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KING HENRY VIII
DRAMATIS PERSONAE

KING HENRY
the Eighth      (KING HENRY VIII:)

CAPUCIUS        Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM      (BUCKINGHAM:)

Lord Chamberlain        (Chamberlain:)

Lord Chancellor (Chancellor:)

GARDINER        Bishop of Winchester.

Bishop of Lincoln. (LINCOLN:)

LORD ABERGAVENNY        (ABERGAVENNY:)

LORD SANDS      (SANDS:)

SIR HENRY
GUILDFORD       (GUILDFORD:)

SIR THOMAS LOVELL       (LOVELL:)

SIR ANTHONY DENNY       (DENNY:)

SIR NICHOLAS VAUX       (VAUX:)

Secretaries to Wolsey.
(First Secretary:)
(Second Secretary:)

CROMWELL        Servant to Wolsey.

GRIFFITH        Gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine.

Three Gentlemen.
(First Gentleman:)
(Second Gentleman:)
(Third Gentleman:)

Garter King-at-Arms. (Garter:)
Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. (Surveyor:)

A Sergeant-at-Arms. (Sergeant:)
Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter, (Porter:) and his Man. (Man:)
Page to Gardiner. (Boy:)
A Crier. (Crier:)

divorced. (KATHARINE:)

An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. (Old Lady:)

PATIENCE        woman to Queen Katharine.

Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards, and other Attendants.
Spirits.
(Scribe:)
(Keeper:)
(Servant:)
(Messenger:)

KING HENRY VIII
THE 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.
KING HENRY VIII

[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.

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.

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.

The ambassador is silenced?

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]

Where's his examination?

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.

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.

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]

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!

[To ABERGAVENNY]
Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know How he determines further.

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

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]

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]

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

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.

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!

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

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.

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.

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.

This is against our pleasure.

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.

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.

[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]

Is run in your displeasure.

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.

Most like a careful subject, have collected Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

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.

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.

Deliver all with charity.

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.

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

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.'

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.

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.

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,--

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.'

and this man out of prison?

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

SCENE III       An ante-chamber in the palace.

[Enter Chamberlain and SANDS]

Men into such strange mysteries?

SANDS

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

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.

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.

LOVELL

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

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.

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.

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

SANDS

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

Whither were you a-going?

LOVELL

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

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.

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.

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.

[Exeunt]
KING HENRY VIII

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.

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.

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]

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]

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.

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.

[Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged]

[Exit Servant]

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

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.

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?

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.

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]

Till now I never knew thee!
[Music. Dance]

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.

[Whispers the Masquers]

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

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.

Your grace is grown so pleasant.

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

The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women.

I were unmannerly, to take you out,
And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! Let it go round.

I' the privy chamber?

I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

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

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]
KING HENRY VIII

[Enter two Gentlemen, meeting]

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

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?

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?

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?

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.

He never was so womanish; the cause
He may a little grieve at.

Second Gentleman        Certainly
        The cardinal is the end of this.

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.

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;--

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 conscience, 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]

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.

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?

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.

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.

We are too open here to argue this;
Let's think in private more.
[Exeunt]
KING HENRY VIII

SCENE II        An ante-chamber in the palace.

[Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter]

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]

Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

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.

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?

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?

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

[Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively]

NORFOLK                   Pray God he be not angry.

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.

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.

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

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]

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.

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.

Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?

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.

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]

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.

[Walks and whispers]

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

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 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.

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.

[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]
KING HENRY VIII

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]

The secret of your conference?

ANNE

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

The action of good women: there is hope
All will be well.

ANNE                      Now, I pray God, amen!

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

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]

Let silence be commanded.

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

[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]

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!

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.

To you I speak.

CARDINAL WOLSEY                   Your pleasure, madam?

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.

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.

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.

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.

Crier   Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.

GRIFFITH        Madam, you are call'd back.

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]

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

[Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work]

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]

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

Gentleman       They will'd me say so, madam.

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]

I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?

Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming.

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.

serenissima,--

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.

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.

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!

Your hopes and friends are infinite.

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.

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.

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.

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.

You turn the good we offer into envy.

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.

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.

To give up willingly that noble title
Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

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.

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

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

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.'

SUFFOLK                   Believe it.

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.

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

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.

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.

SUFFOLK

'Tis so.
The cardinal!

[Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CROMWELL]

NORFOLK                   Observe, observe, he's moody.

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.

To come abroad?

CROMWELL                          I think, by this he is.

[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!

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

SURREY

Sharp enough,
Lord, for thy justice!

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]

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.

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.

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]

Ever God bless your highness!

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.

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.

As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well saying!

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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]

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.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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]

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.
[Exeunt]
KING HENRY VIII

[Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another]

Second Gentleman        So are you.

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.

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.

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?

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?

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?

And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.

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

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.

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.

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

[Exit procession, and then a great flourish of trumpets]
[Enter a third Gentleman]

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.

Second Gentleman        Good sir, speak it to us.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

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 shall 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]
KING HENRY VIII

[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.

[Exeunt GARDINER and Page]
[Enter KING HENRY VIII and SUFFOLK]

My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.

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.

To pray for her? what, is she crying out?

LOVELL

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

SUFFOLK

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

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.

[Exit SUFFOLK]
[Enter DENNY]
Well, sir, what follows?

DENNY

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

[Exit DENNY]

LOVELL

[Aside] This is about that which the bishop spake: I am happily come hither.

[Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER]

[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.

Wherefore I sent for you.

CRANMER

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

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

[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]
KING HENRY VIII

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.

[Enter DOCTOR BUTTS]

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]

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

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]
KING HENRY VIII

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

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.

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.

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]

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.

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII

[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!

What is her name?

CRANMER                   Elizabeth.

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

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.

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.

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]
KING HENRY VIII
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.