Morgan, and numerous
Assistants.
The Overture and Music composed for the occasion by Mr. J. L. Hatton.
The Dances and Action by Mr. Oscar Byrn.
The Dresses by Mrs. and Miss Hoggins.
The Machinery by Mr. G. Hodsdon.
The Properties by Mr. E. W. Bradwell.
Perruquier, Mr. Asplin, of No. 13, New Bond Street.
note
-- v --
PREFACE.
In continuing the series of historical illustrations
successively presented to the public at the Princess's
Theatre, I have on this occasion selected
Shakespere's King Henry the Eighth, as not only
offering a marked contrast to the remote and gorgeous
antiquity of Sardanapalus, the barbaric wildness
of Macbeth, the feudal pomp of King John, and the
exciting variety of Richard the Third; but as embracing
a period and a chain of events more recent
and more familiar, connected with a higher civilization,
intimately associated with our strongest
national feelings, and above all, productive of that
wonderful and controlling change in the destinies
of England—the Reformation.
This play is supposed to have been written
in 1601, fifty-five years after the death of the
monarch, a portion of whose life is therein delineated.
The five acts occupy twelve years of
a busy and most important reign (commencing in
1521, and ending with the christening of the
infant Elizabeth in 1533); and include those leading
incidents which were the human means of
establishing the standard religion of our country.
The interest of the subject is also peculiarly
increased, when we reflect that this dramatic
history was moulded by the master mind of England's
-- vi --
poet, so near the time when his principal
personages occupied the stirring scene in animated
reality; and that the entire generation of their
contemporaries had not passed away, inasmuch as
some yet survived who had known and could describe
them.
Cavendish, the faithful usher of Wolsey, and the
recorder of his deeds, died only two or three years
before Shakespere was born. The poet, who came
to London in very early youth, might have formed
the personal acquaintance of more than one grey-headed
elder, who remembered the trial, divorce,
and death of Katharine of Arragon; the favor and
fall of the great Cardinal; the marriage, coronation,
and execution of Anne Boleyn; the christening of
her daughter Elizabeth; and the first dawn of the
recently established faith.
To give full effect to this noble play, information
has been sought from every source which
could contribute to the realization of what may
be almost termed the domestic habits of the
English Court, three hundred years ago. Shakespere
has so closely followed Cavendish in several
of the most important scenes, that they become in
fact a dramatized transcript from the pages of
that interesting and honest biographer. The
grand festival at York Place is so clearly described
by the early historian, and so minutely
copied by the poet, that there is no difficulty in
-- vii --
conveying an exact picture of the order of the
entertainment as it actually occurred; with the
interruption caused by the arrival of the king and
his twelve attendant nobles, masqued and disguised
as shepherds, escorted by sixteen torch
bearers, and accompanied by drums and fifes.
In the disposition of the stage at the trial of
Queen Katharine, I have again followed Cavendish,
as well as the corresponding account in D'Aubigne's
“History of the Reformation.”
The christening of the future Protestant Queen
Elizabeth was solemnized with all the rites of the
Church of Rome, at the Grey Friars, Greenwich
(not a vestige of which now remains); and I have
taken advantage of the historical fact of the Lord
Mayor and City Council proceeding to the royal
ceremonial in their state barges, to give a panoramic
view of London, as it then appeared, concluding
with the old Palace of Greenwich, where
Queen Anne Boleyn resided at the time.
These views have been copied from a drawing
by Antony Van Den Wynyrerde, A.D. 1543
(Sutherland Collection, Bodleian Library, Oxford),
which is indeed the only authority we possess on
the subject. The scene in which the two Cardinals,
Wolsey and Campeius, visit Queen Katharine
in the Palace of Bridewell after the trial, so
graphically described by Cavendish, is now restored
for the first time. The “Vision” in the
-- viii --
chamber of the dying Katharine, at Kimbolton
Castle, replaces the introduced song of Patience,
and the comparatively recent air of Handel;
which change, I trust, will be considered more
appropriate, as bearing out the Queen's description
of her dream, and preserving the original
idea of Shakespere.
The fifth act has of late years been entirely
omitted. The portions relating to the announcement
of the birth of Elizabeth and the christening
of the royal infant are now restored. Any
further addition would extend the representation
beyond reasonable limits.
Strutt observes, in his “Manners and Customs
of the English,” that the whole life of Henry the
Eighth (especially during the time when that pompous
prelate, Cardinal Wolsey, was in favor),
abounded with processions and princely shows of
grandeur and magnificence. This pageantry, Shakespere
has vivified with the inspiration of his poetic
genius, and has thus produced, as Coleridge says,
“a sort of historical masque or show play.”
Where it has been possible to find music sufficiently
ancient to coincide with the period of the
play, it has been introduced. The remaining portions,
together with the overture, entre-actes, and
duet of “Orpheus with his Lute,” have been composed
by Mr. J. L. Hatton, with a view to correspond
expressly with the earlier selections.
-- ix --
The air that accompanies the king's dance at
the festival, and called “Wolsey's Wild or Wile,”
is taken from Wm. Ballet's Lute Book; a MS. in
the library of Trinity College, Dublin. The
tunes therein bear evidence of being collected in
the reign of Queen Mary, and are considered to
be as old as the time of Henry the Eighth. The
dance of the torch bearers (which is adopted from
a French print, illustrating a masque in the age
of Francis the First) is accompanied by the music
of the oldest Morris Dance known to exist; while
“Lightie Love Ladies,” supposed to be the favorite
air of Shakespere himself, precedes and
follows the dream of Queen Katharine.
In the revival of Henry the Eighth, under
its present form, it will be perceived that I have
ventured to differ from the stage arrangements
of my predecessors. Although in their time fine
scenic effects were produced, and much pageantry
was displayed, the management did not attempt,
nor did the public require, that scrupulous adherence
to historical truth in costume, architecture,
and the multiplied details of action, which modern
taste demands, and is so capable of appreciating,
when employed in the service of the monarch of
dramatic poetry.
It has been my endeavor in this, as in former
productions of a similar kind, to act upon the
advice of the celebrated antiquarian, Francis
-- x --
Douce, so far as is compatible with theatrical
effect; and “by exhibiting times as they were,
to render the stage what it should be—a true
and perfect mirror of history and manners.”
Let me here freely acknowledge the advantages
I have derived from various sources in the
illustration of this play: more especially do I
take this opportunity of expressing my obligations
to Charles Hamilton Smith, Esq., author of
“Ancient Costume of Great Britain and Ireland,”
&c. &c.; to Henry Shaw, Esq., F.S.A., author of
“Dresses and Decorations of the Middle Ages;”
and also to Sir Charles Young, of the College of
Arms. For the architectural portion I am indebted
to the valuable assistance of George Godwin,
Esq., F.R.S., of the Royal Institute of Architects.
I cannot conclude this notice without an allusion
to Mrs. Charles Kean's return to the stage,
after a long secession, occasioned by severe illness.
It is only thus that I can record my appreciation
of the compliment she has received in the voluntary
proposal of the ladies of the company, not
representing characters in the play, to appear as
her “Ladies in waiting.” Such an offer is the
more valuable, as it combines a graceful expression
of personal esteem, with a zealous desire to
uphold the interests of the theatre.
CHARLES KEAN.
-- 11 --
KING HENRY THE EIGHTH.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
—LONDON. OLD PALACE YARD,
WESTMINSTER.* note
Enter the Duke of Norfolk, L.H.; the Duke of Buckingham,
and the Lord Abergavenny,† note R.H.
Buck.
Good morrow, and well met. How have you done,
Since last we saw in France?
Nor.
I thank your grace:
Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.
Buck.
An untimely ague
Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Andren.‡ note
Nor.
Then you lost
The view of earthly glory. Men might say,
Till this time, pomp was single; but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders it's. To-day, the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain, India: every man, that stood,
-- 12 --
Show'd like a mine. The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them. When these suns
(For so they phrase them), by their heralds challeng'd
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis was believ'd.* note
Buck.
Who did guide?
I mean, who set the body and the limbs
Of this great sport together?
Nor.
One, certes, that promises no element
In such a business.
Buck.
I pray you, who, my lord?
Nor.
All this was order'd by the good discretion
Of the right reverend cardinal of York.
Buck.
The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed
From his ambitious finger. What had he
To do in these fierce vanities?
Aber.
I cannot tell
What heaven hath given him—let some graver eye
Pierce into that; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him.
Buck.
Why took he upon him,
Without the privity o' th' king, to appoint
Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
Of all the gentry; for the most part such,
Too, whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon. What did this vanity,
But minister communication of a most poor issue?
Nor.
'Like it your Grace,
The State takes notice of the private difference
Betwixt you and the cardinal. You know his nature,
That he's revengeful; and, I know, his sword
Hath a sharp edge: it's long, and, it may be said,
It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend,
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,
-- 13 --
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock,
That I advise your shunning.
TRUMPET MARCH.
4 Trumpeters.
6 Guards.
Pursuivant, with the great silver-gilt mace of the Chancellor.
2 Gentlemen, with silver headed staves.
Gentleman, carrying the Great Seal of England.
2 Gentlemen Ushers, with wands.
Priest carrying Cardinal's hat.
2 Gentlemen Ushers, with wands.
2 Laymen, carrying silver pillars.(1)8Q0033
2 Priests, carrying silver crosses.* note
8 Henchmen, supporting the canopy over Cardinal Wolsey,
and followed by
2 Pages.
2 Secretaries.
2 Chaplains.
8 Footmen.
6 Guards.
The procession stops when Wolsey
is in the centre of the stage.
[The Cardinal L.H., in his passage fixeth
his eye on Buckingham, and Buchingham
on him, both full of disdain.(2)8Q0034
Wol.
The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? ha!
Where's his examination?
1 Secr.
Here, so please you.
Wol.
Is he in person ready?
1 Secr.
Ay, please your grace.
Wol.
Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham
Shall lessen this big look
[Exeunt Wolsey and train, R.H. March repeated.
Buck.
This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him. I read in his looks
Matter against me; and his eye revil'd
Me, as his abject object: at this instant
He bores me with some trick. He's gone to the king;
I'll follow, and out-stare him.
Nor.
Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about.
-- 14 --
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself. Be advis'd.
Buck.
Sir,
I am thankful to you; and I'll go along
By your prescription:—but this top-proud fellow,
I do know to be corrupt and treasonous.
Nor.
Say not, treasonous.
Buck.
To the king I'll say't; and make my vouch as strong
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox,
Or wolf, or both (for he is equal ravenous,
As he is subtle; and as prone to mischief,
As able to perform it):
Only to show his pomp as well in France
As here at home, suggests the king our master
To this last costly treaty, the interview,
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass
Did break i'th' rinsing.
Nor.
'Faith, and so it did.
Buck.
Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal
The articles o'th' combination drew,
As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified,
As he cried, Thus let be. Now this follows,
(Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
To th' old dam, treason)—Charles the emperor,
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt,
(For 'twas, indeed, his colour; but he came
To whisper Wolsey), here makes visitation:
His fears were, that the interview betwixt
England and France might, through their amity,
Breed him some prejudice. He privily
Deals with our cardinal; but when the way was made,
And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd;—
That he would please to alter the king's course,
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know,
(As soon he shall by me) that thus the cardinal
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,
And for his own advantage.
Nor.
I am sorry
To hear this of him; and could wish he were
Something mistaken in't.
-- 15 --
Buck.
No, not a syllable;
I do pronounce him in that very shape,
He shall appear in proof.
Enter Brandon, R.H., a Sergeant at Arms, and eight of the King's Guard.
Bran.
Your office, Sergeant; execute it.
Serg.
Sir,
My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
Of our most sovereign king.
Buck.
Lo you, my lord,
The net has fall'n upon me; I shall perish
Under device and practice.
Bran.
I am sorry
To see you ta'en from liberty. 'Tis his highness' pleasure,
You shall to th' Tower.
Buck.
It will help me nothing,
To plead mine innocence; for that die is on me,
Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven
Be done in this and all things!—I obey.
O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well.
Bran.
Nay, he must bear you company:—The king
[To Abergavenny.
Is pleas'd, you shall to th' Tower, till you know
How he determines further.
Aber.
As the duke said,
The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure
By me obey'd.
Bran.
I have a warrant from
The king, to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies
Of the duke's confessor, John de la Court,
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor,—
Buck.
So, so;
These are the limbs of the plot: No more, I hope.
Bran.
A monk o'th' Chartreux.
Buck.
O, Nicholas Hopkins?
Bran.
He.
Buck.
My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal
Hath show'd him gold: my life is spann'd already:
-- 16 --
I am the shadow of poor Buckingham;
Whose figure, even this instant, cloud puts on,
By dark'ning my clear sun.—My lord, farewell.* note
[Exeunt Buckingham, Abergavenny, Brandon,
and Guards, L.H. Norfolk, R.H.
SCENE II.
—THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER.† note
Flourish of Trumpets—Bishops Judges, and Lords
of the Privy Council discovered.
Enter, L.H., four Mace Bearers, Lord Chamberlain,
King and Wolsey, Lovell and Guildford, two
Secretaries. The King enters leaning on the Cardinal's shoulder.
K. Hen.
My life itself, and the best heart of it,
Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' th' level
Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks
To you that chok'd it.—Let be call'd before us
That gentleman of Buckingham's—[Exit Guildford, L.H.] in person.
I'll hear him his confessions justify;
And point by point the treasons of his master
He shall again relate.
The King takes his state. The Lords of the Council
take their several places. The Cardinal places himself
under the King's feet, on his right side.
A noise within, crying, Room for the Queen. Enter the
Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk,
and Guildford: she kneels. The King riseth
from his state, takes her up, and placeth her by him.
K. Hen.
Arise.
-- 17 --
Q. Kath.
Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a suitor.
K. Hen.
Arise, and take place by us:—Half your suit
Never name to us; you have half our power:
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given;
Repeat your will, and take it.
Q. Kath.
Thank your majesty.
That you would love yourself; and, in that love,
Not unconsidered leave your honour, nor
The dignity of your office, is the point
Of my petition.
K. Hen.
Lady, mine, proceed.
Q. Kath.
I am solicited, not by a few,
And those of true condition, that your subjects
Are in great grievance: there have been commissions
Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart
Of all their loyalties:—wherein, although,
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on
Of these exactions, yet the king our master,
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil!) even he escapes not
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
In loud rebellion.
Nor. (rising)
Not almost appears,
It doth appear: for, upon these taxations.
The clothiers all, not able to maintain
The many to them 'longing, compell'd by hunger,
And lack of other means, are all in uproar,
And danger serves among them.
K. Hen.
Taxation!
Wherein? and what taxation?—My lord cardinal,
You that are blam'd for it alike with us,
Know you of this taxation?
Wol.
Please you, sir,
I know but of a single part, in aught
Pertains to th' state; and front but in that file
Where others tell steps with me.
Q. Kath.
No, my lord,
You know no more than others: but you frame
Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome
-- 18 --
To those which would not know them, and yet must
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
Most pestilent to th' hearing; and, to bear them,
The back is sacrifice to th' load. They say,
They are devis'd by you; or else you suffer
Too hard an exclamation.
K. Hen.
Still exaction!
The nature of it? In what kind, let's know,
Is this exaction?
Q. Kath.
I am much too venturous
In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd
Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief
Comes through commissions, which compel from each
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied
Without delay; and the pretence for this
Is nam'd, your wars in France. This makes bold mouths:
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
Allegiance in them; their curses now
Live where their prayers did; I would your highness
Would give it quick consideration.
K. Hen.
By 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 pass'd 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. 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.
K. Hen.
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,
-- 19 --
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?
A trembling contribution! Why, we take,
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' th' timber.
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
The air will drink the sap. Top every county,
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with
Free pardon to each man that has denied
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 every 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, this revokement
And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you
Further in the proceeding.
[Exit Secretary, L.H.
Q. Kath.
I am sorry that the duke of Buckingham
Is run in your displeasure.
K. Hen.
It grieves many:
The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker,
To nature none more bound;
Yet he, my lady,
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
That once were his, and is become as black
As if besmear'd in hell.
Enter Surveyor,* note L.H., followed by two Gentlemen.
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.
K. Hen.
Speak freely.
Surv.
First, it was usual with him, every day
-- 20 --
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
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.
Q. Kath.
My learn'd lord cardinal,
Deliver all with charity.
K. Hen.
Speak on:
How grounded he his title to the crown,
Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him
At any time speak aught?
Surv.
He was brought to this
By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins,
His confessor; who fed him every minute
With words of sovereignty.
Neither the king, nor his heirs
(Tell you the duke, said he,) shall prosper: bid him strive
To gain the love of the commonalty; the duke
Shall govern England.
Q. Kath.
If I know you well,
You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
On the complaint o' th' tenants: Take good heed,
You charge not in your spleen a noble person,
And spoil your nobler soul! I say, take heed.
K. Hen.
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 'was dang'rous for him,
To ruminate on this: 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 Lovell's heads
Should have gone off.
-- 21 --
K. Hen.
Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha!
There's mischief in this man:—Cans't thou say further?
Surv.
I can, my liege.
K. Hen.
Proceed.
Surv.
Being at Greenwich,
After your highness had reproved the duke
About Sir William Blomer,—
K. Hen.
I remember,
Of such a time:—Being my servant sworn,
The duke retained 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
Th' 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.
K. Hen.
A giant traitor!
Wol.
Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,
And this man out of prison?
Q. Kath.
Heaven mend all!
K. Hen.
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,—Where he evil us'd, he would out-go
His father, by as much as a performance
Does an irresolute purpose.
K. Hen.
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 L.H., Lord Chamberlain, King and Queen,
Wolsey, Norfolk and Suffolk, Guilford
and Lovell, the rest enter into conversation with
each other, and are closed in.
-- 22 --
SCENE III.
—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.
Enter Lord Sands and the Lord Chamberlain,* note R.H.
Cham.
Is it possible, the spells of France should juggle
Men into such strange mysteries?
Sands.
New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let them 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
A fit or two o' th' face; but they are shrewd ones;
For when they hold them, you would swear directly,
Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so.
Sands.
They have all new legs, and lame ones; one would take it,
That never saw them pace before, the spavin,
A springhalt reign'd among them.
Cham.
Death! my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut, too,
That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How now?
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
Enter Sir Thomas Lovell, R.H. cross to C.
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,
-- 23 --
And never see the Louvre. What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities!
Lov.
Ay, marry,
There will be woe indeed, lords;
A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow.
Sands.
The devil fiddle them! I am glad, they're going;
Now an honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plain song,
And have the honour of hearing; and, by'r lady,
Held current music, 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 are 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.
Sands.
He may, my lord, he has wherewithal; in him,
Sparing would show 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 Guildford,
This night to be comptrollers.
Sands.
I am your lordship's.
[Exeunt, L.H.
-- 24 --
SCENE IV.
—THE PRESENCE-CHAMBER IN YORK PLACE.
Music. A small table under a state for the Cardinal;
R.H., a longer table for the guests, C. Enter at L.H.
Anne Boleyn,* note and divers Lords, Ladies, and
Gentlewomen, as guests; at another door, enter Sir
Henry Guildford, R. 1 E. Various Lords and
Ladies discovered. Servants in attendance.
Guild.
Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
Salutes ye all: This night he dedicates
To fair content, and you: none here, he hopes,
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad; he would have all as merry
As first-good company, good wine, good welcome
Can make good people (Music). O, my lord, you are tardy.
Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands, and Sir Thomas Lovell, and more Lords and Ladies, L.H. 2 E.
The very thought of this fair company
Clapp'd wings to me.
Cham.
You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.
By my life, they are a sweet society of fair ones.
-- 25 --
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.
Cham.
Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this.
Trumpets.
His grace is ent'ring. My Lord Sands,
Pray, sit between these ladies.
Sands.
By my faith,
And thank your lordship.—By your leave, sweet ladies:
[Seats himself between Anne Boleyn and another Lady.
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 kis 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.
Flourish of Trumpets. Enter R.H., Four Trumpeters, Pursuivant
with mace, Two Silver Pillar-bearers, Two
Gentlemen Ushers, Cardinal Wolsey, attended by
Two Pages; 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. Flourish of trumpets.
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.—
-- 26 --
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 them
Talk us to silence.
Anne.
You are a very merry gamester,
My Lord Sands.
Sands.
Yes, if I make my play.
Chambers discharged,* note L.H.
Drums and fifes heard in the distance:
Wol.
What's that?
Cham.
Look out there, some of you.
[Exeunt Servants, L.H.
Wol.
What warlike voice?
And to what end is this?—Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war you are privileg'd.
Enter Servants and a Seneschal, L.H. 2 E.
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 them welcome, you can speak the French tongue;
And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them,
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them:—Some attend him.—
[Exit Chamberlain, L.H. 2 E., attended by Guildford. 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.
[Drums and Fifes.
-- 27 --
Enter the King, L.H.U.E., and twelve others, as maskers,
habited like Shepherds, preceded by sixteen Drummers
and Fifers, and sixteen torch-bearers; ushered 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.
[Ladies chosen for the dance. The King chooses Anne Boleyn.
K. Hen.
The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O, beauty,
Till now I never knew thee.
MUSIC—DANCE.
Wol.
My lord,—
Cham.
Your grace?
Wol.
Pray, tell them thus much from me:
There should be one amongst them, 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 take it.
Wol.
Let me see then—
[Comes from his state.
By all your good leaves, gentlemen;—Here I'll make
My royal choice.
-- 28 --
K. Hen.
You have found him, cardinal:
[Unmasking.
You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord:
You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal,
I should judge now unhappily.
Wol.
I am glad,
Your grace is grown so pleasant.
K. Hen.
My Lord Chamberlain,
Pr'ythee, 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.
K. Hen.
By heaven, she is a dainty one.—Sweetheart,
I were unmannerly, to take you out,
And not to kiss you.* note
—A health, gentlemen,
Let it go round.
Wol.
Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
I' th' privy chamber?
Lov.
Yes, my lord.
Wol.
Your grace,
I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
K. Hen.
I fear, too much.
Wol.
There's fresher air, my lord,
In the next chamber.
K. Hen.
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 music knock it.
[Exeunt with music.(3)8Q0035
END OF ACT FIRST.
-- 29 --
HISTORICAL NOTES TO ACT FIRST.
note
-- 30 --
note
-- 31 --
note
-- 32 -- -- 33 --
-- 34 --
ACT II.
SCENE I.
—THE KING'S STAIRS, WESTMINSTER,
TAKEN FROM THE SAME DRAWING AS SCENE I. ACT I.
Enter Gentlemen, R.H., and a crowd of Citizens, to witness
Buckingham going to execution. Muffled drum
and bell, at intervals, during the Scene.
1 Gent.
All's now done, but the ceremony of bringing back the prisoner.
2 Gent.
Were you there?
1 Gent.
Yes, indeed, was I.
2 Gent.
Pray speak, what has happened?
1 Gent.
You may guess, quickly, what.
2 Gent.
Is he found guilty?
1 Gent.
Yes, truly, is he, and condemn'd upon it.
2 Gent.
I am sorry for't.
1 Gent.
So are a number more.
2 Gent.
The cardinal is at the end of this.
1 Gent.
Stay there, sir,
And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.
2 Gent.
Let's stand close, and behold him.
Enter Buckingham, from his arraignment.(1)8Q0036 R.U.E.
Two Tip-staves before him; the axe, with the edge
towards him and Guard; with him, Sir Thos. Lovell,
Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Sands. The
Duke's Barge discovered with four rowers, at the
foot of the steps leading to the water.
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,
-- 35 --
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;
It has done, upon the premises, but justice:
But those that sought it I could wish more christians:
Be what they will, I heartily forgive them:
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.
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 Lovell, I as free forgive you,
As I would be forgiven:
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 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.
Buck.
Nay, Sir Nicholas,
Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
-- 36 --
When I came hither, I was lord high constable,* note
And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun;† note
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it.
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;
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 Heaven forgive me!
[Exit Buckingham, guarded, into Barge, which
slowly moves off, L. H. The crowd pass off. R. H.,
as the scene changes.
-- 37 --
SCENE II.
AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE PALACE.
Enter the Lord Chambelain, centre.
Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, L. H. 2 E.
Nor.
Well met, my good
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. The king will know him one day.
Suf.
Pray Heaven, he do! he'll never know himself else.
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, L. 2 E.
Norfolk opens a folding-door.
Suf.
How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted.
K. Hen.
Who is there? ha!
[Without, L.H.C.
Nor.
Pray Heaven, he be not angry.
K. Hen.
Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves
-- 38 --
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.
K. Hen.
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,(2)8Q0037 L. H. 2 E.
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, 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.
K. Hen.
We are busy: go.
[To Norfolk and Suffolk.
Nor.
This priest has no pride in him?
[Aside.
Suf. Aside.
Not to speak of;
I would not be 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, L. 2 E.
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, 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,
-- 39 --
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.
K. Hen.
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 wished 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,
K. Hen.
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.
K Hen.
Ay, and the best, she shall have; and my favor
To him that does best; Heaven forbid else. Cardinal,
Prythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;
I find him a fit fellow.
Wolsey beckons on Gardiner,* note L. 2 E.
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.
K. Hen.
Come hither, Gardiner.
[They converse apart.
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.
-- 40 --
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 envied him;
And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
Kept him a foreign man,* note still; which so griev'd him,
That he ran mad, and died.
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.
K. Hen.
Deliver this with modesty to the queen.
[Exit Gardiner, L. 2 E.
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, R.H.
SCENE III.
—AN ANTE-CHAMBER IN THE QUEEN'S APARTMENTS.
Enter Anne Boleyn, and an Old Lady, L.H.
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.
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.
I would not be a queen.
-- 41 --
Old L.
Beshrew me, I would,
And so would you,
For all this spice of your hypocrisy.
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.
A three-pence bowed 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 L.
I would not be a young count in your way,
For more than blushing comes to.
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
You'd venture an emballing:* note I myself
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd
No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
Enter the Lord Chamberlain, L. H.
Cham.
Good morrow, ladies. What wer't worth to know
The secret of your conference?
Anne.
My good lord,
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 Heaven, amen!
Cham.
You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 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 to you, and
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
-- 42 --
Than Marchioness of Pembroke,* note to which title
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:
'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 to improve the fair conceit,
The king hath of you.—I have perus'd her well;
[Aside.
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 L. Chamb. L.H.
Old L.
The Marchioness of Pembroke!
A thousand pounds a year! for pure respect;
No other obligation: By my life,
That promises more thousands. By this time,
I know, your limbs 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 you have heard, to her.
Old L.
What do you think me?
[Exeunt, R.H.
-- 43 --
SCENE IV.
—A HALL IN BLACK-FRIARS.
The Court(3)8Q0038 assembled to try the divorce of Henry and
Katharine. The two Cardinals sit in the centre,
on a raised platform, as Judges, with their respective
suites on each side of them. Below them, the Secretaries.
To the right of the Cardinals, a throne for
the King, and to the left a raised chair for the Queen.
The Bishops, Doctors of Law and Divinity, and Peers,
are seated between the Legates and the throne.—Trumpets sound.
Enter four Trumpeters, two Mace Bearers, Garter King-at-Arms,
two Mace Bearers, Sword Bearer, Lord
Chamberlain, six Henchmen surrounding the King,
Norfolk and Suffolk; they pass across to R.H.,
the King takes his seat.
Enter Queen Katharine, eight Ladies in Waiting,
four Bishops, and Griffith, her Gentleman Usher.
The Queen sits L.H., the women surround her.
Wol.
Whilst our commission from Rome is read
Let silence be commanded.
K. Hen.
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.
Scribe.
Say, Henry, King of England, come into the court.
Crier.
Henry, King of England, &c.
K. Hen.
Here.
Scribe,
Say, Katharine, Queen of England, come into court.
Crier.
Katharine, Queen of England, &c.
[The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair,
curt'sies to the Cardinals, goes to the King, and kneels
at his feet; then speaks.
Q. Kath.
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,
-- 44 --
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 off,
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.
Sir, call to mind,
That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
Upwards of twenty years. 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 sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir,
The king, your father, was reputed for
A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatch'd with and judgement: 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 questioned
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 Heaven,
Your pleasure be fulfill'd!
[The Queen returns to her chair, supported by her ladies.
Wol.
You have here, lady,
(And of your choice) these reverend fathers; men
Of singular integrity and learning,
Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled
To plead your cause; It shall be therefore bootless,
That longer you defer the court; as well
For your own quiet, as to rectify
What is unsettled in the king.
-- 45 --
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.
Q. Kath.
Lord Cardinal,—
To you I speak.
Wol.
Your pleasure, madam?
Q. Kath.
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.
Wol.
Be patient yet.
Q. Kath.
I will, when you are humble; nay, before,
Or Heaven will punish me. I do believe,
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that
You are mine enemy; and make my challenge,* note
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 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. Therefore in him
It lies, to cure me: and the cure is, to
Remove these thoughts from you: the which before
-- 46 --
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking,
And to say so no more.
Q. Kath.
My lord, my lord,
I am a simple woman, much too weak
To 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 arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
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 curt'sies to the King, and offers to depart.
Cam.
The Queen is obstinate,
Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
Disdainful to be try'd by't; 'tis not well.
She's going away.
K. Hen.
Call her again.
Crier.
Katharine, Queen of England, come into the court.
Grif.
Madam, you are call'd back.
Q. Kath.
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, Griffith, and her Female Attendants. L.H.
K. Hen.
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 is noble born;
-- 47 --
And, like her true nobility, she has
Carried herself towards me.
Wol.
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); 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?
K. Hen.
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 but in anger. You are excus'd:
But will you be more justified? you ever
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business;
And oft have hinder'd; oft
The passages made toward it:
Now what mov'd me to't?—Thus it came;—give heed to't:—
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness,
Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd
By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador;
For no dislike i'th' world against the person
Of the 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,
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
That's paragon'd o' th' world.
Cam.
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.
[They rise to depart.
-- 48 --
K. Hen. (Aside)
These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome.
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
Prythee return!* note with thy approach, I know,
My comfort comes along. Break up the the court:
I say, set on.
[Exeunt the King and his party L. 1 E. The court
breaks up as the Act drop falls.
END OF ACT SECOND.
-- 49 --
HISTORICAL NOTES TO ACT SECOND.
note
note
-- 50 --
note
-- 51 --
-- 52 --
-- 53 --
-- 54 --
ACT III.
SCENE I.
—PALACE AT BRIDEWELL.
A room in the Queen's apartment (in which is introduced
a chimney-piece, designed by Holbein for that
palace, from a drawing in the British Museum). The
Queen, and some of her Women, at work.* note
Q. Kath.
Take thy lute, wench; my soul grows sad with troubles;
Sing, and disperse them, if thou can'st: leave working
SONG.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops, that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing:
To his musick, plants, and flowers,
Ever sprung; as sun and showers,
There had been a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet musick is such art;
Killing care, and grief of heart,
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
Enter Griffith, R.H.
Q. Kath.
How now?
Gent.
An't please your grace, the two great cardinals
Wait in the presence.
Q. Kath.
Would they speak with me?
Gent.
They will'd me say so, madam.
Q. Kath.
Pray their graces
To come near. [Exit Griffith] What can be their business
With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour?
-- 55 --
I do not like their coming, now I think on't.
They should be good men; their affairs are righteous:
But all hoods make not monks.
Enter Wolsey and Campeius, R.H, preceded by Griffith.
Wol.
Peace to your highness!
Q. Kath.
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?
Wol.
May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw
Into your private chamber, we shall give you
The full meaning of our coming.
Q. Kath.
Speak it here;
There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,
Deserves a corner: Truth loves open dealing.
Wol.
Tanta est ergà te mentis integritas, regina serenis sima—
Q. Kath.
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:
Pray speak in English: Lord Cardinal,
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed,
May be absolv'd in English.
Wol.
Noble lady,
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.
Cam.
Most honour'd madam,
My lord of York,—out of his noble nature,
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
His service and his counsel.
Q. Kath.
To betray me.
[Aside.
My lords, I thank you both for your good wills,
But how to make you suddenly an answer,
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,
(More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit,
-- 56 --
And to such men of gravity and learning,
In truth I know not. 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 these fears;
Your hopes and friends are infinite.
Q. Kath.
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,
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.
Cam.
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 you,
You'll part away disgrac'd.
Wol.
He tells you rightly.
Q. Kath.
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.
Cam.
Your rage mistakes us.
Q. Kath.
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 them for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady?
I will not wish ye half my miseries,
I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye;
Take heed for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.
Wol.
Madam, this is a mere distraction;
You turn the good we offer into envy.* note
-- 57 --
Q. Kath.
Ye turn me into nothing: Woe upon ye,
And all such false professors!
Wol.
Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.
Q. Kath.
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.
Wol.
'Pray, hear me.
Q. Kath.
'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.
I am the most unhappy woman living.—
Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes?
[To her Women.
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 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. Pray, think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.
Cam.
Madam you'll find it so. If you please
To trust us in your business, we are ready
To use our utmost studies in your service.
Q. Kath.
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.(1)8Q0039
[Exeunt L.H.
-- 58 --
SCENE II.
—ANTE-CHAMBER TO THE KING'S APARTMENT.
Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk,
the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chanmberlain. L. 2 E.
Nor.
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?
Cham.
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 his tongue.
Nor.
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 could wish mine enemy.
Sur.
How came
His practices to light?
Suf.
Most strangely.
Sur.
O, how? 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 entreat his holiness
To stay the judgment o' th' divorce; For if
It did take place, I do, quoth he, perceive,
-- 59 --
My king is tangled in affection to
A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Boleyn.
Sur.
Has the king this?
Suf.
Believe it.
Sur.
Will this work?
Cham.
The king in this perceives him, how he coasts,
And hedges,* note his own way. But in this point
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physick
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 stolen 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 cry'd, ha! at this
Nor.
But, my lord,
When returns Cranmer?
Suf.
He is return'd, in his opinions; which
Have satisfied the king for his divorce,
Shortly, 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.
The cardinal—
Enter Wolsey and Cromwell, R. 2 E.
Nor.
Observe, observe, he's moody.
Wol.
The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king?
Crom.
To his own hand, in his bedchamber.
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
-- 60 --
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.
[Exit Cromwell.
Wol.
Leave me a while.
It shall be to the Duchess of Alençon,
The French king's sister: he shall marry her.—
Anne Boleyn! No; I'll no Anne Boleyn's for him:
There is more in it than fair visage.—Boleyn!
No, we'll no Boleyns.—Speedily I wish
To hear from Rome.—The Marchioness of Pembroke!
Nor.
He's discontented.
Suf.
May be, he hears the king
Does whet his anger to him.
Sur.
Sharp enough,
Lord, for thy justice!
Wol.
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,(2)8Q0040 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.
Nor.
He is vex'd at something.
Suf.
I would, 'twere something that would fret the string,
The master-cord of his heart!
Enter the King, reading a schedule;(3)8Q0041 and Lovell.
Suf.
The king, the king.
K. Hen.
What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
To his own portion! and what expence by th' hour
Seems to flow from him! How, i' th' name of thrift,
-- 61 --
Does he rake this together?—Now, my lords,
Saw you the cardinal?
Nor.
My Lord, we have
Stood here observing him: Some strange commotion
Is in his brain: in most strange postures
We have seen him set himself.
K. Hen.
It may well be;
There is a mutiny in his mind. If we did think
His contemplation were above the earth,
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still
Dwell in his musings: but, I am afraid,
His thinkings are below the moon.
[He whispers Lovell, who goes to Wolsey.
Wol.
Heaven forgive me!
And ever bless your highness!
K. Hen.
Good my lord,
You are full of heavenly 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, which
I bear i' th' state; and nature does require
Her times of preservation, which, perforce,
I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,
Must give my tendance to.
K. Hen.
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!
K. Hen.
'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 have kept you next my heart; have not alone
Employ'd you, where high profits might come home,
-- 62 --
But par'd my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
Wol.
What should this mean?
Sur.
Now Heaven increase this business!
[Aside.
K. Hen.
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?
Wol.
My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces
Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could
My studied purposes requisite; which went
Beyond all man's endeavours:—my endeavours
Have ever come too short of my desires,
Yet fil'd with my abilities: I do profess
That for your highness' good I ever labour'd
More than mine own; that am, have, and will be,
Though all the world should crack their duty to you
And throw it from their soul; though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms 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.
K. Hen.
'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 have.
[Exit King, door in flat, L.H., frowning upon Cardinal
Wolsey: the Nobles throng after him,
smiling, and whispering.
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;
-- 63 --
This paper has undone me:—'Tis the account
Of all that world of wealth I have 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 spite 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 his holiness. Nay then, farewell!
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness:
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.(4)8Q0042
Re-enter the Dukes of Norfolk(5)8Q0043 and Suffolk, the Earl
of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. Door in Flat, L.H.
Nor.
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,* note
Till you hear further from his highness.
Wol.
Stay,
Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry
Authority so weighty.
Suf.
Who dare cross them,
Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?
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. Now I feel
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded,—envy.
-- 64 --
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,
As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!
Follow your envious course, men of malice;
You have Christian warrant for them, and, no doubt,
In time will find their fit rewards. 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,
Tied 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:
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: how innocent I was
From any private malice in his end,
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you,
You have as little honesty as honour;
That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal master,
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 his arrogance?
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
To be a thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,
-- 65 --
Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks.* note
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, cardinal, by extortion;
The goodness of your intercepted packets,
You writ to the 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 am bound in charity against it!
Nor.
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 my truth.
Sur.
This cannot save you:
I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of these articles; and out they shall.
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal,
You'll show a little honesty.
Wol.
Speak on, sir;
I dare your worst objections: If I blush,
It is, to see a nobleman want manners.
Suf.
I'd rather want those than my head. Have at you.
First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge,
You wrote to be a legate; by which power
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.
-- 66 --
Nor.
Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus* note
Was still inscribed; in which you brought the king
To be your servant.
Suf.
That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.
Sur.
Then that you have sent innumerable substance,
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.
Cham.
O, my lord,
Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue:
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.
Nor.
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; door in flat L. H.
Wol.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, 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,
This 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
-- 67 --
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.—
Enter Cromwell, amazedly. R. 2 E.
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, an you weep,
I am fallen 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. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honour:
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
Crom.
I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.
Wol.
I hope, I have: I am able now, methinks,
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)
To 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.
God bless him!
Crom.
The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord Chancellor in your place.
-- 68 --
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; that his bones,
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings,
May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em!* 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,(6)8Q0044
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 pull'd me down. O Cromwell,
The king has gone beyond me, all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever:
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master: Seek the king;
That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him
What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him,
(I know his noble nature,) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too: Go, Cromwell.
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.
-- 69 --
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And,—when I am forgotten, as I shall be;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,—say, I taught thee:
Say, Wolsey,—that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,—
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels, how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
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,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king;
And,—Pr'ythee, lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I have,* note
To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, 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.(8)8Q0045
Crom.
Good sir, have patience.
Wol.
So I have. Farewell
The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.† note
[Exeunt, R. 2 E.
END OF ACT THIRD.
-- 70 --
HISTORICAL NOTES TO ACT THIRD.
note
-- 71 --
note
note
-- 72 --
note
note -- 73 --
note
note
-- 74 --
-- 75 --
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
—PLATFORM ERECTED FOR THE PROCESSION TO QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN'S
CORONATION, AND LEADING TO THE WEST DOOR OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
Enter a crowd of Citizens and Gentlemen, meeting. R. C. L. H.
1 Gent.
You are well met once again.
2 Gent.
And so are you.
1 Gent.
You come to take your stand here, and behold
The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?
2 Gent.
'Tis all my business: the citizens,
I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds,
In celebration of this day with shows,
Pageants, and sights of honour.
1 Gent.
Never greater.
2 Gent.
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager? how goes her business?
1 Gent.
That I can tell you too. The archbishop
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
Learned and reverend fathers of his order,
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
From Ampthill, where the princess lay; to which
She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not:
And, to be short, for not appearance, and
The king's late scruples, by the main assent
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd,
And the late marriage made of none effect:
Since which, she was removed to Kimbolton,
Where she remains now, sick.
-- 76 --
2 Gent.
Alas, good lady!—
Trumpets.
The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming.* note
THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION.
A lively flourish of trumpets; then, enter
4 Trumpeters.
2 Judges.
Gentleman with the Purse containing the Broad Seal.
Gentleman with the Mace.
Lord Chancellor† note.
Choristers singing.
Mayor of London bearing the Mace.
4 Aldermen.
Garter King-at-Arms in his coat of arms, and on his head a gilt copper crown.
4 Pursuivants.
Marquis Dorset
, bearing a sceptre of gold, with him the Earl
of Surrey, bearing the Rod of Silver with the Dove.
Duke of Suffolk, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward,
with him the Duke of Norfolk, with the Rod of Marshalship.
4 Barons of the Cinque Ports bearing the Canopy over the
Queen, on each side of her the Bishops of London and Winchester.
The Duchess Dowager of Norfolk, bearing the Queen's Train, followed by Ladies.
The Procession passes across the stage from L.H. to R.H.(1)8Q0046
2 Gent.
A royal train, believe me.
Heaven bless thee!
[Looking on the Queen.
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.—
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel.
1 Gent.
They that bear
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports.
2 Gent.
Those men are happy; and so are all near her.
1 Gent.
They are stars, indeed;
And sometimes, falling ones.
2 Gent.
No more of that.
[Exit all the mob, R.H. l C.
-- 77 --
SCENE II.
—KIMBOLTON.* note
Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between Griffith
and Patience.
Grif.
How does your grace?
Kath.
O Griffith, sick to death:
My legs, like loaden branches, bow to th' earth,
Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair;—
So,—now, methinks I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead.
Grif.
Yes, madam; but, I think, your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
Kath.
Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died;
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,
For my example.
Grif.
Well, the voice goes, madam;
For after the stout Earl of Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
(As a man sorely tainted), to his answer,
He fell sick, suddenly, and grew so ill,
He could not sit his mule.
Kath.
Alas, poor man!
Grif.
At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably received him;
To whom he gave these words,—O father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!(2)8Q0047
So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness
Pursu'd him still; and three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold, should be his last), full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
-- 78 --
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Kath.
So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him!
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity,—He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach,* note ever ranking
Himself with princes.
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.
Grif.
Noble madam,
Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
We write in water. May it please your highness
To hear me speak his good now?
Kath.
Yes, good Griffith;
I were malicious else.
Grif.
This cardinal,
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly,
Was fashion'd to much honour from his cradle.
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading;
Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
(Which was a sin), yet, in bestowing, madam,
He was most princely. Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich, and Oxford:(3)8Q0048 one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little:
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died, fearing heaven.
Kath.
After my death, I wish no other herald,
-- 79 --
No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
With thy religious truth, and modesty,
Now in his ashes honour: Peace be with him!—
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower:
I have not long to trouble thee.—Good Griffith,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.
Sad and solemn music.
Grif.
She is asleep: Good wench, let's sit down quiet,
For fear we wake her;—Softly, gentle Patience.
THE VISION—QUEEN KATHARINE'S DREAM.
Kath. (awaking.)
Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
Grif.
Madam, we are here.
Kath.
It is not you I call for:
Saw ye none enter, since I slept?
Grif.
None, madam.
Kath.
No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop
Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?
They promised me eternal happiness;
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall,
Assuredly.
Grif.
I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Possess your fancy.
Kath.
Bid the music leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me.
[Music ceases.
Pat.
Do you note,
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,
And of an earthly cold? Mark you her eyes?
Grif.
She is going, wench; pray, pray.
Pat.
Heaven comfort her!
-- 80 --
Enter a Messenger. L. 2 E.
Mess.
An't like your grace,—
Kath.
You are a saucy fellow:
Deserve we no more reverence?
Grif.
You are to blame,
Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel.
Mess.
I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
Kath.
Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this fellow
Let me ne'er see again.
[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger, L. 2 E.
[Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius,* note L. 2 E.
If my sight fail not,
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
Cap.
Madam, the same, your servant.
Kath.
O my lord,
The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
What is your pleasure with me?
Cap.
Noble lady,
First, mine own service to your grace; the next,
The king's request that I would visit you;
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his princely commendations,
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.
Kath.
O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;
'Tis like a pardon after execution:
That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me;
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.
How does his highness?
Cap.
Madam, in good health.
Kath.
So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
-- 81 --
Banish'd the kingdom!—Patience, is that letter,
I caus'd you write, yet sent away?(4)8Q0049
Pat.
No, madam.
[Giving it to Katharine.
Kath.
Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.
Cap.
Most willing, madam.
Kath.
In which I have commended to his goodness
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter:—
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!—
Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding;
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
Upon my wretched women, that so long,
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully;
The last is, for my men;—they are the poorest,
But poverty could never draw them from me;—
And, good my lord,
By that you love the dearest in this world,
As you wish christian peace to souls departed,
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king
To do me this last right.
Cap.
By heaven, I will;
Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
Kath.
I thank you, honest lord. Remember me
In all humility unto his highness;
Say, his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him,
For so I will.—Mine eyes grow dim.—Farewell,
My lord.—Griffith, farewell. Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;
Call in more women.—When I am dead, good wench,
Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me,
Then lay me forth; although unqueen'd, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
I can no more.—(5)8Q0050
END OF ACT FOURTH.
-- 82 --
HISTORICAL NOTES TO ACT FOURTH.
note -- 83 --
note
-- 84 --
note
note
note
-- 85 --
ACT V.
SCENE I.
—A GALLERY IN THE PALACE.
Enter the King, and the Duke of Suffolk, R.H.
K. Hen.
Charles, I will play no more to-night.
Suf.
Sir, I did never win of you before.
K. Hen.
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.
'Tis midnight, Charles,
Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
Th' estate of my poor queen.
Suf.
I wish your highness
A quiet night, and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.
K. Hen.
Charles, good night.—
[Exit Suffolk, L.H.
Enter Sir Thomas Lovell, R.H.
Well, sir, what follows?
Lov.
Sir, I have brought my lord, the archbishop,
As you commanded me.
K. Hen.
Ha! Canterbury?
Lov.
Ay, my good lord.
K. Hen.
'Tis true. Where is he, Lovell?
Lov.
He attends your highness' pleasure.
K. Hen.
Bring him to us.
[Exit Lovell, R.H.
Re-enter Lovell, with Cranmer, R.H.
K. Hen.
Avoid the gallery.
[Exit Lovell, R.H.
Cran.
I am fearful:—Wherefore frowns he thus?
K. Hen.
How now, my lord? You do desire to know
Wherefore I sent for you.
Cran.
It is my duty,
To attend your highness' pleasure.
[Kneels.
-- 86 --
K. Hen.
Pray you, arise,
My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.
Come, you and I must walk a turn together;
I have news to tell you.
I have, and most unwillingly, of late
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,
Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall
This morning come before us.
Cran.
I humbly thank your highness;
And am right glad to catch this good occasion
Most thoroughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
And corn shall fly asunder (Kneeling.)
K. Hen.
Stand up, good Canterbury;
Thy truth and thy integrity, is rooted
In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up;
Now, by my holy-dame,
What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
You would have given me your petition, that
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers.
Cran.
Most dread liege,
The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty.
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies,
Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not.
Being of those virtues vacant.
K. Hen.
Be of good cheer;
They shall no more prevail, than we give way to.
Keep comfort to you. Look, the good man weeps!
He's honest, on mine honour.
And now my lord of Canterbury,
I have a suit which you must not deny me;
Hourly we do expect a fair young stranger,
That will want baptism. You must be godfather.
Cran.
The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour. How may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?
K. Hen.
Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons;
You shall have two noble partners with you.
Lovell (without).
Come back; what mean you?
-- 87 --
Old Lady entering, R.H. 1 E.
I'll not come back, the tidings that I bring
Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
Under their blessed wings.
K. Hen.
Now, by thy looks
I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd?
Say, ay; and of a boy.
Lady.
Ay, ay, my liege;
And of a lovely boy. The dews of heaven
Both now and ever bless her! 'Tis a girl,
Promises boys hereafter; 'tis as like you
As cherry is to cherry.
K. Hen.
Lovell.
Enter Lovell, R.H.
Lov.
Sir.
K. Hen.
Give her an hundred marks.
I'll to the queen.
[Exeunt R.H.
Come, my good lord, away. I long
To have this young one made a christian.
[Exeunt King, and Cranmer, R.H.
Lady.
An hundred marks! By this light, I'll have more.
An ordinary groom is for such payment.
I will have more, or scold it out of him.
Said I for this, the girl is like to him?
I will have more, or else unsay 't; and now
While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue.
[Exeunt Old Lady and Lovell, R.H.
-- 88 --
SCENE II.
MOVING PANORAMA,
Representing London as it appeared in the reign of Henry
VIII., with the Barges of the Lord Mayor and City Council,
on their way to Greenwich, to attend the Christening of the
Princess Elizabeth, on the 10th September, 1533.
SCENE III.
—INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH OF THE GREY FRIARS, GREENWICH,
RESTORED FROM CONTEMPORANEOUS BUILDINGS, IN THE ABSENCE OF ACTUAL VESTIGES.
King Henry, Duke of Norfolk, with his marshal's
staff, Duke of Suffolk, Lord Chamberlain,
Noblemen, bearing great standing bowls for the
christening gifts; Lords and Ladies, Duchess of
Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child richly habited
in a mantle, &c. Train borne by a Lady. The
Marchioness of Dorset, the other godmother.
Lord Chancellor, Lord Mayor, Sheriff's, Aldermen,
Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, Bishop of
London and the other Bishops; Trumpeters, Mace-bearers,
Pursuivants, Guards, Garter King-at-Arms
—all discovered. At the end of the flourish of
trumpets, Garter speaks.
Gart.
Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous
life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
princess of England, Elizabeth!* note
[Flourish.
Cran. [Kneeling.]
And to your royal grace, and the good queen,
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray;—
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye!
-- 89 --
K. Hen.
Thank you, good lord archbishop;
What is her name?
Cran.
Elizabeth.
K. Hen.
Stand up, lord.—
[The King kisses the Child.
With this kiss take my blessing: Heaven protect thee!
Into whose hands I give thy life.
Cran.
Let me speak, sir,
For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: truth shall nurse her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:
She shall be lov'd, and fear'd: Her own shall bless her:
Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow. Our children's children
Shall see this, and bless heaven.
K. Hen.
Thou speakest wonders.
Cran.
She shall be to the happiness of England,
An aged princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
'Would I had known no more! but she must die,
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
K. Hen.
O lord archbishop,
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me.
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire
To see what this child does. I thank ye all.
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house; for all shall stay,
This little one shall make it holiday.(1)8Q0051
[Flourish of trumpets as the Curtain falls.
THE END.
-- 90 --
HISTORICAL NOTE TO ACT FIFTH.
note
-- 91 --
