Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business:

Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha!

Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS.

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 talker.

Wol.

Sir, you cannot.

I would, your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conference.

K. Hen.

[TO WOLSEY:

We are busy: go.

[To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK.

Wol. 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 by 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.

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

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.

K. Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall have; and my favour To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,

Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary:
I find him a fit fellow.

[Exit WOLSEY.

Re-enter WOLSEY, with GARDINER.

Wol. Give me your hand; much joy and favour to you: You are the king's now.

Gard.

But to be commanded

For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.

K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. [They walk and whisper.
Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace

In this man's place before him?

Wol.

Cam. Was he not held a learned man?,

Wol.

Yes, he was.

Yes, surely.

Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread, then,

Even of yourself, lord cardinal.

Wol.

How! of me?

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.

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

[Exit GARDINER.

So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience,
O! 't is a tender place, and I must leave her.

Anne.

SCENE III.

An Ante-chamber in the Queen's Apartments.

Enter ANNE BULLEN, and an old Lady.

[Exeunt.

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, a thousand-fold more bitter, than

'Tis sweet at first t' acquire, after this process,

To give her the avaunt! it is a pity

Would move a monster.

Old L.

Melt and lament for her.

Hearts of most hard temper

Anne.

O, God's will! much better,

She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal,
Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce

It from the bearer, 't is a sufferance panging
As soul and body's severing.

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. No, not for all the riches under heaven.

Old L. 'Tis strange: a three-pence bowed 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?

Old. L. 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 burden, 't is too weak

You'd venture an emballing: I myself

Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd

No more to the crown but that. Lo! who comes here?

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

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.
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,