Orpheus with his lute made trees, And the moutain-tops, that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing To his music, plants, and flowers, Ever sprung as sun, and showers, There had been 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.
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, May be absolv'd in English. Wol.
(And service to his majesty and you,) am sorry, my integrity should breed
We come not by the way of accusation, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant..
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.
Cam. 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.
To betray me. [Aside. My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so!) But how to make you suddenly an answer,
Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car-In such a point of weight, so near mine honour dinals
Wait in the presence.1 Q. Kath. Would they speak with me? Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. Q. Kath. Pray their graces To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their business
With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour? I do not like their coming, now I think on't. They should be good men: their affairs are right-
But all hoods make not monks.
Enter Wolsey and Campeius.
Wol. Peace to your highness! Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a housewife;
I would by all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to with- draw
Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. Q. Kath. Speak it here; There's nothing I have done yet, o'my conscience, Deserves a corner: 'Would, all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not (so much I am happy Above a number,) if my actions
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them, Envy and base opinion set against them,
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. Wol. Tanta est ergà te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,-
Q. Kath. 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
(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. Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears;
Your hopes and friends are infinite. Q. Kath.
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. Cam. I would, your grace Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. Q. Kath. How, sir?
Čam. Put you main cause into the king's pro
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 you, You'll part away disgrac❜d.
Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my
Is this your Christian counsel ? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a Judge, That no king can corrupt.
Cam. Your rage mistakes us. Q. Kath. 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 them 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 you 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 burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.
Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy.
Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing: Wo upon ye, And all such false professors! Would ye 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! he 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.
Your fears are worse. Q. Kath. 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?1 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.
Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we
Q. Kath. 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. Wol.
'Pray, hear me. Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English earth,
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady? I am the most unhappy woman living.- Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? [To her Women. 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 lily, That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, I'll hang my head, and perish.
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 them. 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
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.
Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords: And, pray, forgive me,
If I have us'd2 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.
SCENE II.-Ante-chamber to the King's apart- Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.
Nor. 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 more new disgraces, With these you bear already.
Sur. I am joyful To meet the least occasion, that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke, To be reveng'd on him. Suff 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?
Cham. 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 his tongue.
Nor. 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. Sur. Sir,
I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour. Nor. Believe it, this is true. In the divorce, his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded; wherein he appears, As I could wish mine enemy. Sur.
His practices to light? Suff Sur. O, how, how? Suff. The cardinal's letter 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
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and ser- A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen.
(1) Served him with superstitious attention.
Sur. Has the king this?
(2) Behaved.
Nor. Suff No, no; There be more wasps that buzz about his nose, Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius Is stolen 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! Nor.
When returns Cranmer?
Does whet his anger to him. Sur.
Lord, for thy justice!
Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's daughter,
To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen!- This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it; Then, out it goes.-What though I know her vir- tuous,
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-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up A heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king, And is his oracle.
He is vex'd at something.
Suff. I would, 'twere something that would fret the string,
The master-cord of his heart!
Enter the King, reading a Schedule; and Lovell. Suff The king, the king. K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumu-
To his own portion! and what expense by the hour Seems to flow from him! How, i'the name of Christ, Now, God incense him, Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords; Saw you the cardinal?
Suff. 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.
Nor. 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.
K. Hen. It may well be There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning, Papers of state he sent me to peruse, As I requir'd; And, wote you, what I found He has; and we shall see him There; on my conscience, put unwittingly?
This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain In the king's business.
Enter Wolsey and Cromwell.
Observe, observe, he's moody. Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king?
Crom. To his own hand, in his bed-chamber. Wol. Look'd he o'the inside of the paper? Crom.
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.
[He takes his seat, and whispers Lovell, who goes to Wolsey.
Ever God bless your highness!
You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inven
You were now running o'er; you have scarce time, What appetite you have.
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span, To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that deem you an ill husband; and am glad To have you therein my companion. Wol.
'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well: And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you: He 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 par'd my present havings, to bestow My bounties upon you.
What should this mean? Sur. The Lord increase this business! [Aside. K. Hen. Have I not made you The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce, you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us, or no. What say you? Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could' My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours:-my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet, fill'd 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, 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.
Fairly answered; 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,
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. Wol. I do profess, That for your highness' good I ever labour'd More than mine own; that am, have, and will be. Though all the world should crack their duty to you, And throw it from their soul: though perils did Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty, As doth the rock against the chiding flood, Should the approach of this wild river break, And stand unshaken yours.
K. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken: Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, For you have seen him open't.-Read o'er this; [Giving him papers. And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with
[Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey: the Nobles throng after him, smiling, and whispering.
Wol. What should this mean? What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it? He parted frowning from me, as if ruin Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion Upon the daring huntsman that has gail'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 his 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 in the evening, And no man see me more.
Re-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. Nor. 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.
Suff. Who dare cross them? Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it (I mean, your malice,) know, officious lords, I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel Of what coarse metal ye are moulded,-envy. How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin! Follow your envious courses, men of malice; You have Christian warrant for them, 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
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? Sur. The king that gave it.
It must be himself then. Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. Wol. Proud lord, thou liest; Within these forty hours Surrey durst better Have burnt that tongue, than said so. Sur. 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 succour, from the king, from all That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him;
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, Absolv'd him with an axe.
Wol. This, and all else This talking lord can lay upon my credit, I answer, is most false. The duke by law Found his deserts; how innocent I was From any private malice in his end, His noble jury and foul cause can witness. If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, You have as little honesty as honour; That I, 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.
Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st 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 jaded2 by a piece of scarlet, Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward, And dare us with his cap, like larks. Wol.
Is poison to thy stomach.
Sur. 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 good
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 despis'd 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 sacring bell, when the brown wench Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this
But that I am bound in charity against it!
(By what means got, I leave to your own con- science,)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways You have for dignities; to the mere1 undoing Of all the kingdom. Many more there are; Which, since they are of you, and odious, I will not taint my mouth with. Cham.
O my lord, Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue: His faults lie open to the laws; let them, Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him So little of his great self.
Sur. Suff. 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 pramunire,6- 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.
Nor. 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
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all but Wolsey.
Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, 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
Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
But, thus much, they are foul ones. Wol.
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, So much fairer, This many summers in a sea of glory;
And spotless shall mine innocence arise, When the king knows my truth.
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, This cannot save you: Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 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.
Speak on, sir: I dare your worst objections: if I blush, It is, to see a nobleman want manners.
Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have
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.
Nor Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus
Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king To be your servant. Suff
Then, that, without the knowledge
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ve; 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, amazedly.
Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder, A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, I am fallen indeed. Crom.
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