'Tis likely By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who remov'd, Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father.
1 Gent. 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.
2 Gent. 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
1 Gent. And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter BUCKINGHAM from his Arraignment; Tipstaves before him; the Axe with the edge towards him; Halberds on each side: accompanied with Sir THOMAS LOVELL, Sir NICHOLAS VAUX, Sir WILLIAM SANDS, and common People.
2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. Buck.
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 receiv'd a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness, And if I have a conscience let it sink me, Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful. The law I bear no malice for my death, It has done upon the premises but justice; But those that sought it I could wish more Christians: Be what they will, I heartily forgive them. Yet let them look they glory not in mischief, Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ; For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. For farther 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 lov'd 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. Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity,
If ever any malice in your heart
Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.
Buck. 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
Shall make 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 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.
Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then, give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end.
Prepare there! The duke is coming: see, the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture, as suits The greatness of his person.
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 one day make them groan for't. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, Flying for succour 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, Restor'd 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 lov'd 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 when they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me. 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
2 Gent. 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 arriv'd, and lately, As all think, for this business.
1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor, For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd.
2 Gent. 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. 1 Gent. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more.
SCENE II.-An Ante-chamber in the Palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a Letter. Cham. "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 them 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 the Dukes of NOкFOLK and SUFFOLK. Nor. Well met, my lord chamberlain. Cham. Good day to both your graces. Suf. How is the king employ'd? Cham.
Full of sad thoughts and troubles. Nor.
Nor. 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. For me, my
Suf. 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. Nor. 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? Cham. Excuse me; The king hath sent me other-where: besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him. Health to your lordships. Nor.
Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. [Exit Lord Chamberlain. Curtain drawn: the King is discovered sitting, and reading pensively. Suf. How sad he looks: sure, he is much afflicted. K. Hen. Who is there? ha! Nor.
Pray God, he be not angry. K. Hen. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves
Into my private meditations?
Who am I? ha!
Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences, Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way
I left him private, Is business of estate, in which we come To know your royal pleasure. K. Hen.
What's the cause? Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience. Suf.
Has crept too near another lady. Nor.
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. Suf. Pray God, he do: he'll never know himself else. Nor. 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? Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel! "Tis
These news are every where; every tongue speaks them, 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
Ye are too bold. Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha!
[Raising his book. Who's there? my good lord cardinal?—O! my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience; Thou art a cure fit for a king.-You're welcome, [TO CAMPEIUS. Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom: Use us, and it. My good lord, have great care I be not found a taĺker. [To WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot. I would, your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference.
Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS.
[To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK. Nor. This priest has no pride in him. Suf.
I would not be so sick though for his place: But this cannot continue.
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 judg- ment,
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.
K. Hen. 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. Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves,
You are so noble. To your highness' hand
[Kneeling and rising again. 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.
K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted
Forthwith for what you come.-Where's Gardiner? Wol. I know, your majesty has always lov'd 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.
SCENE III.-An Ante-chamber in the Queen's Apartments.
Enter ANNE BULLEN, and an old Lady.
Anne. Not for that neither :-here's the pang that pinches ;
His highness having liv'd 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 enthron'd, Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which To leave's a thousand-fold more bitter, than Sweet at first t' acquire,-after this process, To give her the avaunt! it is a pity Would move a monster.
Hearts of most hard temper
O, God's will! much better, She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal, Yet, if that cruel fortune do divorce
It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging As soul and body's severing.
She's a stranger now again? Anne.
So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
K. Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall have; and my I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
Cam. 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 griev'd him, That he ran mad, and died.
Wol. 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. K. Hen. 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.
And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
By my troth, and maidenhead,
I would not be a queen. Old L.
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 L. Yes, troth, and troth.-You would not be a queen?
Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old L. 'Tis strange: a three-pence bowed would hire
Enter the Lord Chamberlain.
Cham. 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.
Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming The action of good women: there is hope All will be well.
Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely, and high notes Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty Commends his good opinion of you to 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. 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
SCENE IV.-A Hall in Black-Friars. Trumpets, Sennet, and Cornets. Enter two l'ergers, with short silver Wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habit of Doctors; after them, the Archbishop of CANTERBURY alone; after him, the Bishops of 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, the two Cardinals WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the Sword and Mace. The King takes place under the cloth of state; the two Cardinals sit under him as judges. The Queen takes place at some distance from the King. 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.
Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, What's the need?
More worth than empty vanities: yet prayers, and Let silence be commanded.
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.
I shall not fail t' improve the fair conceit, The king hath of you.-I have perus'd her well: [Aside. 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?-[To her.] I'll to the king, And say, I spoke with you.
Anne. My honour'd lord. [Exit Lord Chamberlain. Old L. 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 fresh-fish here, (fie, fie, fie upon
This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd up, Before you open it.
Old L. 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 L. 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 more 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 elate 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.
Crier. Katharine, queen of England, &c.
[The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet; then speaks.]
Q. Kath. 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 behaviour 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 inclin'd. 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 deriv'd your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice He was from thence discharg'd. 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 knife of justice. Please you, sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent An 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 advis'd, whose counsel I will implore: if not, i' the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd!
I am a simple woman, much too weak To oppose your cunning. Y'are 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 judg'd by him.
[She curtsies to the King, and offers to depart. Cam. 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.
Crier. Katharine, queen of England, come into the
[Exeunt Queen, and her Attendants. Go thy ways, Kate:
That man i' the world who shall report he has
Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; nay, before, A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
Or God will punish me. I do believe,
Induc'd 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.
Wol. I do profess, You speak not like yourself; who ever yet Have stood to charity, and display'd th' 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 farther 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.
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 nobly born; And, like her true nobility, she has Carried herself towards me.
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 unloos'd, 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?
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. Y'are excus'd; But will you be more justified? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never Desir'd it to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft, The passages made toward it.-On my honour,
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