tians. 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 lov'd me And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying, Go with me like good angels to my end; And as the long divorce of steel falls on me Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice, And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a 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 belov'd 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 th' 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 fort. My noble father, Henry of Buckingham, Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, Flying for succour to his servant Banister, Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd And without trial fell; God's peace be with him! Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying My father's loss, like a most royal prince, Restor'd me to my honours, and out of ruins Made my name once more noble. Now his son, Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all That made me happy, at one stroke has taken For ever from the world. I had my trial, And must needs say a noble one; which makes me A little happier than my wretched father; Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most- A most unnatural and faithless service. Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels, Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends And give your hearts to, when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found again But where they mean to sink ye. All good people, Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell; And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me! Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their heads That were the authors. SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us! What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it. FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it; I do not talk much. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident. You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear A buzzing of a separation Between the King and Katharine? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not; For when the King once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight To stop the rumour 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 arriv'd and lately; As all think, for this business. FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the Cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the Emperor For not bestowing on him at his asking The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is't not cruel That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis woeful. We are too open here to argue this; Let's think in private more. Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 2. London. The palace Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter CHAMBERLAIN. 'My lord, 'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. 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 serv'd before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp'd our mouths, sir.' I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them. He will have all, I think. Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain. CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces. SUFFOLK. How is the King employ'd? CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. NORFOLK. What's the cause? CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife Has crept too near his conscience. SUFFOLK. No, his conscience Has crept too near another lady. NORFOLK. 'Tis so; This is the Cardinal's doing; the King-Cardinal, That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he list. The King will know him one day. SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He'll never know himself else. NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the league Between us and the Emperor, the Queen's great nephew, He dives into the King's soul and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage; And out of all these to restore the King, He counsels a divorce, a loss of her That like a jewel has hung twenty years About his neck, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him with that excellence That angels love good men with; even of her That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls, Will bless the King-and is not this course pious? CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true These news are everywhere; 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 an 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; th' are breath I not believe in. I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him To him that made him proud-the Pope. NORFOLK. Let's in; And with some other business put the King From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him. My lord, you'll bear us company? CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me, The King has sent me otherwhere; besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him. Health to your lordships! NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain. Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws the curtain and sits reading pensively SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted. KING. Who's there, ha? NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry. KING HENRY. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I, ha? NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences Malice ne'er meant. Our breach of duty this way Is business of estate, in which we come To know your royal pleasure. KING. Ye are too bold. Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business. Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? Enter WOLSEY and 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 CAMPEIUS] You're welcome, Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom. Use us and it. [To WOLSEY] My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot. I would your Grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. KING. [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go. NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him! SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of! I would not be so sick though for his place. But this cannot continue. NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do, I'll venture one have-at-him. SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] I another. Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voice of Christendom. Who can be angry now? What envy reach you? The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her, Must now confess, if they have any goodness, The trial just and noble. All the clerks, I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment, Invited by your noble self, hath sent One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius, Whom once more I present unto your Highness. KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome, And thank the holy conclave for their loves. They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers' loves, You are so noble. To your Highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue- The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant In the unpartial judging of this business. KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov'd her So dear in heart not to deny her that A woman of less place might ask by law- Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her. KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal, Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary; I find him a fit fellow. Exit WOLSEY Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER WOLSEY. [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand: much joy and favour to you; You are the King's now. GARDINER. [Aside to WOLSEY] But to be commanded For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais'd me. KING. Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers] CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace In this man's place before him? WOLSEY. Yes, he was. CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man? WOLSEY. Yes, surely. CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then, Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal. WOLSEY. How! Of me? 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 griev'd him That he ran mad and died. WOLSEY. Heav'n's peace be with him! That's Christian care enough. For living murmurers There's places of rebuke. He was a fool, For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment. I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. KING. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queen. Exit GARDINER The most convenient place that I can think of For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars; 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 ACT II. SCENE 3. London. The palace Enter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY ANNE. Not for that neither. Here's the pang that pinches: His Highness having liv'd so long with her, and she So good a lady that no tongue could ever Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life, She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after So many courses of the sun enthroned, Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire-after this process, To give her the avaunt, it is a pity Would move a monster. OLD 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 glist'ring 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 threepence 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 burden, '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'd venture an emballing. I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here? Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know The secret of your conference? ANNE. My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking. Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming The action of good women; there is hope All will be well. ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen! CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes Ta'en of your many virtues, the King's Majesty Commends his good opinion of you to you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide 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 hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness; Whose health and royalty I pray for. CHAMBERLAIN. Lady, I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit The King hath of you. [Aside] I have perus'd 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. ANNE. My honour'd lord! Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN 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 y' have heard to her. OLD LADY. What do you think me? Exeunt ACT II. SCENE 4. London. A hall in Blackfriars Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver wands; next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY, ROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance, follows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a Cardinal's hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross; then a GENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS bearing a silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two NOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN and their trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state; the two CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place some distance from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side of the court, in manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES. The LORDS sit next the BISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the stage WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. KING. What's the need? It hath already publicly been read, And on all sides th' authority allow'd; You may then spare that time. WOLSEY. Be't so; proceed. SCRIBE. Say 'Henry King of England, come into the court.' CRIER. Henry King of England, &c. KING. Here. SCRIBE. Say 'Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.' CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c. The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels at his feet; then speaks QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice, And to bestow your pity on me; for I am a most poor woman and a stranger, Born out of your dominions, having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? What cause Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure That thus you should proceed to put me of And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable, Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour I ever contradicted your desire Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? What friend of mine That had to him deriv'd your anger did Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife in this obedience Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you. If, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too against mine honour, aught, My bond to wedlock or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away and let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharp'st 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 advis'd, whose counsel I will implore. If not, i' th' name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill'd! WOLSEY. You have here, lady, And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men Of singular integrity and learning, Yea, the elect o' th' 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. 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 produc'd and heard. QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal, To you I speak. WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam? QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I am about to weep; but, thinking that We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire. WOLSEY. Be patient yet. QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before Or God will punish me. I do believe, Induc'd by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy, and make my challenge You shall not be my judge; for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me- Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more I hold my most malicious foe and think not At all a friend to truth. WOLSEY. I do profess You speak not like yourself, who ever yet Have stood to charity and display'd th' effects Of disposition gentle and of wisdom O'ertopping woman's pow'r. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you, nor injustice For you or any; how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the Consistory, Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me That I have blown this coal: I do deny it. The King is present; if it be known to him That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much As you have done my truth. If he know That I am free of your report, he knows I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies to cure me, and the cure is to Remove these thoughts from you; the which before His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking And to say so no more. QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak T' oppose your cunning. Y'are meek and humble-mouth'd; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility; but your heart Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride. You have, by fortune and his Highness' favours, Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted Where pow'rs are your retainers, and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will as't please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you You tender more your person's honour than Your high profession spiritual; that again I do refuse you for my judge and here, Before you all, appeal unto the Pope, To bring my whole cause 'fore his Holiness And to be judg'd by him. [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart] CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate, Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainful to be tried by't; 'tis not well. She's going away. KING. Call her again. CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court. GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call'd back. QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way; When you are call'd, return. Now the Lord help! They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on. I will not tarry; no, nor ever more Upon this business my appearance make In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants KING. Go thy ways, Kate. That man i' th' 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. WOLSEY. Most gracious sir, In humblest manner I require your Highness That it shall please you to declare in hearing Of all these ears-for where I am robb'd and bound, There must I be unloos'd, although not there At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I Did broach this business to your Highness, or Laid any scruple in your way which might Induce you to the question on't, or ever Have to you, but with thanks to God for such A royal lady, spake one the least word that might Be to the prejudice of her present state, Or touch of her good person? KING. My Lord Cardinal, I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour, I free you from't. You are not to be taught That you have many enemies that know not Why they are so, but, like to village curs, Bark when their fellows do. By some of these The Queen is put in anger. Y'are excus'd. But will you be more justified? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desir'd It to be stirr'd; but oft have hind'red, 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 mov'd me to't, I will be bold with time and your attention. Then mark th' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to't: My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness, Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd By th' 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' th' 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 forc'd such way That many maz'd 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 conceiv'd 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' th' 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 mov'd you. LINCOLN. Very well, my liege. KING. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to say How far you satisfied me. LINCOLN. So please your Highness, The question did at first so stagger me- Bearing a state of mighty moment in't And consequence of dread-that I committed The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt, And did entreat your Highness to this course Which you are running here. KING. I then mov'd you, My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave To make this present summons. Unsolicited I left no reverend person in this court, But by particular consent proceeded Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on, For no dislike i' th' world against the person Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward. Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life And kingly dignity, we are contented To wear our moral state to come with her, Katharine our queen, before the primest creature That's paragon'd o' th' world. CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness, The Queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness That we adjourn this court till further day; Meanwhile must be an earnest motion Made to the Queen to call back her appeal She intends unto his Holiness. KING. [Aside] I may perceive These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Prithee return. With thy approach I know My comfort comes along. -Break up the court; I say, set on. Exuent in manner as they entered ACT III. SCENE 1. London. The QUEEN'S apartments Enter the QUEEN and her women, as at work QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows sad with troubles; Sing and disperse 'em, if thou canst. Leave working. SONG Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing; To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep or hearing die. Enter a GENTLEMAN QUEEN KATHARINE. How now? GENTLEMAN. An't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals Wait in the presence. QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me? GENTLEMAN. They will'd me say so, madam. QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour? I do not like their coming. Now I think on't, They should be good men, their affairs as righteous; But all hoods make not monks. Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness! QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife; I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here; There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Deserves a corner. Would all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not-so much I am happy Above a number-if my actions Were tried by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry 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. WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima- QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin! I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have liv'd 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 absolv'd in English. WOLSEY. Noble lady, I am sorry my integrity should breed, And service to his Majesty and you, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant We come not by the way of accusation To taint that honour every good tongue blesses, Nor to betray you any way to sorrow- You have too much, good lady; but to know How you stand minded in the weighty difference Between the King and you, and to deliver, Like free and honest men, our just opinions And comforts to your cause. CAMPEIUS. Most honour'd madam, My Lord of York, out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace, Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure Both of his truth and him-which was too far- Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE. [Aside] To betray me.- My lords, I thank you both for your good wins; 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! WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears; Your hopes and friends are infinite. QUEEN KATHARINE. In England But little for my profit; can you think, lords, That any Englishman dare give me counsel? Or be a known friend, 'gainst his Highness' pleasure- Though he be grown so desperate to be honest- And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here; They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, In mine own country, lords. CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir? 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 disgrac'd. WOLSEY. He tells you rightly. QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin. Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge That no king can corrupt. CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us. QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye. Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady- A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd? I will not wish ye half my miseries: I have more charity; but say I warned ye. Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye, And all such false professors! Would you have me- If you have any justice, any pity, If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits- Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me? Alas! has banish'd me his bed already, His love too long ago! I am old, my lords, And all the fellowship I hold now with him Is only my obedience. What can happen To me above this wretchedness? All your studies Make me a curse like this. CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse. QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv'd thus long-let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one? A woman, I dare say without vain-glory, Never yet branded with suspicion? Have I with all my full affections Still met the King, lov'd him next heav'n, 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. WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty, To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities. WOLSEY. Pray hear me. QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady? I am the most unhappy woman living. [To her WOMEN] Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow'd me. Like the My, That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, I'll hang my head and perish. WOLSEY. If your Grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, You'd 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. 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;