Queen.
Take thy lute, wench; my soul grows sad with troubles:
Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou can'st. SONG. Set by Dr. Arne.
Pat.
Love's the tyrant of the heart,
  Full of mischief, full of woe;
All its joys are mix'd with smart,
  Thorns beneath his roses grow;
And, serpent-like, he stings the breast,
Where he is harbour'd and caress'd.† ^note

Enter Gentleman-Usher.

Queen.

How now?

Gent.

And't please your grace, the two great cardinals wait, in the presence.

Queen.

Would they speak with me?

Gent.

They will'd me say so, madam.

Queen.
Pray their graces
To come near. 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 are righteous. Enter the Cardinals Wolsey and Campeius.

Wol.
Peace to your highness.

Queen.
What are your pleasures with me, rev'rend lords?

Wol.
May't please you, noble madam, to withdraw
Into your private chamber; we shall give you
The full cause of our coming.

Queen.
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!

Wol.
Regina Serenissima.

Queen.
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.
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.

Camp.
Most honour'd madam,
My lord of York, out of his noble nature,
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace,
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
His service, and his counsel.—

Queen.
To betray me.
My lords, I thank you both, for your good wills,
Ye speak like honest men, pray Heav'n 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
Among my maids, full little, Heav'n 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.

Wol.
Madam, you wrong the king's love with those fears,
Your hopes and friends are infinite.

Queen.
In England,
But little for my profit; can you think, lords,
That any English man dare give me counsel?
No, no, my friends;
They, that must weigh out my afflictions,
They, that my trust must grow to, live not here;
They are, as all my comforts are, far hence,
In my own country, lords.

Camp.
I would your grace
Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.

Queen.
How, sir?

Camp.
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'er-take ye,
You'll part away disgrac'd.

Wol.
He tells you rightly.

Queen.
Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin:
Is this your christian counsel? Out upon ye.
Heav'n is above all, yet; there sits a judge,
That no king can corrupt. 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, h'as banish'd me his bed, already,
His love too, long ago.

Wol.
Pray, hear me—

Queen.
Would I had never trod this English earth,
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!
Ye've angels faces, but heav'n knows your hearts.
I am the most unhappy woman living.
Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? [To her women.
Ship-wrack'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
No friends, no hope! no kindred weep for me!
Almost no grave allow'd me! like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head, and perish.

Wol.
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?
We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.
I know you have a gentle, noble temper,
A soul as ev'n as a calm; pray think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends and servants.

Queen.
Do what you 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, rev'rend fathers,
Bestow your counsels on me. She now begs,
That little thought when first she touched this isle,* ^note
She should have bought her dignities so dear.† ^note [Exeunt. Enter Duke of Norfolk, Duke of Suffolk, Lord Surry, and Lord Chamberlain.

Norf.
If you will now unite in your complaints,
And force them with a constancy, the cardinal
Cannot stand under them.

Sur.
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.

Suf.
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?

Chamb.
My lords, if you cannot
Bar his access to th' king, never attempt
Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft
Over the king, in's tongue.

Norf.
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.

In the divorce, his contrary proceedings
Are all unfolded; wherein he appears,
As I would wish mine enemy.

Sur.
How came
His practices to light?

Suf.
Most strangely.

Sur.
How?

Suf.
The cardinal's letter to the Pope miscarried,
And came to th' eye o'th' king; wherein, was read,
How that the cardinal did intreat 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.

Sur.
Has the king this?

Suf.
Believe it.

Sur.
Will this work?

Chamb.
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.

Sur.
But will the king
Digest this letter of the cardinal's?

Suf.
No, no: Cardinal Campeius
Is stol'n away to Rome, has ta'en no leave,
Hath left the cause of th' king unhandled; and
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal,
To second all his plot. I do assure you,
The king cry'd, ha! at this.

Norf.
But my lord,
When returns Cranmer?

Suf.
He is return'd, with his opinions, which
Have satisfy'd the king, for his divorce.
Soon, I believe,
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
Anne's coronation. Katharine, no more

Shall be call'd queen, but, princess dowager,
And widow to prince Arthur.* ^note Enter Wolsey, and Cromwell.
The cardinal.

Norf.
Observe, observe, he's moody.

Wol.
The packet, Cromwell,
Gave it you the king?

Crom.
To his own hand, in's bed-chamber.

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

Crom.
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.

Wol.
Is he ready to come abroad?

Crom.
I think, by this, he is.

Wol.
Leave me a while. [Exit Cromwell.
It shall be to the Duchess of Alenson, [Aside.
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!—

Norf.
He's discontented.

Suf.
May be he hears the king
Does whet his anger to him.

Sur.
Sharp enough,
Lord, for thy justice!

Wol. [Aside.]
The late queen's gentlewoman! a knight's daughter!
To be her mistress's mistress! The queen's queen!—

This candle* ^note 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 heretick, an arch one, Cranmer, one
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
And is his oracle.

Norf.
He's vex'd at something. Enter King, reading of a schedule.

Sur.
I would 'twere something that would fret the string,
The master-cord of's heart.

Suf.
The king!

King.
What piles of wealth hath he accumulated,
To his own portion! What expence by th' hour,
Seems to flow from him! How i'th' name of thrift,
Does he rake this together? Now, my lords,
Saw you the cardinal?

Norf.
My lord, we have
Stood here, observing him. Some strange commotion
Is in his brain:
In most strange postures,
We've seen him set himself.

King.
It may well be,
There is a mutiny in's mind.
If we did think
His contemplations were above the earth,
And fix'd on spiritual objects, he should still
Dwell in his musings; but, I am afraid
His thinkings are below the moon. [Lovel goes to Wolsey.

Wol.
Heav'n forgive me, and
Ever bless your highness—* ^note

King.
Good, my lord,
You're full of heav'nly stuff, and bear the inventory
Of your best graces, in your mind; the which
You were now running o'er. You have scarce time
To steal from spiritual leisure, a brief span,
To keep your earthly audit: sure, in that,
I deem you an ill husband, and am glad
To have you therein my companion.

Wol.
Sir,
For holy offices, I have a time;
A time to think, upon the part of business
I bear i'th' state; and nature does require
Her times of preservation, which perforce,
I, her frail son, amongst my brethern mortal,
Must give my tendance to.

King.
You have said well;

Wol.
And ever may your highness yoke together,
As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well saying.

King.
'Tis well said again,
And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well;
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you;
He said he did, and with his deed did crown
His word upon you. Since I had my office,
I've kept you next my heart; still
Imploy'd you, where high profits might come home.

Wol.
What should this mean? [Aside.

Sur.
It begins well. [Aside.

King.
Have I not made you
The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me,
If what I now pronounce, you have found true:
And if you may confess it, say withal,

If you are bound to us, or no? What say you?* ^note

Wol.
My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
Show'r'd on me daily, have been more than could
My studied purposes require. And I profess,
That for your highness' good, I ever labour'd,
More than my own.
Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
Though perils in the state
Abound, as thick as thought could make 'em, and
Appear in form more horrid; yet, my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.

King.
'Tis nobly spoken;
Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,
For you have seen him open't. Read o'er this, [Giving him papers.
And after, this; and then to breakfast, with
What appetite you may. [Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey, the Nobles throng after him, whispering and smiling.

Wol.
What should this mean?
He parted, frowning from me, as if ruin
Leap'd from his eyes. So looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman, that has gall'd him,
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper:
I fear, the story of his anger—'tis so—
This paper has undone me—'tis th' account
Of all that world of wealth I've drawn together,
For mine own ends, indeed, to gain the popedom,
And fee my friends in Rome. O, negligence!
Fit for a fool to fall by. What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?

No new device, to beat this from his brains?
I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spight of fortune,
Will bring me off again. What's this—To the Pope?
The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to's holiness. Nay then, farewel:
I've touch'd the highest point of all my greatness,
And from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting. I shall fall,
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more. Enter to Wolsey, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surry, and the Lord Chamberlain.

Norf.
Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal, who commands you
To render up the great seal, presently,
Into our hands, and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's,
'Till you hear further from his highness.

Wol.
Stay!
Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carry
Authority so mighty.

Suf.
Who dare cross 'em,
Bearing the king's will from his mouth, expresly.

Wol.
'Till I find more than will, or words to do it,
I mean, your malice, know, officious lords,
I dare, and must deny it. That seal
You ask with such a violence, the king,
(Mine, and your master) with his own hand gave me;
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,
During my life; and to confirm his goodness,
Ty'd it, by letters patent. Now, who'll take it?

Sur.
The king, that gave it.

Wol.
It must be himself, then.

Sur.
Thou art a proud traitor, priest.

Wol.
Proud lord, thou liest.
Within these forty hours, Surrey durst better
Have burnt that tongue, than said so.

Sur.
Thy ambition,
Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.
The heads of all thy brother cardinals;
With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,
Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy,
You sent me deputy for Ireland,
Far from his succour; from the king, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him:
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Absolv'd him with an axe.

Wol.
This, and all else,
This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer, is most false. The duke, by law,
Found his deserts.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you,
You have as little honesty as honour;
That in the way of loyalty and truth,
Toward the king, my ever royal master,
I dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be,
And all that love his follies.

Sur.
Your long coat, priest, protects you. My lords,
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
To be thus jaded, by a piece of scarlet,
Farewel nobility. Let his grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks.

Wol.
All goodness
Is poison to thy stomach.

Sur.
Yes, that goodness
Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
Into your own hands, card'nal, by extortion.
The goodness of your intercepted packets

You writ to th' Pope, against the king; your goodness,
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.
My lord of Norfolk,
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life. I'll startle you,
Worse than the sacring bell,* ^note when the brown wench
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.

Wol.
How much, methinks, I could despise this man,
But that I'm bound in charity against it.

Norf.
Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand:
But thus much, they are foul ones.

Wol.
So much fairer
And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
When the king knows the truth.

Sur.
This cannot save you;
I thank my memory, yet I remember
Some of these articles, and out they shall.
Now, if you can, blush, and cry guilty, cardinal,
You'll shew a little honesty.

Wol.
I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
It is to see a nobleman want manners.

Sur.
I'd rather want those, than my head. Have at you.
First, that without the king's assent or knowledge,
You wrought to be a legate; by which power,
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.

Norf.
Then, that in all, you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes, Ego & Rex meus
Was still inscrib'd, in which you brought the king
To be your servant.

Suf.
That out of mere ambition, you have caus'd
Your holy hat be stampt on the king's coin.

Sur.
Then, that you've sent innumerable substance,

(By what means got I leave to your own conscience)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have, for dignities. Many more there are,
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.

Chamb.
O, my lord,
Press not a falling man too far;
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps, to see him
So little of his great self.

Sur.
I forgive him.

Norf.
And so we'll leave you to your meditations,
How to live better. For your stubborn answer
About the giving back the great seal to us,
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all but Wolsey.

Wol.
Farewel, a long farewel, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man. To-day, he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow, blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost,
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,
These many summers, in a sea of glory:
But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of the world! I hate ye.
I feel my heart now open'd. Oh, how wretched,
Is that poor man that hangs on princes favours!* ^note

Enter Cromwell.
Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom.
I have no power to speak, sir.

Wol.
What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes! Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep,
I'm fall'n, indeed.

Crom.
How does your grace?

Wol.
Why, well:
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now, and I feel within me
A peace, above all earthly dignities;
A still, and quiet conscience.† ^note

Crom.
I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it.

Wol.
I hope I have. I'm able now, methinks,
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,
T'endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom.
The heaviest, and the worst,
Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol.
Heaven bless him.

Crom.
The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord chancellor, in your place.

Wol.
That's somewhat sudden—
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice,
For truth's sake, and his conscience.* ^note



What more?

Crom.
That Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.

Wol.
That's news, indeed!

Crom.
Last, that the lady Anne,
Whom the king hath, in secrecy, long married,
This day was view'd in open, as his queen,
Going to chapel, and the voice is now,
Only about her coronation.

Wol.
There was the weight that pulled me down. O Cromwell!
The king has gone beyond me: all my glories
In that one woman I have lost, for ever.† ^note



Get thee from me, Cromwell. Seek the king,
I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master.

Crom.
O, my lord,
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
The king shall have my service; but my prayers,
For ever and for ever, shall be yours.

Wol.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear,
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
Say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
Taught thee this.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me;* ^note
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition,
By that sin fell the angels. How can man then
(The poor, weak image of his maker) hope to win by it?
Love thyself last, cherish those hearts that hate thee:
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's good,
Then if thou fall'st, Cromwell, thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Now pr'ythee lead me in—
There, take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny, 'tis the king's. My robe,
And my integrity to Heav'n, is all
I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, Cromwell!
Had I but serv'd my God, with half the zeal,
I serv'd my king, he would not, in mine age,
Have left me naked to mine enemies.† ^note