Were you there?

First Gentleman

   Yes, indeed, was I.

Second Gentleman

   Pray, speak what has happen'd.

First Gentleman

   You may guess quickly what.

Second Gentleman

   Is he found guilty?

First Gentleman

   Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't.

Second Gentleman

   I am sorry for't.

First Gentleman

   So are a number more.

Second Gentleman

   But, pray, how pass'd it?

First Gentleman

   I'll tell you in a little. The great duke
   Came to the bar; where to his accusations
   He pleaded still not guilty and alleged
   Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
   The king's attorney on the contrary
   Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions
   Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired
   To have brought viva voce to his face:
   At which appear'd against him his surveyor;
   Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car,
   Confessor to him; with that devil-monk,
   Hopkins, that made this mischief.

Second Gentleman

   That was he
   That fed him with his prophecies?

First Gentleman

   The same.
   All these accused him strongly; which he fain
   Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not:
   And so his peers, upon this evidence,
   Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
   He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all
   Was either pitied in him or forgotten.

Second Gentleman

   After all this, how did he bear himself?

First Gentleman

   When he was brought again to the bar, to hear
   His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd
   With such an agony, he sweat extremely,
   And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty:
   But he fell to himself again, and sweetly
   In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.

Second Gentleman

   I do not think he fears death.

First Gentleman

   Sure, he does not:
   He never was so womanish; the cause
   He may a little grieve at.

Second Gentleman

   Certainly
   The cardinal is the end of this.

First Gentleman

   'Tis likely,
   By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,
   Then deputy of Ireland; who removed,
   Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,
   Lest he should help his father.

Second Gentleman

   That trick of state
   Was a deep envious one.

First Gentleman

   At his return
   No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,
   And generally, whoever the king favours,
   The cardinal instantly will find employment,
   And far enough from court too.

Second Gentleman

   All the commons
   Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
   Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much
   They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,
   The mirror of all courtesy;--

First Gentleman

   Stay there, sir,
   And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.
   Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL, VAUX, SANDS, and common people

Second Gentleman

   Let's stand close, and behold him.

BUCKINGHAM

   All good people,
   You that thus far have come to pity me,
   Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
   I have this day received a traitor's judgment,
   And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness,
   And if I have a co nscience, let it sink me,
   Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!
   The law I bear no malice for my death;
   'T has done, upon the premises, but justice:
   But those that sought it I could wish more Christians:
   Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em:
   Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief,
   Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;
   For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em.
   For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
   Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies
   More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me,
   And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
   His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave
   Is only bitter to him, only dying,
   Go with me, like good angels, to my end;
   And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me,
   Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
   And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name.

LOVELL

   I do beseech your grace, for charity,
   If ever any malice in your heart
   Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.

BUCKINGHAM

   Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you
   As I would be forgiven: I forgive all;
   There cannot be those numberless offences
   'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with:
   no black envy
   Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace;
   And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him
   You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers
   Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake,
   Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live
   Longer than I have time to tell his years!
   Ever beloved and loving may his rule be!
   And when old time shall lead him to his end,
   Goodness and he fill up one monument!

LOVELL

   To the water side I must conduct your grace;
   Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,
   Who undertakes you to your end.

VAUX

   Prepare there,
   The duke is coming: see the barge be ready;
   And fit it with such furniture as suits
   The greatness of his person.

BUCKINGHAM

   Nay, Sir Nicholas,
   Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
   When I came hither, I was lord high constable
   And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:
   Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
   That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;
   And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't.
   My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
   Who first raised head against usurping Richard,
   Flying for succor to his servant Banister,
   Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
   And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!
   Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying
   My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
   Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins,
   Made my name once more noble. Now his son,
   Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all
   That made me happy at one stroke has taken
   For ever from the world. I had my trial,
   And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me,
   A little happier than my wretched father:
   Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both
   Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most;
   A most unnatural and faithless service!
   Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me,
   This from a dying man receive as certain:
   Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels
   Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends
   And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
   The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
   Like water from ye, never found again
   But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
   Pray for me! I must now forsake ye: the last hour
   Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell:
   And when you would say something that is sad,
   Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me!
   Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train

First Gentleman

   O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,
   I fear, too many curses on their beads
   That were the authors.

Second Gentleman

   If the duke be guiltless,
   'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling
   Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,
   Greater than this.

First Gentleman

   Good angels keep it from us!
   What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?

Second Gentleman

   This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
   A strong faith to conceal it.

First Gentleman

   Let me have it;
   I do not talk much.

Second Gentleman

   I am confident,
   You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear
   A buzzing of a separation
   Between the king and Katharine?

First Gentleman

   Yes, but it held not:
   For when the king once heard it, out of anger
   He sent command to the lord mayor straight
   To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues
   That durst disperse it.

Second Gentleman

   But that slander, sir,
   Is found a truth now: for it grows again
   Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain
   The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal,
   Or some about him near, have, out of malice
   To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple
   That will undo her: to confirm this too,
   Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately;
   As all think, for this business.

First Gentleman

   'Tis the cardinal;
   And merely to revenge him on the emperor
   For not bestowing on him, at his asking,
   The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed.

Second Gentleman

   I think you have hit the mark: but is't not cruel
   That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal
   Will have his will, and she must fall.

First Gentleman

   'Tis woful.
   We are too open here to argue this;
   Let's think in private more.
   Exeunt

SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace.

   Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter 

Chamberlain

   'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with
   all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and
   furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the
   best breed in the north. When they were ready to
   set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by
   commission and main power, took 'em from me; with
   this reason: His master would be served before a
   subject, if not before the king; which stopped our
   mouths, sir.'
   I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them:
   He will have all, I think.
   Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK

NORFOLK

   Well met, my lord chamberlain.

Chamberlain

   Good day to both your graces.

SUFFOLK

   How is the king employ'd?

Chamberlain

   I left him private,
   Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

NORFOLK

   What's the cause?

Chamberlain

   It seems the marriage with his brother's wife
   Has crept too near his conscience.

SUFFOLK

   No, his conscience
   Has crept too near another lady.

NORFOLK

   'Tis so:
   This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal:
   That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
   Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.

SUFFOLK

   Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else.

NORFOLK

   How holily he works in all his business!
   And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league
   Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew,
   He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters
   Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
   Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage:
   And out of all these to restore the king,
   He counsels a divorce; a loss of her
   That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
   About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
   Of her that loves him with that excellence
   That angels love good men with; even of her
   That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
   Will bless the king: and is not this course pious?

Chamberlain

   Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true
   These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em,
   And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare
   Look into these affairs see this main end,
   The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open
   The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon
   This bold bad man.

SUFFOLK

   And free us from his slavery.

NORFOLK

   We had need pray,
   And heartily, for our deliverance;
   Or this imperious man will work us all
   From princes into pages: all men's honours
   Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd
   Into what pitch he please.

SUFFOLK

   For me, my lords,
   I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed:
   As I am made without him, so I'll stand,
   If the king please; his curses and his blessings
   Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in.
   I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him
   To him that made him proud, the pope.

NORFOLK

   Let's in;
   And with some other business put the king
   From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him:
   My lord, you'll bear us company?

Chamberlain

   Excuse me;
   The king has sent me otherwhere: besides,
   You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him:
   Health to your lordships.

NORFOLK

   Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.
   Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively

SUFFOLK

   How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted.

KING HENRY VIII

   Who's there, ha?

NORFOLK

   Pray God he be not angry.

KING HENRY VIII

   Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves
   Into my private meditations?
   Who am I? ha?

NORFOLK

   A gracious king that pardons all offences
   Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way
   Is business of estate; in which we come
   To know your royal pleasure.

KING HENRY VIII

   Ye are too bold:
   Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business:
   Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?
   Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS, with a commission
   Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey,
   The quiet of my wounded conscience;
   Thou art a cure fit for a king.
   To CARDINAL CAMPEIUS
   You're welcome,
   Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom:
   Use us and it.
   To CARDINAL WOLSEY
   My good lord, have great care
   I be not found a talker.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Sir, you cannot.
   I would your grace would give us but an hour
   Of private conference.

KING HENRY VIII

   [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]
   We are busy; go.

NORFOLK

   [Aside to SUFFOLK]
   This priest has no pride in him?

SUFFOLK

   [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of:
   I would not be so sick though for his place:
   But this cannot continue.

NORFOLK

   [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do,
   I'll venture one have-at-him.

SUFFOLK

   [Aside to NORFOLK] I another.
   Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom
   Above all princes, in committing freely
   Your scruple to the voice of Christendom:
   Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?
   The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her,
   Must now confess, if they have any goodness,
   The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
   I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms
   Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment,
   Invited by your noble self, hath sent
   One general tongue unto us, this good man,
   This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius;
   Whom once more I present unto your highness.

KING HENRY VIII

   And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,
   And thank the holy conclave for their loves:
   They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves,
   You are so noble. To your highness' hand
   I tender my commission; by whose virtue,
   The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord
   Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant
   In the unpartial judging of this business.

KING HENRY VIII

   Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted
   Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   I know your majesty has always loved her
   So dear in heart, not to deny her that
   A woman of less place might ask by law:
   Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.

KING HENRY VIII

   Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour
   To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,
   Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary:
   I find him a fit fellow.
   Exit CARDINAL WOLSEY
   Re-enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, with GARDINER

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand much joy and
   favour to you;
   You are the king's now.

GARDINER

   [Aside to CARDINAL WOLSEY]
   But to be commanded
   For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me.

KING HENRY VIII

   Come hither, Gardiner.
   Walks and whispers

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace
   In this man's place before him?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Yes, he was.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Was he not held a learned man?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Yes, surely.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then
   Even of yourself, lord cardinal.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   How! of me?

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   They will not stick to say you envied him,
   And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
   Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him,
   That he ran mad and died.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Heaven's peace be with him!
   That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers
   There's places of rebuke. He was a fool;
   For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,
   If I command him, follows my appointment:
   I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
   We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.

KING HENRY VIII

   Deliver this with modesty to the queen.
   Exit GARDINER
   The most convenient place that I can think of
   For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars;
   There ye shall meet about this weighty business.
   My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord,
   Would it not grieve an able man to leave
   So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!
   O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her.
   Exeunt

SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments.

   Enter ANNE and an Old Lady 

ANNE

   Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches:
   His highness having lived so long with her, and she
   So good a lady that no tongue could ever
   Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life,
   She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after
   So many courses of the sun enthroned,
   Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which
   To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than
   'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process,
   To give her the avaunt! it is a pity
   Would move a monster.

Old Lady

   Hearts of most hard temper
   Melt and lament for her.

ANNE

   O, God's will! much better
   She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal,
   Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce
   It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging
   As soul and body's severing.

Old Lady

   Alas, poor lady!
   She's a stranger now again.

ANNE

   So much the more
   Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
   I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
   And range with humble livers in content,
   Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief,
   And wear a golden sorrow.

Old Lady

   Our content
   Is our best having.

ANNE

   By my troth and maidenhead,
   I would not be a queen.

Old Lady

   Beshrew me, I would,
   And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you,
   For all this spice of your hypocrisy:
   You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,
   Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet
   Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;
   Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,
   Saving your mincing, the capacity
   Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive,
   If you might please to stretch it.

ANNE

   Nay, good troth.

Old Lady

   Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen?

ANNE

   No, not for all the riches under heaven.
   Old Lady: 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me,
   Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you,
   What think you of a duchess? have you limbs
   To bear that load of title?

ANNE

   No, in truth.

Old Lady

   Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little;
   I would not be a young count in your way,
   For more than blushing comes to: if your back
   Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak
   Ever to get a boy.

ANNE

   How you do talk!
   I swear again, I would not be a queen
   For all the world.

Old Lady

   In faith, for little England
   You'ld venture an emballing: I myself
   Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd
   No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
   Enter Chamberlain

Chamberlain

   Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know
   The secret of your conference?

ANNE

   My good lord,
   Not your demand; it values not your asking:
   Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.

Chamberlain

   It was a gentle business, and becoming
   The action of good women: there is hope
   All will be well.

ANNE

   Now, I pray God, amen!

Chamberlain

   You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings
   Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
   Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's
   Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty
   Commends his good opinion of you, and
   Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
   Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title
   A thousand pound a year, annual support,
   Out of his grace he adds.

ANNE

   I do not know
   What kind of my obedience I should tender;
   More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers
   Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes
   More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes
   Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,
   Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,
   As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness;
   Whose health and royalty I pray for.

Chamberlain

   Lady,
   I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit
   The king hath of you.
   Aside
   I have perused her well;
   Beauty and honour in her are so mingled
   That they have caught the king: and who knows yet
   But from this lady may proceed a gem
   To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king,
   And say I spoke with you.
   Exit Chamberlain

ANNE

   My honour'd lord.

Old Lady

   Why, this it is; see, see!
   I have been begging sixteen years in court,
   Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could
   Come pat betwixt too early and too late
   For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!
   A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon
   This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up
   Before you open it.

ANNE

   This is strange to me.

Old Lady

   How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no.
   There was a lady once, 'tis an old story,
   That would not be a queen, that would she not,
   For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it?

ANNE

   Come, you are pleasant.

Old Lady

   With your theme, I could
   O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!
   A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!
   No other obligation! By my life,
   That promises moe thousands: honour's train
   Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time
   I know your back will bear a duchess: say,
   Are you not stronger than you were?

ANNE

   Good lady,
   Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
   And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,
   If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me,
   To think what follows.
   The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
   In our long absence: pray, do not deliver
   What here you've heard to her.

Old Lady

   What do you think me?
   Exeunt

SCENE IV. A hall in Black-Friars.

   Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone; after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; then two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each side the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage 

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
   Let silence be commanded.

KING HENRY VIII

   What's the need?
   It hath already publicly been read,
   And on all sides the authority allow'd;
   You may, then, spare that time.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Be't so. Proceed.

Scribe

   Say, Henry King of England, come into the court.

Crier

   Henry King of England, & c.

KING HENRY VIII

   Here.

Scribe

   Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.

Crier

   Katharine Queen of England, & c.
   QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Sir, I desire you do me right and justice;
   And to bestow your pity on me: for
   I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
   Born out of your dominions; having here
   No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
   Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
   In what have I offended you? what cause
   Hath my behavior given to your displeasure,
   That thus you should proceed to put me off,
   And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,
   I have been to you a true and humble wife,
   At all times to your will conformable;
   Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,
   Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry
   As I saw it inclined: when was the hour
   I ever contradicted your desire,
   Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends
   Have I not strove to love, although I knew
   He were mine enemy? what friend of mine
   That had to him derived your anger, did I
   Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice
   He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind
   That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
   Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
   With many children by you: if, in the course
   And process of this time, you can report,
   And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
   My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
   Against your sacred person, in God's name,
   Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
   Shut door upon me, and so give me up
   To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir,
   The king, your father, was reputed for
   A prince most prudent, of an excellent
   And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand,
   My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one
   The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many
   A year before: it is not to be question'd
   That they had gather'd a wise council to them
   Of every realm, that did debate this business,
   Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly
   Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
   Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel
   I will implore: if not, i' the name of God,
   Your pleasure be fulfill'd!

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   You have here, lady,
   And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men
   Of singular integrity and learning,
   Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled
   To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless
   That longer you desire the court; as well
   For your own quiet, as to rectify
   What is unsettled in the king.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   His grace
   Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam,
   It's fit this royal session do proceed;
   And that, without delay, their arguments
   Be now produced and heard.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Lord cardinal,
   To you I speak.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Your pleasure, madam?

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Sir,
   I am about to weep; but, thinking that
   We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain
   The daughter of a king, my drops of tears
   I'll turn to sparks of fire.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Be patient yet.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   I will, when you are humble; nay, before,
   Or God will punish me. I do believe,
   Induced by potent circumstances, that
   You are mine enemy, and make my challenge
   You shall not be my judge: for it is you
   Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me;
   Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again,
   I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul
   Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more,
   I hold my most malicious foe, and think not
   At all a friend to truth.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   I do profess
   You speak not like yourself; who ever yet
   Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects
   Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom
   O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong:
   I have no spleen against you; nor injustice
   For you or any: how far I have proceeded,
   Or how far further shall, is warranted
   By a commission from the consistory,
   Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me
   That I have blown this coal: I do deny it:
   The king is present: if it be known to him
   That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,
   And worthily, my falsehood! yea, as much
   As you have done my truth. If he know
   That I am free of your report, he knows
   I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him
   It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to
   Remove these thoughts from you: the which before
   His highness shall speak in, I do beseech
   You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking
   And to say so no more.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   My lord, my lord,
   I am a simple woman, much too weak
   To oppose your cunning. You're meek and
   humble-mouth'd;
   You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,
   With meekness and humility; but your heart
   Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
   You have, by fortune and his highness' favours,
   Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted
   Where powers are your retainers, and your words,
   Domestics to you, serve your will as't please
   Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,
   You tender more your person's honour than
   Your high profession spiritual: that again
   I do refuse you for my judge; and here,
   Before you all, appeal unto the pope,
   To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness,
   And to be judged by him.
   She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   The queen is obstinate,
   Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
   Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well.
   She's going away.

KING HENRY VIII

   Call her again.

Crier

   Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.

GRIFFITH

   Madam, you are call'd back.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   What need you note it? pray you, keep your way:
   When you are call'd, return. Now, the Lord help,
   They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on:
   I will not tarry; no, nor ever more
   Upon this business my appearance make
   In any of their courts.
   Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants

KING HENRY VIII

   Go thy ways, Kate:
   That man i' the world who shall report he has
   A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
   For speaking false in that: thou art, alone,
   If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
   Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,
   Obeying in commanding, and thy parts
   Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,
   The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born;
   And, like her true nobility, she has
   Carried herself towards me.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Most gracious sir,
   In humblest manner I require your highness,
   That it shall please you to declare, in hearing
   Of all these ears,--for where I am robb'd and bound,
   There must I be unloosed, although not there
   At once and fully satisfied,--whether ever I
   Did broach this business to your highness; or
   Laid any scruple in your way, which might
   Induce you to the question on't? or ever
   Have to you, but with thanks to God for such
   A royal lady, spake one the least word that might
   Be to the prejudice of her present state,
   Or touch of her good person?

KING HENRY VIII

   My lord cardinal,
   I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,
   I free you from't. You are not to be taught
   That you have many enemies, that know not
   Why they are so, but, like to village-curs,
   Bark when their fellows do: by some of these
   The queen is put in anger. You're excused:
   But will you be more justified? You ever
   Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired
   It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft,
   The passages made toward it: on my honour,
   I speak my good lord cardinal to this point,
   And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to't,
   I will be bold with time and your attention:
   Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't:
   My conscience first received a tenderness,
   Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd
   By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador;
   Who had been hither sent on the debating
   A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and
   Our daughter Mary: i' the progress of this business,
   Ere a determinate resolution, he,
   I mean the bishop, did require a respite;
   Wherein he might the king his lord advertise
   Whether our daughter were legitimate,
   Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,
   Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook
   The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,
   Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
   The region of my breast; which forced such way,
   That many mazed considerings did throng
   And press'd in with this caution. First, methought
   I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had
   Commanded nature, that my lady's womb,
   If it conceived a male child by me, should
   Do no more offices of life to't than
   The grave does to the dead; for her male issue
   Or died where they were made, or shortly after
   This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought,
   This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom,
   Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not
   Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that
   I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in
   By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me
   Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in
   The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer
   Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
   Now present here together: that's to say,
   I meant to rectify my conscience,--which
   I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,--
   By all the reverend fathers of the land
   And doctors learn'd: first I began in private
   With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember
   How under my oppression I did reek,
   When I first moved you.

LINCOLN

   Very well, my liege.

KING HENRY VIII

   I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say
   How far you satisfied me.

LINCOLN

   So please your highness,
   The question did at first so stagger me,
   Bearing a state of mighty moment in't
   And consequence of dread, that I committed
   The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt;
   And did entreat your highness to this course
   Which you are running here.

KING HENRY VIII

   I then moved you,
   My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave
   To make this present summons: unsolicited
   I left no reverend person in this court;
   But by particular consent proceeded
   Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on:
   For no dislike i' the world against the person
   Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points
   Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward:
   Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life
   And kingly dignity, we are contented
   To wear our mortal state to come with her,
   Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
   That's paragon'd o' the world.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   So please your highness,
   The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness
   That we adjourn this court till further day:
   Meanwhile must be an earnest motion
   Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
   She intends unto his holiness.

KING HENRY VIII

   [Aside] I may perceive
   These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
   This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
   My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
   Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know,
   My comfort comes along. Break up the court:
   I say, set on.
   Exeunt in manner as they entered

ACT III SCENE I. London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments.

   Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work 

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles;
   Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working.
   SONG
   Orpheus with his lute made trees,
   And the mountain tops that freeze,
   Bow themselves when he did sing:
   To his music plants and flowers
   Ever sprung; as sun and showers
   There had made a lasting spring.
   Every thing that heard him play,
   Even the billows of the sea,
   Hung their heads, and then lay by.
   In sweet music is such art,
   Killing care and grief of heart
   Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
   Enter a Gentleman

QUEEN KATHARINE

   How now!

Gentleman

   An't please your grace, the two great cardinals
   Wait in the presence.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Would they speak with me?

Gentleman

   They will'd me say so, madam.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Pray their graces
   To come near.
   Exit Gentleman
   What can be their business
   With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour?
   I do not like their coming. Now I think on't,
   They should be good men; their affairs as righteous:
   But all hoods make not monks.
   Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Peace to your highness!

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Your graces find me here part of a housewife,
   I would be all, against the worst may happen.
   What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   May it please you noble madam, to withdraw
   Into your private chamber, we shall give you
   The full cause of our coming.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Speak it here:
   There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,
   Deserves a corner: would all other women
   Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!
   My lords, I care not, so much I am happy
   Above a number, if my actions
   Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em,
   Envy and base opinion set against 'em,
   I know my life so even. If your business
   Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,
   Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina
   serenissima,--

QUEEN KATHARINE

   O, good my lord, no Latin;
   I am not such a truant since my coming,
   As not to know the language I have lived in:
   A strange tongue makes my cause more strange,
   suspicious;
   Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you,
   If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake;
   Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal,
   The willing'st sin I ever yet committed
   May be absolved in English.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Noble lady,
   I am sorry my integrity should breed,
   And service to his majesty and you,
   So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.
   We come not by the way of accusation,
   To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,
   Nor to betray you any way to sorrow,
   You have too much, good lady; but to know
   How you stand minded in the weighty difference
   Between the king and you; and to deliver,
   Like free and honest men, our just opinions
   And comforts to your cause.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Most honour'd madam,
   My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,
   Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace,
   Forgetting, like a good man your late censure
   Both of his truth and him, which was too far,
   Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
   His service and his counsel.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   [Aside] To betray me.--
   My lords, I thank you both for your good wills;
   Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so!
   But how to make ye suddenly an answer,
   In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,--
   More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit,
   And to such men of gravity and learning,
   In truth, I know not. I was set at work
   Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking
   Either for such men or such business.
   For her sake that I have been,--for I feel
   The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces,
   Let me have time and counsel for my cause:
   Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears:
   Your hopes and friends are infinite.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   In England
   But little for my profit: can you think, lords,
   That any Englishman dare give me counsel?
   Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure,
   Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,
   And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,
   They that must weigh out my afflictions,
   They that my trust must grow to, live not here:
   They are, as all my other comforts, far hence
   In mine own country, lords.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   I would your grace
   Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   How, sir?

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Put your main cause into the king's protection;
   He's loving and most gracious: 'twill be much
   Both for your honour better and your cause;
   For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye,
   You'll part away disgraced.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   He tells you rightly.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin:
   Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye!
   Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge
   That no king can corrupt.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Your rage mistakes us.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye,
   Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;
   But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye:
   Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?
   The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady,
   A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?
   I will not wish ye half my miseries;
   I have more charity: but say, I warn'd ye;
   Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once
   The burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Madam, this is a mere distraction;
   You turn the good we offer into envy.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye
   And all such false professors! would you have me--
   If you have any justice, any pity;
   If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits--
   Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
   Alas, has banish'd me his bed already,
   His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords,
   And all the fellowship I hold now with him
   Is only my obedience. What can happen
   To me above this wretchedness? all your studies
   Make me a curse like this.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Your fears are worse.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself,
   Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one?
   A woman, I dare say without vain-glory,
   Never yet branded with suspicion?
   Have I with all my full affections
   Still met the king? loved him next heaven?
   obey'd him?
   Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?
   Almost forgot my prayers to content him?
   And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords.
   Bring me a constant woman to her husband,
   One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure;
   And to that woman, when she has done most,
   Yet will I add an honour, a great patience.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,
   To give up willingly that noble title
   Your master wed me to: nothing but death
   Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Pray, hear me.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Would I had never trod this English earth,
   Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!
   Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.
   What will become of me now, wretched lady!
   I am the most unhappy woman living.
   Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes!
   Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
   No friend, no hope; no kindred weep for me;
   Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily,
   That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd,
   I'll hang my head and perish.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   If your grace
   Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,
   You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady,
   Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places,
   The way of our profession is against it:
   We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.
   For goodness' sake, consider what you do;
   How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly
   Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage.
   The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
   So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits
   They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
   I know you have a gentle, noble temper,
   A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us
   Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

   Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues
   With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit,
   As yours was put into you, ever casts
   Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you;
   Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please
   To trust us in your business, we are ready
   To use our utmost studies in your service.

QUEEN KATHARINE

   Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me,
   If I have used myself unmannerly;
   You know I am a woman, lacking wit
   To make a seemly answer to such persons.
   Pray, do my service to his majesty:
   He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers
   While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,
   Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs,
   That little thought, when she set footing here,
   She should have bought her dignities so dear.
   Exeunt

SCENE II. Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment.

   Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain 

NORFOLK

   If you will now unite in your complaints,
   And force them with a constancy, the cardinal
   Cannot stand under them: if you omit
   The offer of this time, I cannot promise
   But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces,
   With these you bear already.

SURREY

   I am joyful
   To meet the least occasion that may give me
   Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke,
   To be revenged on him.

SUFFOLK

   Which of the peers
   Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
   Strangely neglected? when did he regard
   The stamp of nobleness in any person
   Out of himself?

Chamberlain

   My lords, you speak your pleasures:
   What he deserves of you and me I know;
   What we can do to him, though now the time
   Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot
   Bar his access to the king, never attempt
   Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft
   Over the king in's tongue.

NORFOLK

   O, fear him not;
   His spell in that is out: the king hath found
   Matter against him that for ever mars
   The honey of his language. No, he's settled,
   Not to come off, in his displeasure.

SURREY

   Sir,
   I should be glad to hear such news as this
   Once every hour.

NORFOLK

   Believe it, this is true:
   In the divorce his contrary proceedings
   Are all unfolded wherein he appears
   As I would wish mine enemy.

SURREY

   How came
   His practises to light?

SUFFOLK

   Most strangely.

SURREY

   O, how, how?

SUFFOLK

   The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried,
   And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read,
   How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness
   To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if
   It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive
   My king is tangled in affection to
   A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.'

SURREY

   Has the king this?

SUFFOLK

   Believe it.

SURREY

   Will this work?

Chamberlain

   The king in this perceives him, how he coasts
   And hedges his own way. But in this point
   All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic
   After his patient's death: the king already
   Hath married the fair lady.

SURREY

   Would he had!

SUFFOLK

   May you be happy in your wish, my lord
   For, I profess, you have it.

SURREY

   Now, all my joy
   Trace the conjunction!

SUFFOLK

   My amen to't!

NORFOLK

   All men's!

SUFFOLK

   There's order given for her coronation:
   Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left
   To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords,
   She is a gallant creature, and complete
   In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her
   Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall
   In it be memorised.

SURREY

   But, will the king
   Digest this letter of the cardinal's?
   The Lord forbid!

NORFOLK

   Marry, amen!

SUFFOLK

   No, no;
   There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose
   Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius
   Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;
   Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and
   Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal,
   To second all his plot. I do assure you
   The king cried Ha! at this.

Chamberlain

   Now, God incense him,
   And let him cry Ha! louder!

NORFOLK

   But, my lord,
   When returns Cranmer?

SUFFOLK

   He is return'd in his opinions; which
   Have satisfied the king for his divorce,
   Together with all famous colleges
   Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe,
   His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
   Her coronation. Katharine no more
   Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager
   And widow to Prince Arthur.

NORFOLK

   This same Cranmer's
   A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain
   In the king's business.

SUFFOLK

   He has; and we shall see him
   For it an archbishop.

NORFOLK

   So I hear.

SUFFOLK

   'Tis so.
   The cardinal!
   Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL

NORFOLK

   Observe, observe, he's moody.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   The packet, Cromwell.
   Gave't you the king?

CROMWELL

   To his own hand, in's bedchamber.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Look'd he o' the inside of the paper?

CROMWELL

   Presently
   He did unseal them: and the first he view'd,
   He did it with a serious mind; a heed
   Was in his countenance. You he bade
   Attend him here this morning.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Is he ready
   To come abroad?

CROMWELL

   I think, by this he is.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Leave me awhile.
   Exit CROMWELL
   Aside
   It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,
   The French king's sister: he shall marry her.
   Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him:
   There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen!
   No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish
   To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!

NORFOLK

   He's discontented.

SUFFOLK

   May be, he hears the king
   Does whet his anger to him.

SURREY

   Sharp enough,
   Lord, for thy justice!

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   [Aside] The late queen's gentlewoman,
   a knight's daughter,
   To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen!
   This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it;
   Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuous
   And well deserving? yet I know her for
   A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to
   Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of
   Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up
   An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one
   Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
   And is his oracle.

NORFOLK

   He is vex'd at something.

SURREY

   I would 'twere something that would fret the string,
   The master-cord on's heart!
   Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL

SUFFOLK

   The king, the king!

KING HENRY VIII

   What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
   To his own portion! and what expense by the hour
   Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift,
   Does he rake this together! Now, my lords,
   Saw you the cardinal?

NORFOLK

   My lord, we have
   Stood here observing him: some strange commotion
   Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts;
   Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,
   Then lays his finger on his temple, straight
   Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,
   Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts
   His eye against the moon: in most strange postures
   We have seen him set himself.

KING HENRY VIII

   It may well be;
   There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning
   Papers of state he sent me to peruse,
   As I required: and wot you what I found
   There,--on my conscience, put unwittingly?
   Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing;
   The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,
   Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which
   I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks
   Possession of a subject.

NORFOLK

   It's heaven's will:
   Some spirit put this paper in the packet,
   To bless your eye withal.

KING HENRY VIII

   If we did think
   His contemplation were above the earth,
   And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still
   Dwell in his musings: but I am afraid
   His thinkings are below the moon, not worth
   His serious considering.
   King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL, who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Heaven forgive me!
   Ever God bless your highness!

KING HENRY VIII

   Good my lord,
   You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory
   Of your best graces in your mind; the which
   You were now running o'er: you have scarce time
   To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span
   To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that
   I deem you an ill husband, and am glad
   To have you therein my companion.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Sir,
   For holy offices I have a time; a time
   To think upon the part of business which
   I bear i' the state; and nature does require
   Her times of preservation, which perforce
   I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,
   Must give my tendence to.

KING HENRY VIII

   You have said well.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   And ever may your highness yoke together,
   As I will lend you cause, my doing well
   With my well saying!

KING HENRY VIII

   'Tis well said again;
   And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well:
   And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you:
   His said he did; and with his deed did crown
   His word upon you. Since I had my office,
   I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
   Employ'd you where high profits might come home,
   But pared my present havings, to bestow
   My bounties upon you.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   [Aside] What should this mean?

SURREY

   [Aside] The Lord increase this business!

KING HENRY VIII

   Have I not made you,
   The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me,
   If what I now pronounce you have found true:
   And, if you may confess it, say withal,
   If you are bound to us or no. What say you?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
   Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could
   My studied purposes requite; which went
   Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours
   Have ever come too short of my desires,
   Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends
   Have been mine so that evermore they pointed
   To the good of your most sacred person and
   The profit of the state. For your great graces
   Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I
   Can nothing render but allegiant thanks,
   My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty,
   Which ever has and ever shall be growing,
   Till death, that winter, kill it.

KING HENRY VIII

   Fairly answer'd;
   A loyal and obedient subject is
   Therein illustrated: the honour of it
   Does pay the act of it; as, i' the contrary,
   The foulness is the punishment. I presume
   That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you,
   My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, more
   On you than any; so your hand and heart,
   Your brain, and every function of your power,
   Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
   As 'twere in love's particular, be more
   To me, your friend, than any.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   I do profess
   That for your highness' good I ever labour'd
   More than mine own; that am, have, and will be--
   Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
   And throw it from their soul; though perils did
   Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, and
   Appear in forms more horrid,--yet my duty,
   As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
   Should the approach of this wild river break,
   And stand unshaken yours.

KING HENRY VIII

   'Tis nobly spoken:
   Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,
   For you have seen him open't. Read o'er this;
   Giving him papers
   And after, this: and then to breakfast with
   What appetite you have.
   Exit KING HENRY VIII, frowning upon CARDINAL WOLSEY: the Nobles throng after him, smiling and whispering

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   What should this mean?
   What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
   He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
   Leap'd from his eyes: so looks the chafed lion
   Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him;
   Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;
   I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;
   This paper has undone me: 'tis the account
   Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
   For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedom,
   And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence!
   Fit for a fool to fall by: what cross devil
   Made me put this main secret in the packet
   I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?
   No new device to beat this from his brains?
   I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know
   A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune
   Will bring me off again. What's this? 'To the Pope!'
   The letter, as I live, with all the business
   I writ to's holiness. Nay then, farewell!
   I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;
   And, from that full meridian of my glory,
   I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
   Like a bright exhalation m the evening,
   And no man see me more.
   Re-enter to CARDINAL WOLSEY, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK, SURREY, and the Chamberlain

NORFOLK

   Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal: who commands you
   To render up the great seal presently
   Into our hands; and to confine yourself
   To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's,
   Till you hear further from his highness.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Stay:
   Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry
   Authority so weighty.

SUFFOLK

   Who dare cross 'em,
   Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Till I find more than will or words to do it,
   I mean your malice, know, officious lords,
   I dare and must deny it. Now I feel
   Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy:
   How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,
   As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton
   Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!
   Follow your envious courses, men of malice;
   You have Christian warrant for 'em, and, no doubt,
   In time will find their fit rewards. That seal,
   You ask with such a violence, the king,
   Mine and your master, with his own hand gave me;
   Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,
   During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,
   Tied it by letters-patents: now, who'll take it?

SURREY

   The king, that gave it.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   It must be himself, then.

SURREY

   Thou art a proud traitor, priest.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Proud lord, thou liest:
   Within these forty hours Surrey durst better
   Have burnt that tongue than said so.

SURREY

   Thy ambition,
   Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
   Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law:
   The heads of all thy brother cardinals,
   With thee and all thy best parts bound together,
   Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
   You sent me deputy for Ireland;
   Far from his succor, from the king, from all
   That might have mercy on the fault thou gavest him;
   Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
   Absolved him with an axe.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   This, and all else
   This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
   I answer is most false. The duke by law
   Found his deserts: how innocent I was
   From any private malice in his end,
   His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
   If I loved many words, lord, I should tell you
   You have as little honesty as honour,
   That in the way of loyalty and truth
   Toward the king, my ever royal master,
   Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be,
   And all that love his follies.

SURREY

   By my soul,
   Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou
   shouldst feel
   My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords,
   Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?
   And from this fellow? if we live thus tamely,
   To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,
   Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward,
   And dare us with his cap like larks.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   All goodness
   Is poison to thy stomach.

SURREY

   Yes, that goodness
   Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
   Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion;
   The goodness of your intercepted packets
   You writ to the pope against the king: your goodness,
   Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.
   My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,
   As you respect the common good, the state
   Of our despised nobility, our issues,
   Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,
   Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
   Collected from his life. I'll startle you
   Worse than the scaring bell, when the brown wench
   Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   How much, methinks, I could despise this man,
   But that I am bound in charity against it!

NORFOLK

   Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand:
   But, thus much, they are foul ones.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   So much fairer
   And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
   When the king knows my truth.

SURREY

   This cannot save you:
   I thank my memory, I yet remember
   Some of these articles; and out they shall.
   Now, if you can blush and cry 'guilty,' cardinal,
   You'll show a little honesty.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Speak on, sir;
   I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
   It is to see a nobleman want manners.

SURREY

   I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!
   First, that, without the king's assent or knowledge,
   You wrought to be a legate; by which power
   You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.

NORFOLK

   Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else
   To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus'
   Was still inscribed; in which you brought the king
   To be your servant.

SUFFOLK

   Then that, without the knowledge
   Either of king or council, when you went
   Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold
   To carry into Flanders the great seal.

SURREY

   Item, you sent a large commission
   To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,
   Without the king's will or the state's allowance,
   A league between his highness and Ferrara.

SUFFOLK

   That, out of mere ambition, you have caused
   Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.

SURREY

   Then that you have sent innumerable substance--
   By what means got, I leave to your own conscience--
   To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
   You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
   Of all the kingdom. Many more there are;
   Which, since they are of you, and odious,
   I will not taint my mouth with.

Chamberlain

   O my lord,
   Press not a falling man too far! 'tis virtue:
   His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
   Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
   So little of his great self.

SURREY

   I forgive him.

SUFFOLK

   Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is,
   Because all those things you have done of late,
   By your power legatine, within this kingdom,
   Fall into the compass of a praemunire,
   That therefore such a writ be sued against you;
   To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
   Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
   Out of the king's protection. This is my charge.

NORFOLK

   And so we'll leave you to your meditations
   How to live better. For your stubborn answer
   About the giving back the great seal to us,
   The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.
   So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal.
   Exeunt all but CARDINAL WOLSEY

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   So farewell to the little good you bear me.
   Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
   This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
   The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
   And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
   The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
   And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
   His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
   And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
   Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
   This many summers in a sea of glory,
   But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
   At length broke under me and now has left me,
   Weary and old with service, to the mercy
   Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
   Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:
   I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched
   Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
   There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
   That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
   More pangs and fears than wars or women have:
   And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
   Never to hope again.
   Enter CROMWELL, and stands amazed
   Why, how now, Cromwell!

CROMWELL

   I have no power to speak, sir.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   What, amazed
   At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder
   A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
   I am fall'n indeed.

CROMWELL

   How does your grace?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Why, well;
   Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
   I know myself now; and I feel within me
   A peace above all earthly dignities,
   A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me,
   I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
   These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
   A load would sink a navy, too much honour:
   O, 'tis a burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen
   Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!

CROMWELL

   I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   I hope I have: I am able now, methinks,
   Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
   To endure more miseries and greater far
   Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
   What news abroad?

CROMWELL

   The heaviest and the worst
   Is your displeasure with the king.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   God bless him!

CROMWELL

   The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
   Lord chancellor in your place.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   That's somewhat sudden:
   But he's a learned man. May he continue
   Long in his highness' favour, and do justice
   For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones,
   When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,
   May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on em! What more?

CROMWELL

   That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
   Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   That's news indeed.

CROMWELL

   Last, that the Lady Anne,
   Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
   This day was view'd in open as his queen,
   Going to chapel; and the voice is now
   Only about her coronation.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell,
   The king has gone beyond me: all my glories
   In that one woman I have lost for ever:
   No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
   Or gild again the noble troops that waited
   Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
   I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now
   To be thy lord and master: seek the king;
   That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him
   What and how true thou art: he will advance thee;
   Some little memory of me will stir him--
   I know his noble nature--not to let
   Thy hopeful service perish too: good Cromwell,
   Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
   For thine own future safety.

CROMWELL

   O my lord,
   Must I, then, leave you? must I needs forego
   So good, so noble and so true a master?
   Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
   With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
   The king shall have my service: but my prayers
   For ever and for ever shall be yours.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
   In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
   Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
   Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
   And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
   And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
   Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee,
   Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
   And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
   Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
   A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
   Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
   Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:
   By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
   The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
   Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
   Corruption wins not more than honesty.
   Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
   To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
   Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
   Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st,
   O Cromwell,
   Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king;
   And,--prithee, lead me in:
   There take an inventory of all I have,
   To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
   And my integrity to heaven, is all
   I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!
   Had I but served my God with half the zeal
   I served my king, he would not in mine age
   Have left me naked to mine enemies.

CROMWELL

   Good sir, have patience.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

   So I have. Farewell
   The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.
   Exeunt

ACT IV SCENE I. A street in Westminster.

   Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another 

First Gentleman

   You're well met once again.

Second Gentleman

   So are you.

First Gentleman

   You come to take your stand here, and behold
   The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?

Second Gentleman

   'Tis all my business. At our last encounter,
   The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.

First Gentleman

   'Tis very true: but that time offer'd sorrow;
   This, general joy.

Second Gentleman

   'Tis well: the citizens,
   I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds--
   As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward--
   In celebration of this day with shows,
   Pageants and sights of honour.

First Gentleman

   Never greater,
   Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.

Second Gentleman

   May I be bold to ask at what that contains,
   That paper in your hand?

First Gentleman

   Yes; 'tis the list
   Of those that claim their offices this day
   By custom of the coronation.
   The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
   To be high-steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,
   He to be earl marshal: you may read the rest.

Second Gentleman

   I thank you, sir: had I not known those customs,
   I should have been beholding to your paper.
   But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
   The princess dowager? how goes her business?

First Gentleman

   That I can tell you too. The Archbishop
   Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
   Learned and reverend fathers of his order,
   Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
   From Ampthill where the princess lay; to which
   She was often cited by them, but appear'd not:
   And, to be short, for not appearance and
   The king's late scruple, by the main assent
   Of all these learned men she was divorced,
   And the late marriage made of none effect
   Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,
   Where she remains now sick.

Second Gentleman

   Alas, good lady!
   Trumpets
   The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming.
   Hautboys
   THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION
   1. A lively flourish of Trumpets.
   2. Then, two Judges.
   3. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace
   before him.
   4. Choristers, singing.
   Music
   5. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then
   Garter, in his coat of arms, and on his
   head a gilt copper crown.
   6. Marquess Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold,
   on his head a demi-coronal of gold. With
   him, SURREY, bearing the rod of silver with
   the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet.
   Collars of SS.
   7. SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet
   on his head, bearing a long white wand, as
   high-steward. With him, NORFOLK, with the
   rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head.
   Collars of SS.
   8. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports;
   under it, QUEEN ANNE in her robe; in her hair
   richly adorned with pearl, crowned. On each
   side her, the Bishops of London and
   Winchester.
   9. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of
   gold, wrought with flowers, bearing QUEEN
   ANNE's train.
   10. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain
   circlets of gold without flowers.
   They pass over the stage in order and state

Second Gentleman

   A royal train, believe me. These I know:
   Who's that that bears the sceptre?

First Gentleman

   Marquess Dorset:
   And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.

Second Gentleman

   A bold brave gentleman. That should be
   The Duke of Suffolk?

First Gentleman

   'Tis the same: high-steward.

Second Gentleman

   And that my Lord of Norfolk?

First Gentleman

   Yes;

Second Gentleman

   Heaven bless thee!
   Looking on QUEEN ANNE
   Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.
   Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;
   Our king has all the Indies in his arms,
   And more and richer, when he strains that lady:
   I cannot blame his conscience.

First Gentleman

   They that bear
   The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
   Of the Cinque-ports.

Second Gentleman

   Those men are happy; and so are all are near her.
   I take it, she that carries up the train
   Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.

First Gentleman

   It is; and all the rest are countesses.

Second Gentleman

   Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed;
   And sometimes falling ones.

First Gentleman

   No more of that.
   Exit procession, and then a great flourish of trumpets
   Enter a third Gentleman

First Gentleman

   God save you, sir! where have you been broiling?

Third Gentleman

   Among the crowd i' the Abbey; where a finger
   Could not be wedged in more: I am stifled
   With the mere rankness of their joy.

Second Gentleman

   You saw
   The ceremony?

Third Gentleman

   That I did.

First Gentleman

   How was it?

Third Gentleman

   Well worth the seeing.

Second Gentleman

   Good sir, speak it to us.

Third Gentleman

   As well as I am able. The rich stream
   Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen
   To a prepared place in the choir, fell off
   A distance from her; while her grace sat down
   To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,
   In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
   The beauty of her person to the people.
   Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
   That ever lay by man: which when the people
   Had the full view of, such a noise arose
   As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
   As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks--
   Doublets, I think,--flew up; and had their faces
   Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
   I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
   That had not half a week to go, like rams
   In the old time of war, would shake the press,
   And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living
   Could say 'This is my wife' there; all were woven
   So strangely in one piece.

Second Gentleman

   But, what follow'd?

Third Gentleman

   At length her grace rose, and with modest paces
   Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saint-like
   Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly.
   Then rose again and bow'd her to the people:
   When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
   She had all the royal makings of a queen;
   As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
   The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
   Laid nobly on her: which perform'd, the choir,
   With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
   Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted,
   And with the same full state paced back again
   To York-place, where the feast is held.

First Gentleman

   Sir,
   You must no more call it York-place, that's past;
   For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost:
   'Tis now the king's, and call'd Whitehall.

Third Gentleman

   I know it;
   But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
   Is fresh about me.

Second Gentleman

   What two reverend bishops
   Were those that went on each side of the queen?

Third Gentleman

   Stokesly and Gardiner; the one of Winchester,
   Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,
   The other, London.

Second Gentleman

   He of Winchester
   Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's,
   The virtuous Cranmer.

Third Gentleman

   All the land knows that:
   However, yet there is no great breach; when it comes,
   Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.

Second Gentleman

   Who may that be, I pray you?

Third Gentleman

   Thomas Cromwell;
   A man in much esteem with the king, and truly
   A worthy friend. The king has made him master
   O' the jewel house,
   And one, already, of the privy council.

Second Gentleman

   He will deserve more.

Third Gentleman

   Yes, without all doubt.
   Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
   Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests:
   Something I can command. As I walk thither,
   I'll tell ye more.

Both

   You may command us, sir.
   Exeunt

SCENE II. Kimbolton.

   Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her gentleman usher, and PATIENCE, her woman 

GRIFFITH

   How does your grace?

KATHARINE

   O Griffith, sick to death!
   My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth,
   Willing to leave their burthen. Reach a chair:
   So; now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
   Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
   That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead?

GRIFFITH

   Yes, madam; but I think your grace,
   Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

KATHARINE

   Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died:
   If well, he stepp'd before me, happily
   For my example.

GRIFFITH

   Well, the voice goes, madam:
   For after the stout Earl Northumberland
   Arrested him at York, and brought him forward,
   As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,
   He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill
   He could not sit his mule.

KATHARINE

   Alas, poor man!

GRIFFITH

   At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
   Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
   With all his covent, honourably received him;
   To whom he gave these words, 'O, father abbot,
   An old man, broken with the storms of state,
   Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
   Give him a little earth for charity!'
   So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness
   Pursued him still: and, three nights after this,
   About the hour of eight, which he himself
   Foretold should be his last, full of repentance,
   Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
   He gave his honours to the world again,
   His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

KATHARINE

   So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!
   Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
   And yet with charity. He was a man
   Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
   Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion,
   Tied all the kingdom: simony was fair-play;
   His own opinion was his law: i' the presence
   He would say untruths; and be ever double
   Both in his words and meaning: he was never,
   But where he meant to ruin, pitiful:
   His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
   But his performance, as he is now, nothing:
   Of his own body he was ill, and gave
   The clergy in example.

GRIFFITH

   Noble madam,
   Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
   We write in water. May it please your highness
   To hear me speak his good now?

KATHARINE

   Yes, good Griffith;
   I were malicious else.

GRIFFITH

   This cardinal,
   Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
   Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle.
   He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one;
   Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading:
   Lofty and sour to them that loved him not;
   But to those men that sought him sweet as summer.
   And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
   Which was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam,
   He was most princely: ever witness for him
   Those twins Of learning that he raised in you,
   Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
   Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
   The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
   So excellent in art, and still so rising,
   That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
   His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
   For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
   And found the blessedness of being little:
   And, to add greater honours to his age
   Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

KATHARINE

   After my death I wish no other herald,
   No other speaker of my living actions,
   To keep mine honour from corruption,
   But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
   Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
   With thy religious truth and modesty,
   Now in his ashes honour: peace be with him!
   Patience, be near me still; and set me lower:
   I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,
   Cause the musicians play me that sad note
   I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating
   On that celestial harmony I go to.
   Sad and solemn music

GRIFFITH

   She is asleep: good wench, let's sit down quiet,
   For fear we wake her: softly, gentle Patience.
   The vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six personages, clad in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards on their faces; branches of bays or palm in their hands. They first congee unto her, then dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head; at which the other four make reverent curtsies; then the two that held the garland deliver the same to the other next two, who observe the same order in their changes, and holding the garland over her head: which done, they deliver the same garland to the last two, who likewise observe the same order: at which, as it were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven: and so in their dancing vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues

KATHARINE

   Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye all gone,
   And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?

GRIFFITH

   Madam, we are here.

KATHARINE

   It is not you I call for:
   Saw ye none enter since I slept?

GRIFFITH

   None, madam.

KATHARINE

   No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop
   Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
   Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?
   They promised me eternal happiness;
   And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
   I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall, assuredly.

GRIFFITH

   I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
   Possess your fancy.

KATHARINE

   Bid the music leave,
   They are harsh and heavy to me.
   Music ceases

PATIENCE

   Do you note
   How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
   How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks,
   And of an earthy cold? Mark her eyes!

GRIFFITH

   She is going, wench: pray, pray.

PATIENCE

   Heaven comfort her!
   Enter a Messenger

Messenger

   An't like your grace,--

KATHARINE

   You are a saucy fellow:
   Deserve we no more reverence?

GRIFFITH

   You are to blame,
   Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
   To use so rude behavior; go to, kneel.

Messenger

   I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
   My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
   A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.

KATHARINE

   Admit him entrance, Griffith: but this fellow
   Let me ne'er see again.
   Exeunt GRIFFITH and Messenger
   Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUS
   If my sight fail not,
   You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
   My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.

CAPUCIUS

   Madam, the same; your servant.

KATHARINE

   O, my lord,
   The times and titles now are alter'd strangely
   With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
   What is your pleasure with me?

CAPUCIUS

   Noble lady,
   First mine own service to your grace; the next,
   The king's request that I would visit you;
   Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
   Sends you his princely commendations,
   And heartily entreats you take good comfort.

KATHARINE

   O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;
   'Tis like a pardon after execution:
   That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me;
   But now I am past an comforts here, but prayers.
   How does his highness?

CAPUCIUS

   Madam, in good health.

KATHARINE

   So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
   When I shal l dwell with worms, and my poor name
   Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter,
   I caused you write, yet sent away?

PATIENCE

   No, madam.
   Giving it to KATHARINE

KATHARINE

   Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
   This to my lord the king.

CAPUCIUS

   Most willing, madam.

KATHARINE

   In which I have commended to his goodness
   The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter;
   The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!
   Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding--
   She is young, and of a noble modest nature,
   I hope she will deserve well,--and a little
   To love her for her mother's sake, that loved him,
   Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
   Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
   Upon my wretched women, that so long
   Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully:
   Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
   And now I should not lie, but will deserve
   For virtue and true beauty of the soul,
   For honesty and decent carriage,
   A right good husband, let him be a noble
   And, sure, those men are happy that shall have 'em.
   The last is, for my men; they are the poorest,
   But poverty could never draw 'em from me;
   That they may have their wages duly paid 'em,
   And something over to remember me by:
   If heaven had pleased to have given me longer life
   And able means, we had not parted thus.
   These are the whole contents: and, good my lord,
   By that you love the dearest in this world,
   As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,
   Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king
   To do me this last right.

CAPUCIUS

   By heaven, I will,
   Or let me lose the fashion of a man!

KATHARINE

   I thank you, honest lord. Remember me
   In all humility unto his highness:
   Say his long trouble now is passing
   Out of this world; tell him, in death I bless'd him,
   For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,
   My lord. Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience,
   You must not leave me yet: I must to bed;
   Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench,
   Let me be used with honour: strew me over
   With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
   I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me,
   Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like
   A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
   I can no more.
   Exeunt, leading KATHARINE

ACT V SCENE I. London. A gallery in the palace.

   Enter GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a torch before him, met by LOVELL 

GARDINER

   It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?

Boy

   It hath struck.

GARDINER

   These should be hours for necessities,
   Not for delights; times to repair our nature
   With comforting repose, and not for us
   To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!
   Whither so late?

LOVELL

   Came you from the king, my lord

GARDINER

   I did, Sir Thomas: and left him at primero
   With the Duke of Suffolk.

LOVELL

   I must to him too,
   Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.

GARDINER

   Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter?
   It seems you are in haste: an if there be
   No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
   Some touch of your late business: affairs, that walk,
   As they say spirits do, at midnight, have
   In them a wilder nature than the business
   That seeks dispatch by day.

LOVELL

   My lord, I love you;
   And durst commend a secret to your ear
   Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour,
   They say, in great extremity; and fear'd
   She'll with the labour end.

GARDINER

   The fruit she goes with
   I pray for heartily, that it may find
   Good time, and live: but for the stock, Sir Thomas,
   I wish it grubb'd up now.

LOVELL

   Methinks I could
   Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says
   She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
   Deserve our better wishes.

GARDINER

   But, sir, sir,
   Hear me, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman
   Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
   And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,
   'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me,
   Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,
   Sleep in their graves.

LOVELL

   Now, sir, you speak of two
   The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell,
   Beside that of the jewel house, is made master
   O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir,
   Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments,
   With which the time will load him. The archbishop
   Is the king's hand and tongue; and who dare speak
   One syllable against him?

GARDINER

   Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,
   There are that dare; and I myself have ventured
   To speak my mind of him: and indeed this day,
   Sir, I may tell it you, I think I have
   Incensed the lords o' the council, that he is,
   For so I know he is, they know he is,
   A most arch heretic, a pestilence
   That does infect the land: with which they moved
   Have broken with the king; who hath so far
   Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace
   And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs
   Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded
   To-morrow morning to the council-board
   He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas,
   And we must root him out. From your affairs
   I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas.

LOVELL

   Many good nights, my lord: I rest your servant.
   Exeunt GARDINER and Page
   Enter KING HENRY VIII and SUFFOLK

KING HENRY VIII

   Charles, I will play no more tonight;
   My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.

SUFFOLK

   Sir, I did never win of you before.

KING HENRY VIII

   But little, Charles;
   Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.
   Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news?

LOVELL

   I could not personally deliver to her
   What you commanded me, but by her woman
   I sent your message; who return'd her thanks
   In the great'st humbleness, and desired your highness
   Most heartily to pray for her.

KING HENRY VIII

   What say'st thou, ha?
   To pray for her? what, is she crying out?

LOVELL

   So said her woman; and that her sufferance made
   Almost each pang a death.

KING HENRY VIII

   Alas, good lady!

SUFFOLK

   God safely quit her of her burthen, and
   With gentle travail, to the gladding of
   Your highness with an heir!

KING HENRY VIII

   'Tis midnight, Charles;
   Prithee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
   The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
   For I must think of that which company
   Would not be friendly to.

SUFFOLK

   I wish your highness
   A quiet night; and my good mistress will
   Remember in my prayers.

KING HENRY VIII

   Charles, good night.
   Exit SUFFOLK
   Enter DENNY
   Well, sir, what follows?

DENNY

   Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop,
   As you commanded me.

KING HENRY VIII

   Ha! Canterbury?

DENNY

   Ay, my good lord.

KING HENRY VIII

   'Tis true: where is he, Denny?

DENNY

   He attends your highness' pleasure.
   Exit DENNY

LOVELL

   [Aside] This is about that which the bishop spake:
   I am happily come hither.
   Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER

KING HENRY VIII

   Avoid the gallery.
   LOVELL seems to stay
   Ha! I have said. Be gone. What!
   Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY

CRANMER

   [Aside]
   I am fearful: wherefore frowns he thus?
   'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.

KING HENRY VIII

   How now, my lord! you desire to know
   Wherefore I sent for you.

CRANMER

   [Kneeling] It is my duty
   To attend your highness' pleasure.

KING HENRY VIII

   Pray you, arise,
   My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.
   Come, you and I must walk a turn together;
   I have news to tell you: come, come, give me your hand.
   Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
   And am right sorry to repeat what follows
   I have, and most unwillingly, of late
   Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,
   Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
   Have moved us and our council, that you shall
   This morning come before us; where, I know,
   You cannot with such freedom purge yourself,
   But that, till further trial in those charges
   Which will require your answer, you must take
   Your patience to you, and be well contented
   To make your house our Tower: you a brother of us,
   It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
   Would come against you.

CRANMER

   [Kneeling]
   I humbly thank your highness;
   And am right glad to catch this good occasion
   Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
   And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know,
   There's none stands under more calumnious tongues
   Than I myself, poor man.

KING HENRY VIII

   Stand up, good Canterbury:
   Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
   In us, thy friend: give me thy hand, stand up:
   Prithee, let's walk. Now, by my holidame.
   What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
   You would have given me your petition, that
   I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
   Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you,
   Without indurance, further.

CRANMER

   Most dread liege,
   The good I stand on is my truth and honesty:
   If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies,
   Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not,
   Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
   What can be said against me.

KING HENRY VIII

   Know you not
   How your state stands i' the world, with the whole world?
   Your enemies are many, and not small; their practises
   Must bear the same proportion; and not ever
   The justice and the truth o' the question carries
   The due o' the verdict with it: at what ease
   Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt
   To swear against you? such things have been done.
   You are potently opposed; and with a malice
   Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,
   I mean, in perjured witness, than your master,
   Whose minister you are, whiles here he lived
   Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to;
   You take a precipice for no leap of danger,
   And woo your own destruction.

CRANMER

   God and your majesty
   Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
   The trap is laid for me!

KING HENRY VIII

   Be of good cheer;
   They shall no more prevail than we give way to.
   Keep comfort to you; and this morning see
   You do appear before them: if they shall chance,
   In charging you with matters, to commit you,
   The best persuasions to the contrary
   Fail not to use, and with what vehemency
   The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties
   Will render you no remedy, this ring
   Deliver them, and your appeal to us
   There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!
   He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother!
   I swear he is true--hearted; and a soul
   None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,
   And do as I have bid you.
   Exit CRANMER
   He has strangled
   His language in his tears.
   Enter Old Lady, LOVELL following

Gentleman

   [Within] Come back: what mean you?

Old Lady

   I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring
   Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels
   Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
   Under their blessed wings!

KING HENRY VIII

   Now, by thy looks
   I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd?
   Say, ay; and of a boy.

Old Lady

   Ay, ay, my liege;
   And of a lovely boy: the God of heaven
   Both now and ever bless her! 'tis a girl,
   Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen
   Desires your visitation, and to be
   Acquainted with this stranger 'tis as like you
   As cherry is to cherry.

KING HENRY VIII

   Lovell!

LOVELL

   Sir?

KING HENRY VIII

   Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the queen.
   Exit

Old Lady

   An hundred marks! By this light, I'll ha' more.
   An ordinary groom is for such payment.
   I will have more, or scold it out of him.
   Said I for this, the girl was like to him?
   I will have more, or else unsay't; and now,
   While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue.
   Exeunt

SCENE II. Before the council-chamber. Pursuivants, Pages, & c.

   attending.
   Enter CRANMER

CRANMER

   I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman,
   That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me
   To make great haste. All fast? what means this? Ho!
   Who waits there? Sure, you know me?
   Enter Keeper

Keeper

   Yes, my lord;
   But yet I cannot help you.

CRANMER

   Why?
   Enter DOCTOR BUTTS

Keeper

   Your grace must wait till you be call'd for.

CRANMER

   So.

DOCTOR BUTTS

   [Aside] This is a piece of malice. I am glad
   I came this way so happily: the king
   Shall understand it presently.
   Exit

CRANMER

   [Aside] 'Tis Butts,
   The king's physician: as he pass'd along,
   How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
   Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain,
   This is of purpose laid by some that hate me--
   God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice--
   To quench mine honour: they would shame to make me
   Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor,
   'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures
   Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.
   Enter the KING HENRY VIII and DOCTOR BUTTS at a window above

DOCTOR BUTTS

   I'll show your grace the strangest sight--

KING HENRY VIII

   What's that, Butts?

DOCTOR BUTTS

   I think your highness saw this many a day.

KING HENRY VIII

   Body o' me, where is it?

DOCTOR BUTTS

   There, my lord:
   The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury;
   Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,
   Pages, and footboys.

KING HENRY VIII

   Ha! 'tis he, indeed:
   Is this the honour they do one another?
   'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought
   They had parted so much honesty among 'em
   At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer
   A man of his place, and so near our favour,
   To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
   And at the door too, like a post with packets.
   By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery:
   Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close:
   We shall hear more anon.
   Exeunt

SCENE III. The Council-Chamber.

   Enter Chancellor; places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand; a seat being left void above him, as for CRANMER's seat. SUFFOLK, NORFOLK, SURREY, Chamberlain, GARDINER, seat themselves in order on each side. CROMWELL at lower end, as secretary. Keeper at the door 

Chancellor

   Speak to the business, master-secretary:
   Why are we met in council?

CROMWELL

   Please your honours,
   The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.

GARDINER

   Has he had knowledge of it?

CROMWELL

   Yes.

NORFOLK

   Who waits there?

Keeper

   Without, my noble lords?

GARDINER

   Yes.

Keeper

   My lord archbishop;
   And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.

Chancellor

   Let him come in.

Keeper

   Your grace may enter now.
   CRANMER enters and approaches the council-table

Chancellor

   My good lord archbishop, I'm very sorry
   To sit here at this present, and behold
   That chair stand empty: but we all are men,
   In our own natures frail, and capable
   Of our flesh; few are angels: out of which frailty
   And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
   Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
   Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
   The whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains,
   For so we are inform'd, with new opinions,
   Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,
   And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

GARDINER

   Which reformation must be sudden too,
   My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses
   Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
   But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 'em,
   Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,
   Out of our easiness and childish pity
   To one man's honour, this contagious sickness,
   Farewell all physic: and what follows then?
   Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
   Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours,
   The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
   Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

CRANMER

   My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
   Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
   And with no little study, that my teaching
   And the strong course of my authority
   Might go one way, and safely; and the end
   Was ever, to do well: nor is there living,
   I speak it with a single heart, my lords,
   A man that more detests, more stirs against,
   Both in his private conscience and his place,
   Defacers of a public peace, than I do.
   Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
   With less allegiance in it! Men that make
   Envy and crooked malice nourishment
   Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,
   That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
   Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
   And freely urge against me.

SUFFOLK

   Nay, my lord,
   That cannot be: you are a counsellor,
   And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.

GARDINER

   My lord, because we have business of more moment,
   We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure,
   And our consent, for better trial of you,
   From hence you be committed to the Tower;
   Where, being but a private man again,
   You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
   More than, I fear, you are provided for.

CRANMER

   Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;
   You are always my good friend; if your will pass,
   I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,
   You are so merciful: I see your end;
   'Tis my undoing: love and meekness, lord,
   Become a churchman better than ambition:
   Win straying souls with modesty again,
   Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
   Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
   I make as little doubt, as you do conscience
   In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
   But reverence to your calling makes me modest.

GARDINER

   My lord, my lord, you are a sectary,
   That's the plain truth: your painted gloss discovers,
   To men that understand you, words and weakness.

CROMWELL

   My Lord of Winchester, you are a little,
   By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
   However faulty, yet should find respect
   For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty
   To load a falling man.

GARDINER

   Good master secretary,
   I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
   Of all this table, say so.

CROMWELL

   Why, my lord?

GARDINER

   Do not I know you for a favourer
   Of this new sect? ye are not sound.

CROMWELL

   Not sound?

GARDINER

   Not sound, I say.

CROMWELL

   Would you were half so honest!
   Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.

GARDINER

   I shall remember this bold language.

CROMWELL

   Do.
   Remember your bold life too.

Chancellor

   This is too much;
   Forbear, for shame, my lords.

GARDINER

   I have done.

CROMWELL

   And I.

Chancellor

   Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,
   I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
   You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
   There to remain till the king's further pleasure
   Be known unto us: are you all agreed, lords?

All

   We are.

CRANMER

   Is there no other way of mercy,
   But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?

GARDINER

   What other
   Would you expect? you are strangely troublesome.
   Let some o' the guard be ready there.
   Enter Guard

CRANMER

   For me?
   Must I go like a traitor thither?

GARDINER

   Receive him,
   And see him safe i' the Tower.

CRANMER

   Stay, good my lords,
   I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;
   By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
   Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
   To a most noble judge, the king my master.

Chamberlain

   This is the king's ring.

SURREY

   'Tis no counterfeit.

SUFFOLK

   'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all,
   When ye first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,
   'Twould fall upon ourselves.

NORFOLK

   Do you think, my lords,
   The king will suffer but the little finger
   Of this man to be vex'd?

Chancellor

   'Tis now too certain:
   How much more is his life in value with him?
   Would I were fairly out on't!

CROMWELL

   My mind gave me,
   In seeking tales and informations
   Against this man, whose honesty the devil
   And his disciples only envy at,
   Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!
   Enter KING, frowning on them; takes his seat

GARDINER

   Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven
   In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
   Not only good and wise, but most religious:
   One that, in all obedience, makes the church
   The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
   That holy duty, out of dear respect,
   His royal self in judgment comes to hear
   The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

KING HENRY VIII

   You were ever good at sudden commendations,
   Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
   To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
   They are too thin and bare to hide offences.
   To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel,
   And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
   But, whatsoe'er thou takest me for, I'm sure
   Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.
   To CRANMER
   Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest
   He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
   By all that's holy, he had better starve
   Than but once think this place becomes thee not.

SURREY

   May it please your grace,--

KING HENRY VIII

   No, sir, it does not please me.
   I had thought I had had men of some understanding
   And wisdom of my council; but I find none.
   Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
   This good man,--few of you deserve that title,--
   This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
   At chamber--door? and one as great as you are?
   Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
   Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
   Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
   Not as a groom: there's some of ye, I see,
   More out of malice than integrity,
   Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
   Which ye shall never have while I live.

Chancellor

   Thus far,
   My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
   To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed
   Concerning his imprisonment, was rather,
   If there be faith in men, meant for his trial,
   And fair purgation to the world, than malice,
   I'm sure, in me.

KING HENRY VIII

   Well, well, my lords, respect him;
   Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
   I will say thus much for him, if a prince
   May be beholding to a subject, I
   Am, for his love and service, so to him.
   Make me no more ado, but all embrace him:
   Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of
   Canterbury,
   I have a suit which you must not deny me;
   That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
   You must be godfather, and answer for her.

CRANMER

   The greatest monarch now alive may glory
   In such an honour: how may I deserve it
   That am a poor and humble subject to you?

KING HENRY VIII

   Come, come, my lord, you'ld spare your spoons: you
   shall have two noble partners with you; the old
   Duchess of Norfolk, and Lady Marquess Dorset: will
   these please you?
   Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,
   Embrace and love this man.

GARDINER

   With a true heart
   And brother-love I do it.

CRANMER

   And let heaven
   Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

KING HENRY VIII

   Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart:
   The common voice, I see, is verified
   Of thee, which says thus, 'Do my Lord of Canterbury
   A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.'
   Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
   To have this young one made a Christian.
   As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
   So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.
   Exeunt

SCENE IV. The palace yard.

   Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man 

Porter

   You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: do you
   take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude slaves,
   leave your gaping.
   Within
   Good master porter, I belong to the larder.

Porter

   Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue! is
   this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree
   staves, and strong ones: these are but switches to
   'em. I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing
   christenings? do you look for ale and cakes here,
   you rude rascals?

Man

   Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much impossible--
   Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons--
   To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
   On May-day morning; which will never be:
   We may as well push against Powle's, as stir em.

Porter

   How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man

   Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
   As much as one sound cudgel of four foot--
   You see the poor remainder--could distribute,
   I made no spare, sir.

Porter

   You did nothing, sir.

Man

   I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
   To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared any
   That had a head to hit, either young or old,
   He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
   Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again
   And that I would not for a cow, God save her!
   Within
   Do you hear, master porter?

Porter

   I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
   Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man

   What would you have me do?

Porter

   What should you do, but knock 'em down by the
   dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have
   we some strange Indian with the great tool come to
   court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a
   fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian
   conscience, this one christening will beget a
   thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man

   The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a
   fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a
   brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty
   of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand
   about him are under the line, they need no other
   penance: that fire-drake did I hit three times on
   the head, and three times was his nose discharged
   against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to
   blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small
   wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked
   porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a
   combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once,
   and hit that woman; who cried out 'Clubs!' when I
   might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to
   her succor, which were the hope o' the Strand, where
   she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my
   place: at length they came to the broom-staff to
   me; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file of
   boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower
   of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in,
   and let 'em win the work: the devil was amongst
   'em, I think, surely.

Porter

   These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse,
   and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but
   the tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of
   Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure.
   I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they
   are like to dance these three days; besides the
   running banquet of two beadles that is to come.
   Enter Chamberlain

Chamberlain

   Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!
   They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
   As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
   These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows:
   There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
   Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have
   Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
   When they pass back from the christening.

Porter

   An't please
   your honour,
   We are but men; and what so many may do,
   Not being torn a-pieces, we have done:
   An army cannot rule 'em.

Chamberlain

   As I live,
   If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
   By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
   Clap round fines for neglect: ye are lazy knaves;
   And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
   Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
   They're come already from the christening:
   Go, break among the press, and find a way out
   To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
   A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.

Porter

   Make way there for the princess.

Man

   You great fellow,
   Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.

Porter

   You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail;
   I'll peck you o'er the pales else.
   Exeunt

SCENE V. The palace.

   Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, NORFOLK with his marshal's staff, SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening-gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, & c., train borne by a Lady; then follows the Marchioness Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks 

Garter

   Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous
   life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
   princess of England, Elizabeth!
   Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VIII and Guard

CRANMER

   [Kneeling] And to your royal grace, and the good queen,
   My noble partners, and myself, thus pray:
   All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
   Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
   May hourly fall upon ye!

KING HENRY VIII

   Thank you, good lord archbishop:
   What is her name?

CRANMER

   Elizabeth.

KING HENRY VIII

   Stand up, lord.
   KING HENRY VIII kisses the child
   With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
   Into whose hand I give thy life.

CRANMER

   Amen.

KING HENRY VIII

   My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal:
   I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,
   When she has so much English.

CRANMER

   Let me speak, sir,
   For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
   Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth.
   This royal infant--heaven still move about her!--
   Though in her cradle, yet now promises
   Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
   Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be--
   But few now living can behold that goodness--
   A pattern to all princes living with her,
   And all that shall succeed: Saba was never
   More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
   Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
   That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
   With all the virtues that attend the good,
   Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
   Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:
   She shall be loved and fear'd: her own shall bless her;
   Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
   And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her:
   In her days every man shall eat in safety,
   Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
   The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
   God shall be truly known; and those about her
   From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
   And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
   Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
   The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
   Her ashes new create another heir,
   As great in admiration as herself;
   So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
   When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,
   Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
   Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
   And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
   That were the servants to this chosen infant,
   Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him:
   Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
   His honour and the greatness of his name
   Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish,
   And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
   To all the plains about him: our children's children
   Shall see this, and bless heaven.

KING HENRY VIII

   Thou speakest wonders.

CRANMER

   She shall be, to the happiness of England,
   An aged princess; many days shall see her,
   And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
   Would I had known no more! but she must die,
   She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
   A most unspotted lily shall she pass
   To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

KING HENRY VIII

   O lord archbishop,
   Thou hast made me now a man! never, before
   This happy child, did I get any thing:
   This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
   That when I am in heaven I shall desire
   To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.
   I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor,
   And your good brethren, I am much beholding;
   I have received much honour by your presence,
   And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords:
   Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
   She will be sick else. This day, no man think
   Has business at his house; for all shall stay:
   This little one shall make it holiday.
   Exeunt
   EPILOGUE
   'Tis ten to one this play can never please
   All that are here: some come to take their ease,
   And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
   We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,
   They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city
   Abused extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!'
   Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
   All the expected good we're like to hear
   For this play at this time, is only in
   The merciful construction of good women;
   For such a one we show'd 'em: if they smile,
   And say 'twill do, I know, within a while
   All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
   If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.


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