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Westminster. A street

Enter two GENTLEMEN, at several doors

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Whither away so fast?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. O, God save ye!

Ev'n to the Hall, to hear what shall become

Of the great Duke of Buckingham.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll save you

That labour, sir. All's now done but the ceremony

Of bringing back the prisoner.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Were you there?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, indeed, was I.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Pray, speak what has happen'd.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. You may guess quickly what.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is he found guilty?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am sorry for't.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. So are a number more.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. But, pray, how pass'd it?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you in a little. The great Duke.

Came to the bar; where to his accusations

He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged

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, viva 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.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. That was he

That fed him with his prophecies?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. The same.

All these accus'd him strongly, which he fain

Would have flung from him; but indeed he could not;

And so his peers, upon this evidence,

Have found him guilty of high treason. Much

He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all

Was either pitied in him or forgotten.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. After all this, how did he bear him-self

FIRST GENTLEMAN. When he was brought again to th' 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;

But he fell to himself again, and sweetly

In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do not think he fears death.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sure, he does not;

He never was so womanish; the cause

He may a little grieve at.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Certainly

The Cardinal is the end of this.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis likely,

By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,

Then deputy of Ireland, who remov'd,

Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,

Lest he should help his father.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. That trick of state

Was a deep envious one.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. At his return

No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,

And generally: whoever the King favours

The Cardinal instantly will find employment,

And far enough from court too.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. All the commons

Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,

Wish him ten fathom deep: this Duke as much

They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,

The mirror of all courtesy-

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 WILLIAM SANDYS,

and common people, etc.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Stay there, sir,

And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Let's stand close, and behold him.

BUCKINGHAM. 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 witness,

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 premises, but justice.

But those that sought it I could wish more Christians.

Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em;

Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief

Nor build their evils on the graves of great men,

For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em.

For further life in this world I ne'er hope

Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies

More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me

And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,

His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave

Is only bitter to him, only dying,

Go with me like good angels to my end;

And as the long divorce of steel falls on me

Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,

And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a God's name.

LOVELL. I do beseech your Grace, for charity,

If ever any malice in your heart

Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.

BUCKINGHAM. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you

As I would be forgiven. I forgive all.

There cannot be those numberless offences

'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with. No black envy

Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace;

And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him

You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers

Yet are the King's, and, till my soul forsake,

Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live

Longer than I have time to tell his years;

Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be;

And when old time Shall lead him to his end,

Goodness and he fill up one monument!

LOVELL. To th' water side I must conduct your Grace;

Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,

Who undertakes you to your end.

VAUX. Prepare there;

The Duke is coming; see the barge be ready;

And fit it with such furniture as suits

The greatness of his person.

BUCKINGHAM. Nay, Sir Nicholas,

Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.

When I came hither I was Lord High Constable

And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun.

Yet I am richer than my base accusers

That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it;

And with that blood will make 'em one day groan fort.

My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,

Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,

Flying for succour to his servant Banister,

Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd

And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!

Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying

My father's loss, like a most royal prince,

Restor'd me to my honours, and out of ruins

Made my name once more noble. Now his son,

Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all

That made me happy, at one stroke has taken

For ever from the world. I had my trial,

And must needs say a noble one; which makes me

A little happier than my wretched father;

Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both

Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most-

A most unnatural and faithless service.

Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me,

This from a dying man receive as certain:

Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels,

Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends

And give your hearts to, when they once perceive

The least rub in your fortunes, fall away

Like water from ye, never found again

But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,

Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour

Of my long weary life is come upon me.

Farewell;

And when you would say something that is sad,

Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me!

Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train

FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,

I fear, too many curses on their heads

That were the authors.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless,

'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling

Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,

Greater than this.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us!

What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require

A strong faith to conceal it.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it;

I do not talk much.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident.

You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear

A buzzing of a separation

Between the King and Katharine?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not;

For when the King once heard it, out of anger

He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight

To stop the rumour and allay those tongues

That durst disperse it.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. But that slander, sir,

Is found a truth now; for it grows again

Fresher than e'er it was, and held for certain

The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal

Or some about him near have, out of malice

To the good Queen, possess'd him with a scruple

That will undo her. To confirm this too,

Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd and lately;

As all think, for this business.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the Cardinal;

And merely to revenge him on the Emperor

For not bestowing on him at his asking

The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is't

not cruel

That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal

Will have his will, and she must fall.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis woeful.

We are too open here to argue this;

Let's think in private more. Exeunt

ACT II. SCENE 2.

London. The palace

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter

CHAMBERLAIN. 'My lord,

'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care

had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. They were

young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north.

When they were ready to set out for London, a man of

my Lord Cardinal's, by commission, and main power, took

'em from me, with this reason: his master would be serv'd

before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp'd

our mouths, sir.'

I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them.

He will have all, I think.

Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK

NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain.

CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces.

SUFFOLK. How is the King employ'd?

CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private,

Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

NORFOLK. What's the cause?

CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife

Has crept too near his conscience.

SUFFOLK. No, his conscience

Has crept too near another lady.

NORFOLK. 'Tis so;

This is the Cardinal's doing; the King-Cardinal,

That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,

Turns what he list. The King will know him one day.

SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He'll never know himself else.

NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business!

And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the league

Between us and the Emperor, the Queen's great nephew,

He dives into the King's soul and there scatters

Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,

Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage;

And out of all these to restore the King,

He counsels a divorce, a loss of her

That like a jewel has hung twenty years

About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;

Of her that loves him with that excellence

That angels love good men with; even of her

That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,

Will bless the King-and is not this course pious?

CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true

These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks 'em,

And every true heart weeps for 't. All that dare

Look into these affairs see this main end-

The French King's sister. Heaven will one day open

The King's eyes, that so long have slept upon

This bold bad man.

SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery.

NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance;

Or this imperious man will work us an

From princes into pages. All men's honours

Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd

Into what pitch he please.

SUFFOLK. For me, my lords,

I love him not, nor fear him-there's my creed;

As I am made without him, so I'll stand,

If the King please; his curses and his blessings

Touch me alike; th' are breath I not believe in.

I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him

To him that made him proud-the Pope.

NORFOLK. Let's in;

And with some other business put the King

From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him.

My lord, you'll bear us company?

CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me,

The King has sent me otherwhere; besides,

You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him.

Health to your lordships!

NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain.

Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws

the curtain and sits reading pensively

SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted.

KING. Who's there, ha?

NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry.

KING HENRY. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves

Into my private meditations?

Who am I, ha?

NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences

Malice ne'er meant. Our breach of duty this way

Is business of estate, in which we come

To know your royal pleasure.

KING. Ye are too bold.

Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business.

Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?

Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission

Who's there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey,

The quiet of my wounded conscience,

Thou art a cure fit for a King. [To CAMPEIUS] You're

welcome,

Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom.

Use us and it. [To WOLSEY] My good lord, have great care

I be not found a talker.

WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot.

I would your Grace would give us but an hour

Of private conference.

KING. [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK] We are busy; go.

NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] This priest has no pride in him!

SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] Not to speak of!

I would not be so sick though for his place.

But this cannot continue.

NORFOLK. [Aside to SUFFOLK] If it do,

I'll venture one have-at-him.

SUFFOLK. [Aside to NORFOLK] I another.

Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK

WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom

Above all princes, in committing freely

Your scruple to the voice of Christendom.

Who can be angry now? What envy reach you?

The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,

Must now confess, if they have any goodness,

The trial just and noble. All the clerks,

I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms

Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment,

Invited by your noble self, hath sent

One general tongue unto us, this good man,

This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius,

Whom once more I present unto your Highness.

KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,

And thank the holy conclave for their loves.

They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.

CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers' loves,

You are so noble. To your Highness' hand

I tender my commission; by whose virtue-

The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord

Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant

In the unpartial judging of this business.

KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted

Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?

WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov'd her

So dear in heart not to deny her that

A woman of less place might ask by law-

Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.

KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour

To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal,

Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;

I find him a fit fellow. Exit WOLSEY

Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER

WOLSEY. [Aside to GARDINER] Give me your hand: much

joy and favour to you;

You are the King's now.

GARDINER. [Aside to WOLSEY] But to be commanded

For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais'd me.

KING. Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers]

CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace

In this man's place before him?

WOLSEY. Yes, he was.

CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man?

WOLSEY. Yes, surely.

CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then,

Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal.

WOLSEY. How! Of me?

CAMPEIUS. They will not stick to say you envied him

And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,

Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him

That he ran mad and died.

WOLSEY. Heav'n's peace be with him!

That's Christian care enough. For living murmurers

There's places of rebuke. He was a fool,

For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,

If I command him, follows my appointment.

I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,

We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.

KING. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queen.

Exit GARDINER

The most convenient place that I can think of

For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars;

There ye shall meet about this weighty business-

My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord,

Would it not grieve an able man to leave

So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!

O, 'tis a tender place! and I must leave her. Exeunt

ACT II. SCENE 3.

London. The palace

Enter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY

ANNE. Not for that neither. Here's the pang that pinches:

His Highness having liv'd so long with her, and she

So good a lady that no tongue could ever

Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life,

She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after

So many courses of the sun enthroned,

Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which

To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than

'Tis sweet at first t' acquire-after this process,

To give her the avaunt, it is a pity

Would move a monster.

OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper

Melt and lament for her.

ANNE. O, God's will! much better

She ne'er had known pomp; though't be temporal,

Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce

It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging

As soul and body's severing.

OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady!

She's a stranger now again.

ANNE. So much the more

Must pity drop upon her. Verily,

I swear 'tis better to be lowly born

And range with humble livers in content

Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief

And wear a golden sorrow.

OLD LADY. Our content

Is our best having.

ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead,

I would not be a queen.

OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would,

And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you,

For all this spice of your hypocrisy.

You that have so fair parts of woman on you

Have too a woman's heart, which ever yet

Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;

Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,

Saving your mincing, the capacity

Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive

If you might please to stretch it.

ANNE. Nay, good troth.

OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen!

ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven.

OLD LADY. 'Tis strange: a threepence bow'd would hire me,

Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you,

What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs

To bear that load of title?

ANNE. No, in truth.

OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little;

I would not be a young count in your way

For more than blushing comes to. If your back

Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak

Ever to get a boy.

ANNE. How you do talk!

I swear again I would not be a queen

For all the world.

OLD LADY. In faith, for little England

You'd venture an emballing. I myself

Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd

No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here?

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN

CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know

The secret of your conference?

ANNE. My good lord,

Not your demand; it values not your asking.

Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.

CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming

The action of good women; there is hope

All will be well.

ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen!

CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings

Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,

Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes

Ta'en of your many virtues, the King's Majesty

Commends his good opinion of you to you, and

Does purpose honour to you no less flowing

Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide

A thousand pound a year, annual support,

Out of his grace he adds.

ANNE. I do not know

What kind of my obedience I should tender;

More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers

Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes

More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes

Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,

Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,

As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness;

Whose health and royalty I pray for.

CHAMBERLAIN. Lady,

I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit

The King hath of you. [Aside] I have perus'd her well:

Beauty and honour in her are so mingled

That they have caught the King; and who knows yet

But from this lady may proceed a gem

To lighten all this isle?-I'll to the King

And say I spoke with you.

ANNE. My honour'd lord! Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN

OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see!

I have been begging sixteen years in court-

Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could

Come pat betwixt too early and too late

For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!

A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon

This compell'd fortune!-have your mouth fill'd up

Before you open it.

ANNE. This is strange to me.

OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.

There was a lady once-'tis an old story-

That would not be a queen, that would she not,

For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?

ANNE. Come, you are pleasant.

OLD LADY. With your theme I could

O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!

A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!

No other obligation! By my life,

That promises moe thousands: honour's train

Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time

I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,

Are you not stronger than you were?

ANNE. Good lady,

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,

And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,

If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me

To think what follows.

The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful

In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver

What here y' have heard to her.

OLD LADY. What do you think me? Exeunt

ACT II. SCENE 4.

London. A hall in Blackfriars

Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver wands; next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY, ROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance, follows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a Cardinal's hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross; then a GENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS bearing a silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two NOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN and their trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state; the two CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place some distance from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side of the court, in manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES. The LORDS sit next the BISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the stage

WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read,

Let silence be commanded.

KING. What's the need?

It hath already publicly been read,

And on all sides th' authority allow'd;

You may then spare that time.

WOLSEY. Be't so; proceed.

SCRIBE. Say 'Henry King of England, come into the court.'

CRIER. Henry King of England, &c.

KING. Here.

SCRIBE. Say 'Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.'

CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c.

The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair,

goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels

at his feet; then speaks

QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,

And to bestow your pity on me; for

I am a most poor woman and a stranger,

Born out of your dominions, having here

No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance

Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,

In what have I offended you? What cause

Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure

That thus you should proceed to put me of

And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,

I have been to you a true and humble wife,

At all times to your will conformable,

Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,

Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry

As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour

I ever contradicted your desire

Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends

Have I not strove to love, although I knew

He were mine enemy? What friend of mine

That had to him deriv'd your anger did

Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice

He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind

That I have been your wife in this obedience

Upward of twenty years, and have been blest

With many children by you. If, in the course

And process of this time, you can report,

And prove it too against mine honour, aught,

My bond to wedlock or my love and duty,

Against your sacred person, in God's name,

Turn me away and let the foul'st contempt

Shut door upon me, and so give me up

To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you, sir,

The King, your father, was reputed for

A prince most prudent, of an excellent

And unmatch'd wit and judgment; Ferdinand,

My father, King of Spain, was reckon'd one

The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many

A year before. It is not to be question'd

That they had gather'd a wise council to them

Of every realm, that did debate this business,

Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly

Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may

Be by my friends in Spain advis'd, whose counsel

I will implore. If not, i' th' name of God,

Your pleasure be fulfill'd!

WOLSEY. You have here, lady,

And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men

Of singular integrity and learning,

Yea, the elect o' th' land, who are assembled

To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless

That longer you desire the court, as well

For your own quiet as to rectify

What is unsettled in the King.

CAMPEIUS. His Grace

Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam,

It's fit this royal session do proceed

And that, without delay, their arguments

Be now produc'd and heard.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal,

To you I speak.

WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam?

QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir,

I am about to weep; but, thinking that

We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain

The daughter of a king, my drops of tears

I'll turn to sparks of fire.

WOLSEY. Be patient yet.

QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before

Or God will punish me. I do believe,

Induc'd by potent circumstances, that

You are mine enemy, and make my challenge

You shall not be my judge; for it is you

Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me-

Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again,

I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul

Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more

I hold my most malicious foe and think not

At all a friend to truth.

WOLSEY. I do profess

You speak not like yourself, who ever yet

Have stood to charity and display'd th' effects

Of disposition gentle and of wisdom

O'ertopping woman's pow'r. Madam, you do me wrong:

I have no spleen against you, nor injustice

For you or any; how far I have proceeded,

Or how far further shall, is warranted

By a commission from the Consistory,

Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me

That I have blown this coal: I do deny it.

The King is present; if it be known to him

That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,

And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much

As you have done my truth. If he know

That I am free of your report, he knows

I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him

It lies to cure me, and the cure is to

Remove these thoughts from you; the which before

His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech

You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking

And to say so no more.

QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord,

I am a simple woman, much too weak

T' oppose your cunning. Y'are meek and humble-mouth'd;

You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,

With meekness and humility; but your heart

Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.

You have, by fortune and his Highness' favours,

Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted

Where pow'rs are your retainers, and your words,

Domestics to you, serve your will as't please

Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you

You tender more your person's honour than

Your high profession spiritual; that again

I do refuse you for my judge and here,

Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,

To bring my whole cause 'fore his Holiness

And to be judg'd by him.

[She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart]

CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate,

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and

Disdainful to be tried by't; 'tis not well.

She's going away.

KING. Call her again.

CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.

GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call'd back.

QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way;

When you are call'd, return. Now the Lord help!

They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on.

I will not tarry; no, nor ever more

Upon this business my appearance make

In any of their courts. Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants

KING. Go thy ways, Kate.

That man i' th' world who shall report he has

A better wife, let him in nought be trusted

For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone-

If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,

Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,

Obeying in commanding, and thy parts

Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out-

The queen of earthly queens. She's noble born;

And like her true nobility she has

Carried herself towards me.

WOLSEY. Most gracious sir,

In humblest manner I require your Highness

That it shall please you to declare in hearing

Of all these ears-for where I am robb'd and bound,

There must I be unloos'd, although not there

At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I

Did broach this business to your Highness, or

Laid any scruple in your way which might

Induce you to the question on't, or ever

Have to you, but with thanks to God for such

A royal lady, spake one the least word that might

Be to the prejudice of her present state,

Or touch of her good person?

KING. My Lord Cardinal,

I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,

I free you from't. You are not to be taught

That you have many enemies that know not

Why they are so, but, like to village curs,

Bark when their fellows do. By some of these

The Queen is put in anger. Y'are excus'd.

But will you be more justified? You ever

Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desir'd

It to be stirr'd; but oft have hind'red, oft,

The passages made toward it. On my honour,

I speak my good Lord Cardinal to this point,

And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't,

I will be bold with time and your attention.

Then mark th' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to't:

My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness,

Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd

By th' Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador,

Who had been hither sent on the debating

A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and

Our daughter Mary. I' th' progress of this business,

Ere a determinate resolution, he-

I mean the Bishop-did require a respite

Wherein he might the King his lord advertise

Whether our daughter were legitimate,

Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,

Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook

The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,

Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble

The region of my breast, which forc'd such way

That many maz'd considerings did throng

And press'd in with this caution. First, methought

I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had

Commanded nature that my lady's womb,

If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should

Do no more offices of life to't than

The grave does to the dead; for her male issue

Or died where they were made, or shortly after

This world had air'd them. Hence I took a thought

This was a judgment on me, that my kingdom,

Well worthy the best heir o' th' world, should not

Be gladded in't by me. Then follows that

I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in

By this my issue's fail, and that gave to me

Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in

The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer

Toward this remedy, whereupon we are

Now present here together; that's to say

I meant to rectify my conscience, which

I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,

By all the reverend fathers of the land

And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private

With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember

How under my oppression I did reek,

When I first mov'd you.

LINCOLN. Very well, my liege.

KING. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to say

How far you satisfied me.

LINCOLN. So please your Highness,

The question did at first so stagger me-

Bearing a state of mighty moment in't

And consequence of dread-that I committed

The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt,

And did entreat your Highness to this course

Which you are running here.

KING. I then mov'd you,

My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave

To make this present summons. Unsolicited

I left no reverend person in this court,

But by particular consent proceeded

Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on,

For no dislike i' th' world against the person

Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points

Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward.

Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life

And kingly dignity, we are contented

To wear our moral state to come with her,

Katharine our queen, before the primest creature

That's paragon'd o' th' world.

CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness,

The Queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness

That we adjourn this court till further day;

Meanwhile must be an earnest motion

Made to the Queen to call back her appeal

She intends unto his Holiness.

KING. [Aside] I may perceive

These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor

This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,

Prithee return. With thy approach I know

My comfort comes along. -Break up the court;

I say, set on. Exuent in manner as they entered

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ACT III. SCENE 1.

London. The QUEEN'S apartments

Enter the QUEEN and her women, as at work

QUEEN KATHARINE. Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows

sad with troubles;

Sing and disperse 'em, if thou canst. Leave working.

SONG

Orpheus with his lute made trees,

And the mountain tops that freeze,

Bow themselves when he did sing;

To his music plants and flowers

Ever sprung, as sun and showers

There had made a lasting spring.

Every thing that heard him play,

Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads and then lay by.

In sweet music is such art,

Killing care and grief of heart

Fall asleep or hearing die.

Enter a GENTLEMAN

QUEEN KATHARINE. How now?

GENTLEMAN. An't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals

Wait in the presence.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Would they speak with me?

GENTLEMAN. They will'd me say so, madam.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Pray their Graces

To come near. [Exit GENTLEMAN] What can be their business

With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour?

I do not like their coming. Now I think on't,

They should be good men, their affairs as righteous;

But all hoods make not monks.

Enter the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS

WOLSEY. Peace to your Highness!

QUEEN KATHARINE. Your Graces find me here part of housewife;

I would be all, against the worst may happen.

What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?

WOLSEY. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw

Into your private chamber, we shall give you

The full cause of our coming.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Speak it here;

There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,

Deserves a corner. Would all other women

Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!

My lords, I care not-so much I am happy

Above a number-if my actions

Were tried by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em,

Envy and base opinion set against 'em,

I know my life so even. If your business

Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,

Out with it boldly; truth loves open dealing.

WOLSEY. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenis-sima-

QUEEN KATHARINE. O, good my lord, no Latin!

I am not such a truant since my coming,

As not to know the language I have liv'd in;

A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious;

Pray speak in English. Here are some will thank you,

If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake:

Believe me, she has had much wrong. Lord Cardinal,

The willing'st sin I ever yet committed

May be absolv'd in English.

WOLSEY. Noble lady,

I am sorry my integrity should breed,

And service to his Majesty and you,

So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant

We come not by the way of accusation

To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,

Nor to betray you any way to sorrow-

You have too much, good lady; but to know

How you stand minded in the weighty difference

Between the King and you, and to deliver,

Like free and honest men, our just opinions

And comforts to your cause.

CAMPEIUS. Most honour'd madam,

My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,

Zeal and obedience he still bore your Grace,

Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure

Both of his truth and him-which was too far-

Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,

His service and his counsel.

QUEEN KATHARINE. [Aside] To betray me.-

My lords, I thank you both for your good wins;

Ye speak like honest men-pray God ye prove so!

But how to make ye suddenly an answer,

In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,

More near my life, I fear, with my weak wit,

And to such men of gravity and learning,

In truth I know not. I was set at work

Among my maids, full little, God knows, looking

Either for such men or such business.

For her sake that I have been-for I feel

The last fit of my greatness-good your Graces,

Let me have time and counsel for my cause.

Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!

WOLSEY. Madam, you wrong the King's love with these fears;

Your hopes and friends are infinite.

QUEEN KATHARINE. In England

But little for my profit; can you think, lords,

That any Englishman dare give me counsel?

Or be a known friend, 'gainst his Highness' pleasure-

Though he be grown so desperate to be honest-

And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,

They that must weigh out my afflictions,

They that my trust must grow to, live not here;

They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,

In mine own country, lords.

CAMPEIUS. I would your Grace

Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.

QUEEN KATHARINE. How, sir?

CAMPEIUS. Put your main cause into the King's protection;

He's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much

Both for your honour better and your cause;

For if the trial of the law o'ertake ye

You'll part away disgrac'd.

WOLSEY. He tells you rightly.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye tell me what ye wish for both-my ruin.

Is this your Christian counsel? Out upon ye!

Heaven is above all yet: there sits a Judge

That no king can corrupt.

CAMPEIUS. Your rage mistakes us.

QUEEN KATHARINE. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,

Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;

But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye.

Mend 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?

The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady-

A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?

I will not wish ye half my miseries:

I have more charity; but say I warned ye.

Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once

The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.

WOLSEY. Madam, this is a mere distraction;

You turn the good we offer into envy.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye,

And all such false professors! Would you have me-

If you have any justice, any pity,

If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits-

Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?

Alas! has banish'd me his bed already,

His love too long ago! I am old, my lords,

And all the fellowship I hold now with him

Is only my obedience. What can happen

To me above this wretchedness? All your studies

Make me a curse like this.

CAMPEIUS. Your fears are worse.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Have I liv'd thus long-let me speak myself,

Since virtue finds no friends-a wife, a true one?

A woman, I dare say without vain-glory,

Never yet branded with suspicion?

Have I with all my full affections

Still met the King, lov'd him next heav'n, obey'd him,

Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him,

Almost forgot my prayers to content him,

And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well, lords.

Bring me a constant woman to her husband,

One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure,

And to that woman, when she has done most,

Yet will I add an honour-a great patience.

WOLSEY. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.

QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,

To give up willingly that noble title

Your master wed me to: nothing but death

Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

WOLSEY. Pray hear me.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Would I had never trod this English earth,

Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!

Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.

What will become of me now, wretched lady?

I am the most unhappy woman living.

[To her WOMEN] Alas, poor wenches, where are now

your fortunes?

Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,

No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me;

Almost no grave allow'd me. Like the My,

That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,

I'll hang my head and perish.

WOLSEY. If your Grace

Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,

You'd feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady,

Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places,

The way of our profession is against it;

We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.

For goodness' sake, consider what you do;

How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly

Grow from the King's acquaintance, by this carriage.

The hearts of princes kiss obedience,

So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits

They swell and grow as terrible as storms.

I know you have a gentle, noble temper,

A soul as even as a calm. Pray think us

Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.

CAMPEIUS. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues

With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit,

As yours was put into you, ever casts

Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you;

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.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Do what ye will my lords; and pray

forgive me

If I have us'd 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. Exeunt

ACT III.SCENE 2.

London. The palace

Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD CHAMBERLAIN

NORFOLK. 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 moe new disgraces

With these you bear already.

SURREY. 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.

SUFFOLK. 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?

CHAMBERLAIN. 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 th' King, never attempt

Anything on him; for he hath a witchcraft

Over the King in's tongue.

NORFOLK. 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.

SURREY. Sir,

I should be glad to hear such news as this

Once every hour.

NORFOLK. Believe it, this is true:

In the divorce his contrary proceedings

Are all unfolded; wherein he appears

As I would wish mine enemy.

SURREY. How came

His practices to light?

SUFFOLK. Most Strangely.

SURREY. O, how, how?

SUFFOLK. The Cardinal's letters to the Pope miscarried,

And came to th' eye o' th' King; wherein was read

How that the Cardinal did entreat his Holiness

To stay the judgment o' th' divorce; for if

It did take place, 'I do' quoth he 'perceive

My king is tangled in affection to

A creature of the Queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.'

SURREY. Has the King this?

SUFFOLK. Believe it.

SURREY. Will this work?

CHAMBERLAIN. The King in this perceives him how he coasts

And hedges his own way. But in this point

All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic

After his patient's death: the King already

Hath married the fair lady.

SURREY. Would he had!

SUFFOLK. May you be happy in your wish, my lord!

For, I profess, you have it.

SURREY. Now, all my joy

Trace the conjunction!

SUFFOLK. My amen to't!

NORFOLK. An men's!

SUFFOLK. There's order given for her coronation;

Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left

To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords,

She is a gallant creature, and complete

In mind and feature. I persuade me from her

Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall

In it be memoriz'd.

SURREY. But will the King

Digest this letter of the Cardinal's?

The Lord forbid!

NORFOLK. Marry, amen!

SUFFOLK. No, no;

There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose

Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius

Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;

Has left the cause o' th' 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.

CHAMBERLAIN. Now, God incense him,

And let him cry 'Ha!' louder!

NORFOLK. But, my lord,

When returns Cranmer?

SUFFOLK. 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.

NORFOLK. This same Cranmer's

A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain

In the King's business.

SUFFOLK. He has; and we shall see him

For it an archbishop.

NORFOLK. So I hear.

SUFFOLK. 'Tis so.

Enter WOLSEY and CROMWELL

The Cardinal!

NORFOLK. Observe, observe, he's moody.

WOLSEY. The packet, Cromwell,

Gave't you the King?

CROMWELL. To his own hand, in's bedchamber.

WOLSEY. Look'd he o' th' inside of the paper?

CROMWELL. Presently

He did unseal them; and the first he view'd,

He did it with a serious mind; a heed

Was in his countenance. You he bade

Attend him here this morning.

WOLSEY. Is he ready

To come abroad?

CROMWELL. I think by this he is.

WOLSEY. Leave me awhile. Exit CROMWELL

[Aside] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,

The French King's sister; he shall marry her.

Anne Bullen! No, I'll no Anne Bullens for him;

There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen!

No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish

To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!

NORFOLK. He's discontented.

SUFFOLK. May be he hears the King

Does whet his anger to him.

SURREY. Sharp enough,

Lord, for thy justice!

WOLSEY. [Aside] 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 virtuous

And well deserving? Yet I know her for

A spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome to

Our cause that she should lie i' th' bosom of

Our hard-rul'd King. Again, there is sprung up

An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one

Hath crawl'd into the favour of the King,

And is his oracle.

NORFOLK. He is vex'd at something.