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}