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You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal,
I should judge now unhappily.
I am glad
Your grace is grown so pleasant.
KING HENRY VIII.
All these accus'd him strongly; which he fain
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he
And so his peers, upon this evidence,
Have found him guilty of high treason.
He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all
Was either pitied in him or forgotten.
Second Gent. After all this how did he bear
First Gent. When he was brought again to the
bar, to hear
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 :
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.
But he fell to himself again, and sweetly
Second Gent. I do not think he fears death.
Sure, he does not;
He never was so womanish; the cause
He may a little grieve at.
The cardinal is the end of this.
By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,
Then deputy of Ireland; who remov'd,
Lest he should help his father.
Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,
That trick of state
My lord chamberlain, 90
What fair lady's that?
Prithee, come hither.
Cham. An't please your grace, Sir Thomas
The Viscount Rochford, one of her highness'
K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one.
I were unmannerly to take you out,
And not to kiss you.
Let it go round.
Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I' the privy chamber?
Yes, my lord.
I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
K. Hen. I fear, too much.
In the next chamber.
There's fresher air, my lord,
K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one. Sweet
Let's be merry:
I must not yet forsake you.
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.
SCENE I.-Westminster. A Street.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.
First Gent. Whither away so fast?
O! God save ye.
E'en to the hall. to hear what shall become
Of the great Duke of Buckingham.
I'll save you
That labour,sir. All's now done but the ceremony
Of bringing back the prisoner.
Was a deep envious one.
Were you there?
First Gent. Yes, indeed, was I.
Second Gent. Pray speak what has happen'd.
First Gent. You may guess quickly what.
Is he found guilty?
First Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd
Second Gent. I am sorry for 't.
So are a number more.
Second Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it?
First Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great
Came to the bar; where to his accusations
He pleaded still not guilty, and alleg'd
Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
The king's attorney on the contrary
Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions
Of divers witnesses, which the duke desir'd
To have brought, vivâ 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.
That fed him with his prophecies ?
No doubt he will requite it.
And generally, whoever the king favours,
The cardinal instantly will find employment,
And far enough from court too.
All the commons Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, 50 Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,
The mirror of all courtesy ;
Stay there, sir,
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
Sir THOMAS LOVELL, Sir NICHOLAS VAUX,
Sir WALTER SANDS, and common people.
Second Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him.
All good people,
You that thus far have come to pity me,
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment,
And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear
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 premisses but justice;
But those that sought it I could wish more
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
You few that
That was he More than I dare make faults.
Nay, Sir Nicholas, 100
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
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant: I now Or some about him near, have, out of malice
seal it ;
To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple
And with that blood will make them one day That will undo her to confirm this too,
groan for 't.
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately;
As all think, for this business.
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, 110
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
I am confident:
I do not talk much.
You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear
A buzzing of a separation
Between the king and Katharine ?
Yes, but it held not;
For when the king once heard it, out of anger
He sent command to the lord mayor straight 151
To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues
That durst disperse it.
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 car-
"Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd. Second Gent. I think you have hit the mark : but is 't not cruel
That she should feel the smart of this? The
Will have his will, and she must fall.
We are too open here to argue this;
Let's think in private more.
SCENE II. An Antechamber in the Palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter. Cham. My lord, The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my lord car dinal'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: You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: 0
He will have all, I think.
Health to your lordships.
Enter the Dukes of NORFOLK and SUFFOLK.
Nor. Well met, my lord chamberlain.
Cham. Good day to both your graces.
Suf. How is the king employ'd?
I left him private,
Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
What's the cause? Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife
Has crept too near his conscience.
Has crept too near another lady.
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
Suf. Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else.
Nor. How holily he works in all his business, And with what zeal! for now he has crack'd the league
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew,
No; his conscience Who am I? ha?
He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
Fears, and despairs; and all these for his
And out of all these to restore the king,
He counsels a divorce; a loss of her,
That like a jewel has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ;
Of her, that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with; even of her,
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the king: and is not this course pious?
Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel!
"Tis most true
These news are every where;
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
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man.
And free us from his slavery. Nor. We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance,
Or this imperious man will work us all
From princes into pages. All men's honours Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please.
Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. Exit Lord Chamberlain. NORFOLK opens a folding-door. The KING is discovered sitting and reading pensively.
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.
And with some other business put the king
From these sad thoughts, that work too much
My lord, you'll bear us company?
The king hath sent me otherwhere: besides,
Suf. How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted.
K. Hen. Who's there, ha?
Pray God he be not angry.
K. Hen. Who's there, I say? How dare you
Into my private meditations?
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me, their servant, | "Tis sweet at first to acquire, after this process
In the unpartial judging of this business.
To give her the avaunt! it is a pity
Would move a monster.
K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be
Hearts of most hard temper
Melt and lament for her.
Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?
Wol. I know your majesty has always lov'd her
So dear in heart, not to deny her that
A woman of less place might ask by law,
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.
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.
K. Hen. Ay, and the best she shall have; and
Alas! poor lady,
She's a stranger now again.
So much the more
To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,
Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary :
I find him a fit fellow.
Re-enter WOLSEY, with GARDINER,
Wol. Aside to GARDINER. Give me your hand;
much joy and favour to you:
You are the king's now.
Gard. Aside to WOLSEY. But to be commanded
For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.
K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner.
They converse apart.
Cam. My lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace
In this man's place before him?
Yes, he was.
Cam. Was he not held a learned man?
Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread
Even of yourself, lord cardinal.
How! of me? Cam. They will not stick to say you envied him, And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him, That he ran mad and died.
There's places of rebuke. He was a fool,
For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,
If I command him, follows my appointment:
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen.
The most convenient place that I can think of
For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars;
There ye shall meet about this weighty business.
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O my lord!
Would it not grieve an able man to leave
So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, con-
O! 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her.
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.
Is our best having.
By my troth and maidenhead,
I would not be a queen.
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.
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?
No, in truth. Old Lady. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little :
How you do talk!
I swear again, I would not be a queen
For all the world.
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.
In faith, for little England You'd venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo! who comes here?
Enter the Lord Chamberlain.
Cham. Good morrow, ladies.
worth to know
The secret of your conference ?
My good lord,
Not your demand; it values not your asking:
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.
Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women: there is hope
All will be well.
Now, I pray God, amen! Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings
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 ter 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, 70 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 perus'd her well;
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled That they have caught the king; and who knows vet
But from this lady may proceed a gem
To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king,
And say I spoke with you.
My honour'd lord. 80
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.
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.
With your theme I could
O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pem-
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 GentlemanUsher bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeantat-Arms, bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two Cardinals; 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 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.
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, the Archbishop of CANTERBURY alone; after him, the Bishops of LINCOLN, ELY, ROCHESTER, and SAINT
And to bestow your pity on me; for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,
Born out of your dominions; having here
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas! sir
In what have I offended you? what cause
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure,
That thus you should proceed to put me off
And take your good grace from me? Heaven
I have been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable;
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,
Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour
I ever contradicted your desire,
Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends
Have I not strove to love, although I knew
He were mine enemy? What friend of mine
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I
Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice
He was from thence discharg'd. Sir, call to mind
That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
With many children by you: if, in the course
And process of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your sacred person, in God's name