Buckingham.† ^note
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 Heav'n bear witness,
And if I have a conscience, let it sink me,
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful.
To th' 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;
For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
Nor will I sue, altho' 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 Heav'n. Lead on.

Lov.
I do beseech your grace for charity,
If ever any malice in your heart
Were hid against me, now forgive me, frankly.

Buck.
Sir Thomas Lovel, I as free forgive you,
As I would be forgiven: I forgive all.
—Commend me to his grace:
And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him,
You met him half in Heaven. My vows, and pray'rs
Yet are the king's; and 'till my soul forsake me,
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.* ^note

Lov.
Prepare there,
The duke is coming: see the barge be ready,
And fit it with such furniture as suits
The greatness of his person.

Buck.
Nay, Sir Thomas,
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 Edmund Bohun;
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant.
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. Peace be with him!

I had my trial,
And must needs say, a noble one; which makes me
A little happier than my father:
Yet thus far we are one in fortune, both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd.
You that hear me,
This from a dying man receive, as certain:
Where you are lib'ral of your loves and counsels,
Be sure you be not loose; those you make friends,
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away,
Like water from ye; never found again,
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
Pray for me! I must leave ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life, is come upon me.
Farewel; and when you would say something sad,
Remember Buckingham.* ^note [Exeunt Buckingham and Train. Enter Lord Chamberlain, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk.

Nor.
Well met, my lord chamberlain.

Chamb.
Good day to both your graces.

Suff.
How is the king employ'd?

Chamb.
I left him private,
Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

Nor.
What's the cause?

Cham.
It seems the marriage with his brother's wife,
Has crept too near his conscience.

Suff.
No, his conscience
Has crept too near another lady.

Nor.
'Tis so.
This is the cardinal's doing; the king-cardinal:
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
Turns what he lists. The king will know him, one day.

Suff.
Pray Heaven he do; he'll never know himself else.

Nor.
We had need pray, and heartily, for deliv'rance;
Or this imperious man will work us all,
From princes into pages. 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?

Cham.
Excuse me,
The king hath sent me other-where: besides,
You'll find it a most unfit time to disturb him.
Health to your lordships. [Exit Lord Chamberlain.

Suff.
See, the king. Enter the King, reading pensively.

Suff.
How sad he looks! sure he is much afflicted.

King.
Who's there? ha?

Nor.
Pray Heaven, he be not angry.

King.
Who's there, I say? how dare you thrust yourselves
Into my private meditations?
Who am I? ha?

Nor.
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 you know your times of business:
Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha!* ^note Enter Wolsey, and Campeius the Pope's Legate, 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. You're welcome,

Most learned rev'rend sir, into our kingdom; [To Campeius.
Use us, and it; my good lord, have great care
I be not found a talker.

Wol.
Sir, you cannot.
I would your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conf'rence.

King.
We are busy; leave us.

Nor.
This priest has no pride in him.

Suff.
Not to speak of:
I would not be so sick, though, for his place:
But this cannot continue.

Nor.
If it do,
I'll venture one heave at him.

Suff.
I another. [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk.

King.
Go.

Wol.
Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom‡ ^note
Above all princes, in committing freely,
Your scruple to the voice of christendom.
Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?
The Spaniard, ty'd 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 gen'ral 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 my arms, I bid him welcome.
And thank the holy conclave for their loves,
They've sent me such man I would have wish'd for.

Camp.
Your grace must needs deserve all stranger's 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 impartial judging of this business.

King.
Two equal men: the queen shall be acquainted,
Forthwith, for what you come. Where's Gardiner?

Wol.
I know your majesty has always lov'd her,
So dear in heart, not to deny her what
A woman of less place might ask by law,
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.* ^note

King.
Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour,
To him that does best; Heav'n forbid, else. Cardinal,
Pr'ythee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary,
I find him a fit fellow.† ^note Enter Gardiner.

Wol.
Give me your hand; much joy and favour to you;
You are the king's, now.

Gard.
But to be commanded
For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.

King.
Come hither, Gardiner. [Walks and whispers.

Camp.
My lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace,
In this man's place before him?

Wol.
Yes, he was.

Camp.
Was he not held a learned man?

Wol.
Yes, surely.

Camp.
Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then,
Ev'n of yourself, lord cardinal.

Wol.
How! of me!

Camp.
They will not stick to say you envy'd him;
And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
Kept him a foreign man still,‡ ^note which so griev'd him,
That he ran mad, and dy'd.

Wol.
Heav'ns 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.* ^note 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 Black-friars:
There ye shall meet about this weighty business,
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O my lord,
Would it not grieve an able man, to leave
So sweet a bedfellow? but conscience, conscience—
O 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady.† ^note

Anne.
Not for that neither—here's the pang that pinches.
His highness 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.
I swear 'tis better to be lowly born,
Than wear a golden sorrow.
Who would, on such conditions, be a queen?

Old L.
Beshrew me, I would, and so would you,
For all this spice of your hypocrisy;

Anne.
Nay, good troth—

Old L.
You would not be a queen?

Anne.
No, not for all the riches under heav'n.

Old L.
A three-pence bow'd would hire me,
Old as I am, to queen it.

Anne.
How do you talk!
I swear again, I would not be a queen,
For all the world.

Old L.
In faith, for little England,
You'll venture an emballing: I myself,
Would for Carnarvonshire, though there belong'd
No more to th' crown, but that. Lo, who comes here! Enter Lord Chamberlain.

Cham.
Gook-morrow, ladies; what were't worth to know
The secret of your conf'rence?

Anne.
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.

Cham.
It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women: there is hope
All will be well.

Anne.
Now, I pray Heav'n, amen.

Cham.
You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
Perceive I speak sincerely, the king's majesty
Commends his good opinion to you, and
Does purpose honour to you, no less flowing,
Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which title
A thousand pound a year annual support,
Out of his grace he adds.

Anne.
I do 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.

Cham.
Lady,
I shall not fail t'approve the fair conceit,
The king hath of you—I've perus'd her well.
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, [Aside.
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. [Exit Chamberlain.

Anne.
My lord, I am your humble servant.

Old L.
The Marchioness of Pembroke!
A thousand pounds a year, for pure respect!
No other obligation? By my life
That promises more thousands: honour's train
Is longer than his fore-skirt.

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'ave heard, to her.

Old L.
What do you think me?— [Exeunt. Discovered at the trial. Captain, six guards behind the throne. King, on the throne. Norfolk and Suffolk, on each side. Lord Chamberlain and Surry on a step. Sands and Lovel on another. Two Lords. Two Cardinals on two stools, facing the audience. Cromwell at a table, in the middle, a mace on it. Gardiner and Canterbury on each side. Lincoln and Ely likewise, on each side. Two Judges. Two Priests with silver crosses. Two Civilians. Two Tipstaves. Crier in a balcony, aloft.

Wol.
Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
Let silence be commanded.

King.
What's the need?
It hath already publickly been read,
And on all sides th' authority allow'd,
You may then spare that time

Wol.
Be't so, proceed.

Crom.
Say, Henry King of England, come into the court.

Crier.

Henry, King of England, &c.

King.

Here.

Crom.

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

Crier.

Katharine, Queen of England. &c.

Enter Queen, goes to the king, and kneels at his feet, then speaks.
Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,* ^note
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 indiff'rent, and no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
In what have I offended you? what cause
Hath my behaviour giv'n to your displeasure,
That thus you should proceed to put me off,
And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,
I've been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to your will conformable.† ^note










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 the time you can report,

And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond of wedlock, or my love and duty,
Against your sacred person; in Heav'n's name,
Turn me away; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up,
To the sharpest 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 humbly,
Sir, I beseech you, spare me, till I may
Be by my friends in Spain advis'd; whose counsel
I will implore. If not, i'th' name of Heaven,
Your pleasure be fulfill'd.

Wol.
You have here, lady,
(And of your choice) these rev'rend fathers, men
Of singular integrity and learning;
Yea, the elect o'th' land, who are assembled,
To plead your cause. It shall therefore be bootless,
That longer you defer the court, as well
For your own quiet, as to rectify
What is unsettled in the king.

Cam.
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.
Lord Cardinal,
To you I speak.

Wol.
Your pleasure, madam.

Queen.
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.* ^note

Wol.
Be patient, yet—

Queen.
I will, when you are humble; nay before,
Or Heav'n 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 Heaven'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.

Wol.
Madam, you wrong me,
I have no spleen against you, nor injustice,
For you, or any; how far I've proceeded,
Or how far further shall, is warranted
By a commission from the consistory,
Yea, the whole consist'ry of Rome. You charge me,
That I have blown this coal; I do deny it.
The king is present; if't be known to him
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,
And worthily, my falshood? yea, as much
As you have done my truth. 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 say no more.

Queen.
My lord, my lord, I am
A simple woman, much too weak t'oppose
Your cunning. You 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 arrogance, with spleen and pride.

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.

Camp.
The queen is obstinate,
Stubborn to justice, apt t'accuse it, and
Disdainful to be try'd by't; 'tis not well.
She's going away.

King.
Call her again.

Cryer.
Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court.

Usher.
Madam, you are call'd back.

Queen.
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* ^note—Pray 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,
The queen of earthly queens. She's nobly born,
And like her birth has still demean'd herself.

Wol.
Most gracious sir,
In humblest manner I require you highness.
That it shall please you to declare, in hearing
Of all these ears (for where I'm robb'd and bound,
There must I be unloos'd) if I
Did broach this business to your highness, or
Laid any scruple in your way, which might
Induce you to the question on't?

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 the village curs,
Bark when their fellows do. By some of these,
The queen is put in anger; y're excus'd:
But will you be more justify'd? You ever
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business,
And oft have hindred
The passages made tow'rds 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 relate:
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness
And scruple, on certain speeches utter'd
By th' bishop of Bayon, then French ambassador.† ^note
For no dislike i'th' world against the person,
Of our good queen.
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life,
And kingly dignity, we are contented
To wear our mortal state to come, with her,
(Katherine our queen) before the primest creature,‡ ^note
That's paragon o'th' world.

Camp.
So please your highness,
The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness
That we adjourn this court to a further day;
Mean while must be an earnest motion
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
She intends to his holiness.

King.
Break up the court.
These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome.
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,

Pr'ythee, return: with thy approach, I know,
These comforts will make haste, which now are slow. [Exeunt, in manner as they enter'd.* ^note End of the Second Act.

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