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Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgement,
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.
You few that lov'd me,
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave
Is the 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. Sir Thomas Lovel here intimates to him that his charge continues only to the water-side ; and that Sir Nicholas

; Vaux lakes him to the Tower : Sir Nicholas gives directions to those in advance, that they see the barge ready, and fitted with furniture suitable to the greatness of the duke: Buckingham continues : [Buckingham.] Let it alone: all state will now but mock

When I came hither, I was lord high constable [me:
And duke of Buckingham : now, poor Edward Stafford :
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;
And, with that blood, will make them one day groan for
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 : heaven'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 from 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

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A little happier than my wretched father :
Yet thus far we are one in fortune,- both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov’d,
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 libéral of your loves and counsels,
Be sure you are not loose: those you make friends,
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from you, never found again
But where they mean to sink you. All good people,
Pray for me: I must leave you ; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me:
Farewell! and when you would say something sad,

Speak how I fell : remember Buckingham ! The attainted duke and those who have charge of him move on : the multitude follow: and the two gentlemen previously conversing about him, are again by themselves in the street : [First Gent.] Oh, this is full of pity! sir, it calls

For curses somewhere.
[Second Gent.] If the duke is guiltless,
'Tis full of woe.

Yet I can give you inkling
Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,

Greater than this.
[First Gent.] Good angels, keep it from us !

it be? Nay, do not doubt my secresy : I do not talk much. [Second Gent.] Have you heard of late

A buzzing of a separation

Between the king and Catherine ? [First Gent.] I have;

And deem'd it slander. [Second Gent.) But that slander, sir,

Is found a truth now : and 'tis said the cardinal

Has purpos’d this revenge upon


Who would not give him, on his asking for it,
A certain rich archbishopric in Spain,
Toledo, as I think. Is it not cruel, sir,
That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal
Will have his will, and she must fall. But come :
We are too open here to argue this :-

In private we can further speak : come on. While these two persons, gentlemen in ordinary life, are conversing in the street, two noblemen, the duke of Norfolk and the lord chamberlain, are engaged on the same subject in an ante-chamber of the palace. Thither let us believe ourselves transported: Norfolk speaks : [Norfolk.] Well met, my lord : 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 Has crept too near his conscience.

[wife [Norfolk.] No, his conscience

Has crept too near another lady: sir,
This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal :
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,

Turns what he lists. The king will know him one day. [Chamberlain.] Pray heaven he do! he'll never know him

[self else. [Norfolk.] How holily he works in all this business,

And with what zeal! For, having crack'd the league
Between us and the emperor, the queen's nephew,
He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience;
Then 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 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 piety! But ’tis

The news is everywhere; and all that dare [true;
Look into these affairs, see the 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.
[Norfolk.] Let's in, and put the king

From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon
My lord, you 'll bear me company ?

[him: [Chamberlain.] Excuse me;

The king hath sent me otherwise : besides,
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him :

Health to your lordship!
[Norfolk.] Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.

The chamberlain is on his way to another part of the palace, bearing a message to a young lady who is in the train of the queen. We will anticipate his visit by a fer

a minutes. Imagine an ante-chamber in the queen's apartments : Anne Boleyn and an old lady are in conversation : the former is the one whose words you will first catch :

[pinches : [Anne Boleyn.] Not for that neither; here's the pang that

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 ;-oh, now, after
So many years of majesty- the which
To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than
'Tis sweet at first to' acquire; after all this
To give her a dismissal, -—'tis a pity
Would move a monster.

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[Old Lady.] Ay, poor lady; now

She 'll be again a stranger in our land. [Anne Boleyn.] Oh, the uncertainty of greatness ! better,

Far better to be lowly born, and range
Among the poor and humble, in content;
Than being perch'd aloft in glittering grief,
To wear a golden sorrow! By my troth,

I would not be a queen.
[Old Lady.] Beshrew me, I would, -

And so would you,—ay, that you would, for all
This little spice of your hypocrisy.
You, that have such fair parts of woman on you,
I warrant have a woman's heart :-a queen ?
You would not be a queen

[Anne Boleyn.] I say I would not,-

No, not for all the riches under heaven. [Old Lady.) Why, now, a crooked threepence would hire

Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you, [me,
What think you of a duchess ? Have you limbs

To bear that load of title ? [Anne Boleyn.] No, in truth. [Old Lady.] Then you are weakly framed: yet let me tell

I would not be a young count in your way, [you,

For more than blushing comes to. [Anne Boleyn.] How you 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 enthroning : I myself
Would for Carnaervonshire : e'en were the crown
No bigger than a baby's cap.—Who 's here ?

The lord Chamberlain enters : [Chamberlain.] Good morrow, ladies. What were i't worth, The secret of your conférence ?

[to know

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