King.
By my my life,
This is against our pleasure.

Wol.
And for me,
I have no further gone in this, than by
A single voice; and that not past 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^{9 note}
Our necessary actions, in the fear
^{1 note}To cope malicious censurers; which ever,
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow
That is new trimm'd; but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
^{2 note}

Not ours, or not allow'd; ^{4 note}
what worst, as oft,
Hitting a grosser quality, is cry'd 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,
^{5 note}From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the 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 deny'd
The force of this commission: Pray, look to't;
I put it to your care.

Wol.
A word with you. [To the Secretary.
Let there be letters writ to ever shire,
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd commons
Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd,
That, through our intercession^{6 note}, this revokement

And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you
Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary. Enter Surveyor.

Queen.
I am sorry, that the duke of Buckingham
Is run in your displeasure.

King.
It grieves many:
The gentleman is learn'd^{7 note}, 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 ^{8 note}out of himself. Yet see,
When these so ^{9 note}
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. ^{1 note}

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^{2 note}




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.

Wol.
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.

Surv.
First, it was usual with him, every day
It would infect his speech, That if the king
Should without issue die, he'd carry it so
To make the scepter his: These very words
I have heard him utter to his son-in-law,
Lord Aberga'ny; to whom by oath he menac'd
Revenge upon the cardinal.

Wol.
Please your highness, note

^{3 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.
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 ought?

Surv.
He was brought to this
^{4 note}

King.
What was that Hopkins?

Surv.
Sir, a Chartreux friar,
His confessor; who fed him every minute
With words of sovereignty.

King.
How know'st thou this?

Surv.
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 reply'd,

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 Court, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a matter of some moment:
Whom after ^{5 note}
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 his heirs,
(Tell you the duke) shall prosper: bid him strive
For the love^{6 note} of the commonalty; the duke
Shall govern England.—

Queen.
If I know you well,
You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
On the complaint o' the 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.

Surv.
On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions

The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dang'rous 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 Lovel's heads
Should have gone off.

King.
Ha! what, so rank^{5 note}? Ah, ha!
There's mischief in this man:—Canst thou say further?

Surv.
I can my liege.

King.
Proceed.

Surv.
Being at Greenwich,
After your highness had reprov'd the duke
About sir William Blomer,—

King.
I remember
Of such a time:—^{6 note}Being my sworn servant,
The duke retain'd him his.—But on; What hence?

Surv.
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
The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury,
Made suit to come in his presence; which if granted,
As he made semblance of his duty, would
Have put his knife into him.

King.
A giant traitor!

Wol.
Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,
And this man out of prison?

Queen.
God mend all!

King.
There's something more would out of thee; What say'st?

Surv.
After—the duke his father,—with—the knife,—
He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes,
He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenour
Was,—Were he evil us'd, he would out-go
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 the height. [Exeunt. SCENE III. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands.

Cham.
^{7 note}

Sands.
New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

Cham.
As far as I see, all the good, our English
Have got by the late voyage, is but merely
^{8 note}

Sands.
They have all new legs, and lame ones; one would take it,
That never saw them pace before, the spavin
^{9 note}

Cham.
Death! my lord,
Their cloaths are after such a pagan cut too,
That, sure, they have worn out christendom. How now?
What news, sir Thomas Lovel? Enter Sir Thomas Lovel.

Lov.
Faith, my lord,
I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court gate.

Cham.
What is't for?

Lov.
The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

Cham.
I am glad, 'tis there; now I would pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.

Lov.
They must either
(For so run the conditions) leave these remnants
Of fool, and feather^{1 note}
, that they got in France,
With all their honourable points of ignorance
Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fire-works;

Abusing better men than they can be,
Out of a foreign wisdom) renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,
Short blister'd breeches^{2 note}, and those types of travel,
And understand again like honest men;
Or pack to their old play-fellows: there, I take it,
They may, cum privilegio, wear away
The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at.

Sands.
'Tis time to give them physick, their diseases
Are grown so catching.

Cham.
What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities!

Lov.
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.

Sands.
The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad, they're going;
(For, sure, there's no converting of 'em) now
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song,
And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r-lady,
Held current musick too.

Cham.
Well said, lord Sands;
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

Sands.
No, my lord;
Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Cham.
Sir Thomas,
Whither were you a going?

Lov.
To the cardinal's;
Your lordship is a guest too.

Cham.
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.

Lov.
That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
His dews fall every where.

Cham.
No doubt, he's noble;
He had a black mouth, that said other of him.

Sands.
He may, my lord, he has wherewithal; in him,
Sparing would shew a worse sin than ill doctrine:
Men of his way should be most liberal,
They are set here for examples.

Cham.
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 Guilford,
This night to be comptrollers.

Sands.
I am your lordship's. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to 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 gentlewomen, as guests, at one door; at another door, enter Sir Henry Guilford.

Guil.
Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
Salutes you all: This night he dedicates
To fair content, and you: none here, he hopes,
In all this ^{3 note}
noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad; he would have all as merry

^{4 note}

Cham.
You are young, sir Harry Guilford.

Sands.
Sir Thomas Lovel, had the cardinal
But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these
Should find a running banquet ere they rested, 9Q0891
I think, would better please 'em: By my life,
They are a sweet society of fair ones.

Lov.
O, that your lordship were but now confessor
To one or two of these!

Sands.
I would, I were;
They should find easy penance.

Lov.
'Faith, how easy?

Sands.
As easy as a down-bed would afford it.

Cham.
Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this:
His grace is entring.—Nay, you must not freeze;
Two women plac'd together make cold weather:—
My lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking;
Pray, sit between these ladies.

Sands.
By my faith,

And thank you lordship.—By your leave, sweet ladies: [Sits.
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;
I had it from my father.

Anne.
Was he mad, sir?

Sands.
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.

Cham.
Well said, my lord.—
So, now you are fairly seated:—Gentlemen,
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
Pass away frowning.

Sands.
For my little cure,
Let me alone. Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, and takes his state.

Wol.
You 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.

Sands.
Your grace is noble:—
Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
And save me so much talking.

Wol.
My lord Sands,
I am beholden to you: cheer your neighbours.—
Ladies, you are not merry;—Gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?

Sands.
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 Sands.

Sands.
Yes, if I make my play^{7 note}.

Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam,
For 'tis to such a thing,—

Anne.
You cannot shew me.

Sands.
I told your grace, they would talk anon. [Drum and trumpets, chambers discharg'd^{6 note}

Wol.
What's that?

Cham.
Look out there, some of you. [Exit Servant.

Wol.
What warlike voice?
And to what end is this?—Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war you are privileg'd. Re-enter Servant.

Cham.
How now? what is't?

Serv.
A noble troop of strangers;
For so they seem: they have left their barge, and landed;
And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign princes.

Wol.
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.— [All arise, and tables removed.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.
A good digestion to you all: and, once more,
I shower a welcome on you;—Welcome all. Hautboys. Enter the King, and others, as Maskers^{7 note}, 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?

Cham.
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 them.

Wol.
Say, lord chamberlain,
They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay them
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pleasures. [Chuse ladies for the dance. King, and Anne Bullen.

King.
The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O, beauty,
'Till now I never knew thee. [Musick. Dance.

Wol.
My lord,—

Cham.
Your grace?

Wol.
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.

Cham.
I will, my lord. [Cham. goes to the company, and returns.

Wol.
What say they?

Cham.
Such a one, they all confess,
There is, indeed; which they would have your grace
Find out, and he will ^{8 note}take it.

Wol.
Let me see then.—
By all your good leaves, gentlemen;—Here I'll make
My royal choice.

King.
^{9 note}You 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 ^{1 note}

Wol.
I am glad,
Your grace is grown so pleasant.

King.
My lord chamberlain,
Pry'thee, come hither: What fair lady's that?

Cham.
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, [To Anne Bullen.
And not to kiss you^{2 note}

Let it go round.

Wol.
Sir Thomas Lovel, is the banquet ready
I' the privy chamber?

Lov.
Yes, my lord.

Wol.
Your grace,
I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

King.
I fear, too much.

Wol.
There's fresher air, my lord,
In the next chamber.

King.
Lead in your ladies, every 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 them once again; and then let's dream
Who's best in favour.—Let the musick knock it. [Exeunt, with trumpets. ACT II. SCENE I. A Street. Enter two Gentlemen at several doors.

1 Gen.
Whither away so fast?

2 Gen.
O,—God save you!
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
Of the great duke of Buckingham.

1 Gen.
I'll save you
That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony
Of bringing back the prisoner.

2 Gen.
Were you there?

1 Gen.
Yes, indeed, was I.

2 Gen.
Pray, speak, what has happen'd?

1 Gen.
You may guess quickly what.

2 Gen.
Is he found guilty?

1 Gen.
Yes, truly, is he, and condemn'd upon it.

2 Gen.
I am sorry for't.

1 Gen.
So are a number more.

2 Gen.
But, pray, how pass'd it?

1 Gen.
I'll tell you in a little. The great duke
Came to the bar; where, to his accusations,
He pleaded still, not guilty, and alledg'd
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, vivâ voce, to his face:
At which appear'd against him, his surveyor;
Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Court,
Confessor to him; with that devil-monk
Hopkins, that made this mischief.

2 Gen.
That was he,
That fed him with his prophecies?

1 Gen.
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.

2 Gen.
After all this, how did he bear himself?

1 Gen.
When he was brought again to the bar,—to hear
His knell rung out, his judgment,—he was stirr'd
With such an agony, he sweat extremely^{3 note},
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty:

But he fell to himself again, and, sweetly,
In all the rest shew'd a most noble patience.

2 Gen.
I do not think, he fears death.

1 Gen.
Sure, he does not,
He never was so womanish; the cause
He may a little grieve at.

2 Gen.
Certainly,
The cardinal is the end of this.

1 Gen.
'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.

2 Gen.
That trick of state
Was a deep envious one.

1 Gen.
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.

2 Gen.
All the commons
Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much
They love and doat on; call him, bounteous Buckingham,
The mirrour of all courtesy;—

1 Gen.
Stay there, sir,
And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. Enter Buckingham from his arraignment, (Tipstaves before him, the axe with the edge toward him; halberds on on each side) accompanied with Sir Thomas Lovel, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William^{4 note} Sands, and common people, &c.

2 Gen.
Let's stand close, and behold him.

Buck.
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. ^{5 note}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, o'God's name.

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

Buck.
Sir Thomas Lovel, I as free forgive you,
As I would be forgiven: I forgive all;
There cannot be those numberless offences
'Gainst me, that I can't take peace with: ^{6 note}

Shall make 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 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!

Lov.
To the 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.

Buck.
Nay, sir Nicholas,
Let it alone; my state now but will mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable,
And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun^{7 note}

And with that blood, will make 'em one day groan for't.
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 you; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewel:
And when you would say something that is sad^{9 note}

,

Speak how I fell.—I have done; and God forgive me! [Exeunt Buckingham, and Train.

1 Gen.
O, this is full of pity!—Sir, it calls,
I fear, too many curses on their heads,
That were the authors.

2 Gen.
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.

1 Gen.
Good angels keep it from us!
What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?

2 Gen.
This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
^{1 note}A strong faith to conceal it.

1 Gen.
Let me have it;
I do not talk much.

2 Gen.
I am confident;
You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear
A buzzing, of a separation
Between the king and Katharine?

1 Gen.
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.

2 Gen.
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.

1 Gen.
'Tis the cardinal;
And meerly to revenge him on the emperor,
For not bestowing on him, at his asking,

The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd.

2 Gen.
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.

1 Gen.
'Tis woeful.
We are too open here to argue this;
Let's think in private more. [Exeunt. SCENE II. An Antichamber in the Palace.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter.

My lord,—The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. 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.

Nor.
Well met, my lord chamberlain.

Cham.
Good day to both your graces.

Suf.
How is the king employ'd?

Cham.
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.

Suf.
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. This king will know him one day.

Suf.
Pray God, he do! he'll never know himself else.

Nor.
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
Doubts, dangers, 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?

Cham.
Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true,
These news are every where; every tongue speaks'em,
And every true heart weeps for't: All, that dare
Look into these affairs, see his main end,
The French king's sister^{2 note}. Heaven will one day open
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon
This bold bad man.

Suf.
And free us from his slavery.

Nor.
We had need pray.
And heartily, for our deliverance;
Or this imperious man will work us all
^{3 note}From princes into pages: all men's honours

Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd
^{4 note}

Suf.
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, they 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.

Nor.
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 a most unfit time to disturb him:
Health to your lordships.

Nor.
Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. [Exit Lord Chamberlain. A Door opens, and discovers the King sitting and reading pensively^{5 note}.

Suf.
How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted.

King.
Who's there? ha?

Nor.
Pray God, 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.
You 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.—You're welcome, [To Campeius.
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom;
Use us, and it:—My good lord, ^{6 note}
have great care
I be not found a talker. [To Wolsey.

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

King.
We are busy; go. [To Norf. and Suf.

Nor. Aside.
This priest has no pride in him?

Suf. Aside.
Not to speak of;
I would not be ^{7 note}so sick though, for his place:
But this cannot continue.

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

Suf. Aside.
I another. [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk.

Wol.
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, ty'd by blood and favour to her,
Must now confess, if he 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.

Cam.
Your grace must needs deserve all 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?

Wol.
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,
Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;
I find him a fit fellow.

Cardinal goes out, and re-enters with 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. [Aside.

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

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

Wol.
Yes, he was.

Cam.
Was he not held a learned man?

Wol.
Yes, surely.

Cam.
Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then
Even of yourself, lord cardinal.

Wol.
How! of me?

Cam.
They will not stick to say, you envy'd him;
And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
^{8 note}Kept him a foreign man still: which so griev'd him,
That he ran mad, and dy'd.

Wol.
Heaven'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 the 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. SCENE III. An Antichamber of the Queen's Apartments. 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 enthron'd,
Still growing in a majesty and pomp,—the which
To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than
'Tis sweet at first to acquire,—after this process,
^{9 note}To give her the avaunt! it is a pity
Would move a monster.

Old L.
Hearts of most hard temper
Melt and lament for her.

Anne.
O, God's will! much better,
She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal,
^{1 note}

It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging
As soul and body's severing.

Old L.
Alas, poor lady!
She's ^{2 note}

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 glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.

Old L.
Our content
Is ^{3 note}

Anne.
By my troth, and maidenhead,
I would not be a queen.

Old L.
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 ^{4 note}

Anne.
Nay, good troth,—

Old L.
Yes, troth and troth,—You would not be a queen?

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

Old L.
'Tis strange; a three-pence bow'd would hire me,
Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you,
What think you of a dutchess? have you limbs
To bear that load of title?

Anne.
No, in truth.

Old L.
Then you are weakly made: ^{5 note}

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 L.
In faith, for little England
^{6 note}