SCENE V. Another part of the field

Zainab Irfan

Add To collaction

SCENE V. Another part of the field

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, GLOUCESTER, CLARENCE, and forces,

With QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners

KING EDWARD. Now here a period of tumultuous broils.

Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight;

For Somerset, off with his guilty head.

Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

OXFORD. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.

SOMERSET. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune.

Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded

QUEEN MARGARET. So part we sadly in this troublous world,

To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

KING EDWARD. Is proclamation made that who finds Edward

Shall have a high reward, and he his life?

GLOUCESTER. It is; and lo where youthful Edward comes.

Enter soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD

KING EDWARD. Bring forth the gallant; let us hear him speak.

What, can so young a man begin to prick?

Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make

For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,

And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

PRINCE OF WALES. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York.

Suppose that I am now my father's mouth;

Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou,

Whilst I propose the self-same words to the

Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

QUEEN MARGARET. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd!

GLOUCESTER. That you might still have worn the petticoat

And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.

PRINCE OF WALES. Let Aesop fable in a winter's night;

His currish riddle sorts not with this place.

GLOUCESTER. By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word.

QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men.

GLOUCESTER. For God's sake, take away this captive scold.

PRINCE OF WALES. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather.

KING EDWARD. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

CLARENCE. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

PRINCE OF WALES. I know my duty; you are all undutiful.

Lascivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George,

And thou misshapen Dick, I tell ye all

I am your better, traitors as ye are;

And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

KING EDWARD. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.

[Stabs him]

GLOUCESTER. Sprawl'st thou? Take that, to end thy agony.

[Stabs him]

CLARENCE. And there's for twitting me with perjury.

[Stabs him]

QUEEN MARGARET. O, kill me too!

GLOUCESTER. Marry, and shall. [Offers to kill her]

KING EDWARD. Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done to much.

GLOUCESTER. Why should she live to fill the world with words?

KING EDWARD. What, doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.

GLOUCESTER. Clarence, excuse me to the King my brother.

I'll hence to London on a serious matter;

Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

CLARENCE. What? what?

GLOUCESTER. The Tower! the Tower! Exit

QUEEN MARGARET. O Ned, sweet Ned, speak to thy mother, boy!

Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!

They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all,

Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,

If this foul deed were by to equal it.

He was a man: this, in respect, a child;

And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.

What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?

No, no, my heart will burst, an if I speak-

And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.

Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!

How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!

You have no children, butchers, if you had,

The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse.

But if you ever chance to have a child,

Look in his youth to have him so cut off

As, deathsmen, you have rid this sweet young prince!

KING EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.

QUEEN MARGARET. Nay, never bear me hence; dispatch me here.

Here sheathe thy sword; I'll pardon thee my death.

What, wilt thou not? Then, Clarence, do it thou.

CLARENCE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.

QUEEN MARGARET. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

CLARENCE. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it?

QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself.

'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.

What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher,

Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?

Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed;

Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

KING EDWARD. Away, I say; I charge ye bear her hence.

QUEEN MARGARET. So come to you and yours as to this prince.

Exit, led out forcibly

KING EDWARD. Where's Richard gone?

CLARENCE. To London, all in post; and, as I guess,

To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

KING EDWARD. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.

Now march we hence. Discharge the common sort

With pay and thanks; and let's away to London

And see our gentle queen how well she fares.

By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. Exeunt

SCENE VI. London. The Tower

Enter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER with the LIEUTENANT, on the walls

GLOUCESTER. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard?

KING HENRY. Ay, my good lord- my lord, I should say rather.

'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better.

'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike,

And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.'

GLOUCESTER. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves; we must confer.

Exit LIEUTENANT

KING HENRY. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf;

So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,

And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.

What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

GLOUCESTER. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind:

The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

KING HENRY. The bird that hath been limed in a bush

With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;

And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,

Have now the fatal object in my eye

Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and kill'd.

GLOUCESTER. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete

That taught his son the office of a fowl!

And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

KING HENRY. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus;

Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;

The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,

Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea

Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.

Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!

My breast can better brook thy dagger's point

Than can my ears that tragic history.

But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life?

GLOUCESTER. Think'st thou I am an executioner?

KING HENRY. A persecutor I am sure thou art.

If murdering innocents be executing,

Why, then thou are an executioner.

GLOUCESTER. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

KING HENRY. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume,

Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.

And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand

Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,

And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,

And many an orphan's water-standing eye-

Men for their sons, wives for their husbands,

Orphans for their parents' timeless death-

Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.

The owl shriek'd at thy birth- an evil sign;

The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;

Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees;

The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,

And chatt'ring pies in dismal discords sung;

Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,

And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope,

To wit, an indigest deformed lump,

Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.

Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,

To signify thou cam'st to bite the world;

And if the rest be true which I have heard,

Thou cam'st-

GLOUCESTER. I'll hear no more. Die, prophet, in thy speech.

[Stabs him]

For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

KING HENRY. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.

O, God forgive my sins and pardon thee! [Dies]

GLOUCESTER. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster

Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.

See how my sword weeps for the poor King's death.

O, may such purple tears be always shed

From those that wish the downfall of our house!

If any spark of life be yet remaining,

Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither-

[Stabs him again]

I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.

Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;

For I have often heard my mother say

I came into the world with my legs forward.

Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste

And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?

The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried

'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!'

And so I was, which plainly signified

That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.

Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,

Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.

I have no brother, I am like no brother;

And this word 'love,' which greybeards call divine,

Be resident in men like one another,

And not in me! I am myself alone.

Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light,

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;

For I will buzz abroad such prophecies

That Edward shall be fearful of his life;

And then to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.

King Henry and the Prince his son are gone.

Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;

Counting myself but bad till I be best.

I'll throw thy body in another room,

And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

Exit with the body

SCENE VII. London. The palace

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER,

HASTINGS, NURSE, with the Young PRINCE, and attendants

KING EDWARD. Once more we sit in England's royal throne,

Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies.

What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,

Have we mow'd down in tops of all their pride!

Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd

For hardy and undoubted champions;

Two Cliffords, as the father and the son;

And two Northumberlands- two braver men

Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;

With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,

That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion

And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.

Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat

And made our footstool of security.

Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.

Young Ned, for thee thine uncles and myself

Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night,

Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,

That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;

And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

GLOUCESTER. [Aside] I'll blast his harvest if your head were laid;

For yet I am not look'd on in the world.

This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;

And heave it shall some weight or break my back.

Work thou the way- and that shall execute.

KING EDWARD. Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen;

And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.

CLARENCE. The duty that I owe unto your Majesty

I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

KING EDWARD. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks.

GLOUCESTER. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,

Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.

[Aside] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master

And cried 'All hail!' when as he meant all harm.

KING EDWARD. Now am I seated as my soul delights,

Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.

CLARENCE. What will your Grace have done with Margaret?

Reignier, her father, to the King of France

Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,

And hither have they sent it for her ransom.

KING EDWARD. Away with her, and waft her hence to France.

And now what rests but that we spend the time

With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,

Such as befits the pleasure of the court?

Sound drums and trumpets. Farewell, sour annoy!

For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. Exeunt

THE END

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY

SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

1611

KING HENRY THE EIGHTH

by William Shakespeare

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

KING HENRY THE EIGHTH

CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V

CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY

DUKE OF NORFOLK DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM

DUKE OF SUFFOLK EARL OF SURREY

LORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD CHANCELLOR

GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER

BISHOP OF LINCOLN LORD ABERGAVENNY

LORD SANDYS SIR HENRY GUILDFORD

SIR THOMAS LOVELL SIR ANTHONY DENNY

SIR NICHOLAS VAUX SECRETARIES to Wolsey

CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey

GRIFFITH, gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine

THREE GENTLEMEN

DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King

GARTER KING-AT-ARMS

SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham

BRANDON, and a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS

DOORKEEPER Of the Council chamber

PORTER, and his MAN PAGE to Gardiner

A CRIER

QUEEN KATHARINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced

ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen

AN OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen

PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katharine

Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Lords and Ladies in the Dumb

Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes,

Officers, Guards, and other Attendants; Spirits

SCENE:

London; Westminster; Kimbolton

KING HENRY THE EIGHTH

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 deceiv'd; 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.

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY

SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

ACT I. SCENE 1.

London. The palace

Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other, the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and the LORD 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 thron'd 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, an gilt; the madams too,

Not us'd 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 th' 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 challeng'd

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 believ'd.

BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far!

NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect

In honour honesty, the tract of ev'rything

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 ord'red 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' th' 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 th' crown, neither allied

To eminent assistants, but spider-like,

Out of his self-drawing web, 'a 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.

ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell

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' th' King-t' 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 he papers.

ABERGAVENNY. I do know

Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have

By this so sicken'd 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 inspir'd, 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 Bordeaux.

ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore

Th' ambassador is silenc'd?

NORFOLK. Marry, is't.

ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas'd

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. The CARDINAL in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain

WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? Ha!

Where's his examination?

SECRETARY. Here, so please you.

WOLSEY. Is he in person ready?

SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace.

WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham

shall lessen this big look.

Exeunt 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 chaf'd?

Ask God for temp'rance; that's th' appliance only

Which your disease requires.

BUCKINGHAM. I read in's looks

Matter against me, and his eye revil'd

Me as his abject object. At this instant

He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' 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 advis'd:

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 till't run o'er

In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis'd.

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 gan 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.

NORFOLK. Say not treasonous.

BUCKINGHAM. To th' 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 rav'nous

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, th' interview

That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass

Did break i' th' wrenching.

NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did.

BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal

The articles o' th' combination drew

As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified

As he cried 'Thus let be' to as much end

As give a crutch to th' 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 th' 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 menac'd him-privily

Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow-

Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor

Paid ere he promis'd; whereby his suit was granted

Ere it was ask'd-but when the way was made,

And pav'd with gold, the Emperor thus desir'd,

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

BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it.

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 practice.

BRANDON. I am sorry

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on

The business present; 'tis his Highness' pleasure

You shall to th' Tower.

BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing

To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me

Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heav'n

Be done in this and all things! I obey.

O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well!

BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company.

[To ABERGAVENNY] The King

Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know

How he determines further.

ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said,

The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure

By me obey'd.

BRANDON. Here is warrant from

The King t' 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' th' plot; no more, I hope.

BRANDON. A monk o' th' Chartreux.

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 dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.

Exeunt

ACT I. SCENE 2.

London. The Council Chamber

Cornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL'S shoulder, the NOBLES, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself under the KING'S feet on his right side

KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it,

Thanks you for this great care; I stood i' th' level

Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks

To you that chok'd it. Let be call'd before us

That gentleman of Buckingham's. In person

I'll hear 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 the QUEEN, usher'd by the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him

QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor.

KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit

Never name to us: you have half our power.

The other moiety ere you ask is given;

Repeat your will, and take it.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty.

That you would love yourself, and in that love

Not unconsidered leave your honour nor

The dignity of your office, is the point

Of my petition.

KING. Lady mine, proceed.

QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few,

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 of

The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who

Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger

And lack of other means, in desperate manner

Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar,

And danger serves among them.

KING. Taxation!

Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal,

You that are blam'd for it alike with us,

Know you of this taxation?

WOLSEY. Please you, sir,

I know but of a single part in aught

Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file

Where others tell steps with me.

QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord!

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 th' hearing; and to bear 'em

The back is sacrifice to th' load. They say

They are devis'd by you, or else you suffer

Too hard an exclamation.

KING. Still exaction!

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 bold'ned

Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief

Comes through commissions, which compels from each

The sixth part of his substance, to be levied

Without delay; and the pretence for this

Is nam'd 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.

KING. By my life,

This is against our pleasure.

WOLSEY. And for me,

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

Traduc'd 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 rav'nous 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.

KING. Things done well

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' th' 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 tot;

I put it to your care.

WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY] A word with you.

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 nois'd

That through our intercession this revokement

And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you

Further in the proceeding. Exit SECRETARY

Enter SURVEYOR

QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham

Is run in your displeasure.

KING. It grieves many.

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 dispos'd, 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 list'ning, 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 practices, whereof

We cannot feel too little, hear too much.

WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,

Most like a careful subject, have collected

Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

KING. Speak freely.

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 Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd

Revenge upon the Cardinal.

WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note

This dangerous conception in this point:

Not friended by his wish, to your high person

His will is most malignant, and it stretches

Beyond you to your friends.

QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn'd Lord Cardinal,

Deliver all with charity.

KING. Speak on.

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 Henton.

KING. What was that Henton?

SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar,

His confessor, who fed him every minute

With words of sovereignty.

KING. How know'st thou this?

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 ensu'd: "Neither the King nor's heirs,

Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive

To gain the love o' th' commonalty; the Duke

Shall govern England."'

QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well,

You were the Duke's surveyor, and lost your office

On the complaint o' th' 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.

KING. Let him on.

Go forward.

SURVEYOR. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.

I told my lord the Duke, by th' devil's illusions

The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous

for him

To ruminate on this so far, until

It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd,

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.

KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!

There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say further?

SURVEYOR. I can, my liege.

KING. Proceed.

SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich,

After your Highness had reprov'd the Duke

About Sir William Bulmer-

KING. I remember

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

Th' 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 into him.'

KING. A giant traitor!

WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom,

And this man out of prison?

QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all!

KING. There's something more would out of thee: what say'st?

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 tenour

Was, were he evil us'd, he would outgo

His father by as much as a performance

Does an irresolute purpose.

KING. There's his period,

To sheath 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 th' height. Exeunt

ACT I. SCENE 3.

London. The palace

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS

CHAMBERLAIN. Is't possible the spells of France should juggle

Men into such strange mysteries?

SANDYS. New customs,

Though they be never so ridiculous,

Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English

Have got by the late voyage is but merely

A fit or two o' th' 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.

SANDYS. 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.

CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord,

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to't,

That sure th' have worn out Christendom.

Enter SIR THOMAS 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.

CHAMBERLAIN. What is't for?

LOVELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,

That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs

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 points 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 blist'red 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.

SANDYS. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases

Are grown so catching.

CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies

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.

SANDYS. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,

For sure there's no converting '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.

CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys;

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

SANDYS. No, my lord,

Nor shall not while I have a stamp.

CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas,

Whither were you a-going?

LOVELL. To the Cardinal's;

Your lordship is a guest too.

CHAMBERLAIN. O, 'tis true;

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 everywhere.

CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he's noble;

He had a black mouth that said other of him.

SANDYS. 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.

CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so;

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.

SANDYS. I am your lordship's. Exeunt

ACT I. SCENE 4.

London. The Presence Chamber in York Place

Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE BULLEN, and divers other LADIES and GENTLEMEN, as guests, at one door; at another door enter SIR HENRY 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.

Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR

THOMAS LOVELL

O, my lord, y'are tardy,

The very thought of this fair company

Clapp'd wings to me.

CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.

SANDYS. 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!

SANDYS. I would I were;

They should find easy penance.

LOVELL. Faith, how easy?

SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it.

CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,

Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this.

His Grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not freeze:

Two women plac'd together makes cold weather.

My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep 'em waking:

Pray sit between these ladies.

SANDYS. By my faith,

And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies.

[Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another lady]

If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;

I had it from my father.

ANNE. Was he mad, sir?

SANDYS. 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]

CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord.

So, now y'are fairly seated. Gentlemen,

The penance lies on you if these fair ladies

Pass away frowning.

SANDYS. For my little cure,

Let me alone.

Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and

takes his state

WOLSEY. Y'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady

Or gentleman that is not freely merry

Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome-

And to you all, good health! [Drinks]

SANDYS. Your Grace is noble.

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks

And save me so much talking.

WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys,

I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours.

Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,

Whose fault is this?

SANDYS. 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 Sandys.

SANDYS. 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.

SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon.

[Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharg'd]

WOLSEY. What's that?

CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye. Exit a SERVANT

WOLSEY. What warlike voice,

And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not:

By all the laws of war y'are privileg'd.

Re-enter SERVANT

CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is't?

SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers-

For so they seem. Th' have left their barge and landed,

And hither make, as great ambassadors

From foreign princes.

WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain,

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 remov'd

You have now a broken banquet, but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all; and once more

I show'r a welcome on ye; welcome all.

Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers,

habited like shepherds, usher'd by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN.

They pass directly before the CARDINAL,

and gracefully salute him

A noble company! What are their pleasures?

CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd

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.

WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain,

They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em

A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures.

[They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE BULLEN]

KING. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,

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

WOLSEY. My lord!

CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace?

WOLSEY. Pray tell 'em thus much from me:

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.

CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord.

[He whispers to the maskers]

WOLSEY. What say they?

CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess,

There is indeed; which they would have your Grace

Find out, and he will take it.

WOLSEY. Let me see, then. [Comes from his state]

By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make

My royal choice.

KING. [Unmasking] Ye have found him, Cardinal.

You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord.

You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, Cardinal,

I should judge now unhappily.

WOLSEY. I am glad

Your Grace is grown so pleasant.

KING. My Lord Chamberlain,

Prithee come hither: what fair lady's that?

CHAMBERLAIN. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's

daughter-

The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness' women.

KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet heart,

I were unmannerly to take you out

And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!

Let it go round.

WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready

I' th' privy chamber?

LOVELL. Yes, my lord.

WOLSEY. Your Grace,

I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

KING. I fear, too much.

WOLSEY. There's fresher air, my lord,

In the next chamber.

KING. Lead in your ladies, ev'ry one. Sweet partner,

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