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King Henry the Eighth

 the Eighth	(KING HENRY VIII:)
 CAPUCIUS	Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V
 CRANMER	Archbishop of Canterbury.
 Lord Chamberlain	(Chamberlain:)
 Lord Chancellor	(Chancellor:)
 GARDINER	Bishop of Winchester.
 	Bishop of Lincoln. (LINCOLN:)
 	Secretaries to Wolsey.
 	(First Secretary:)
 	(Second Secretary:)
 CROMWELL	Servant to Wolsey.
 GRIFFITH	Gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine.
 	Three Gentlemen.
 	(First Gentleman:)
 	(Second Gentleman:)
 	(Third Gentleman:)
 DOCTOR BUTTS	Physician to the King.
 	Garter King-at-Arms. (Garter:)
 	Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham. (Surveyor:)
 	A Sergeant-at-Arms. (Sergeant:)
 	Door-keeper of the Council-chamber. Porter, (Porter:)
 	and his Man. (Man:)
 	Page to Gardiner. (Boy:)
 	A Crier. (Crier:)
 QUEEN KATHARINE	(QUEEN KATHARINE:)  Wife to King Henry, afterwards
 	divorced. (KATHARINE:)
 ANNE BULLEN	(ANNE:) her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen. (QUEEN ANNE:)
 	An old Lady, friend to Anne Bullen. (Old Lady:)
 PATIENCE	woman to Queen Katharine.
 	Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women
 	attending upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards,
 	and other Attendants.
 SCENE	London; Westminster; Kimbolton
 	I come no more to make you laugh: things now,
 	That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
 	Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
 	Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
 	We now present. Those that can pity, here
 	May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
 	The subject will deserve it. Such as give
 	Their money out of hope they may believe,
 	May here find truth too. Those that come to see
 	Only a show or two, and so agree
 	The play may pass, if they be still and willing,
 	I'll undertake may see away their shilling
 	Richly in two short hours. Only they
 	That come to hear a merry bawdy play,
 	A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
 	In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,
 	Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,
 	To rank our chosen truth with such a show
 	As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
 	Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,
 	To make that only true we now intend,
 	Will leave us never an understanding friend.
 	Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known
 	The first and happiest hearers of the town,
 	Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see
 	The very persons of our noble story
 	As they were living; think you see them great,
 	And follow'd with the general throng and sweat
 	Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see
 	How soon this mightiness meets misery:
 	And, if you can be merry then, I'll say
 	A man may weep upon his wedding-day.
 SCENE I	London. An ante-chamber in the palace.
 	[Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM
 BUCKINGHAM	Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
 	Since last we saw in France?
 NORFOLK	I thank your grace,
 	Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
 	Of what I saw there.
 BUCKINGHAM	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.
 NORFOLK	'Twixt Guynes and Arde:
 	I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
 	Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
 	In their embracement, as they grew together;
 	Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd
 	Such a compounded one?
 BUCKINGHAM	All the whole time
 	I was my chamber's prisoner.
 NORFOLK	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 its. 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
 	Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
 	As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too,
 	Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
 	The pride upon them, that their very labour
 	Was to them as a painting: now this masque
 	Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
 	Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,
 	Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
 	As presence did present them; him in eye,
 	Still him in praise: and, being present both
 	'Twas said they saw but one; and no discerner
 	Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns--
 	For so they phrase 'em--by their heralds challenged
 	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 believed.
 BUCKINGHAM	O, you go far.
 NORFOLK	As I belong to worship and affect
 	In honour honesty, the tract of every thing
 	Would by a good discourser lose some life,
 	Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal;
 	To the disposing of it nought rebell'd.
 	Order gave each thing view; the office did
 	Distinctly his full function.
 BUCKINGHAM	Who did guide,
 	I mean, who set the body and the limbs
 	Of this great sport together, as you guess?
 NORFOLK	One, certes, that promises no element
 	In such a business.
 BUCKINGHAM	I pray you, who, my lord?
 NORFOLK	All this was order'd by the good discretion
 	Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.
 BUCKINGHAM	The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed
 	From his ambitious finger. What had he
 	To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder
 	That such a keech can with his very bulk
 	Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun
 	And keep it from the earth.
 NORFOLK	Surely, sir,
 	There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
 	For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
 	Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
 	For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
 	For eminent assistants; but, spider-like,
 	Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
 	The force of his own merit makes his way
 	A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
 	A place next to the king.
 ABERGAVENNY	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: whence has he that,
 	If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,
 	Or has given all before, and he begins
 	A new hell in himself.
 BUCKINGHAM	Why the devil,
 	Upon this French going out, took he upon him,
 	Without the privity o' the king, to appoint
 	Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
 	Of all the gentry; for the most part such
 	To whom as great a charge as little honour
 	He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,
 	The honourable board of council out,
 	Must fetch him in the papers.
 	Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
 	By this so sickened their estates, that never
 	They shall abound as formerly.
 	Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em
 	For this great journey. What did this vanity
 	But minister communication of
 	A most poor issue?
 NORFOLK	                  Grievingly I think,
 	The peace between the French and us not values
 	The cost that did conclude it.
 BUCKINGHAM	Every man,
 	After the hideous storm that follow'd, was
 	A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke
 	Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,
 	Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
 	The sudden breach on't.
 NORFOLK	Which is budded out;
 	For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
 	Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.
 ABERGAVENNY	Is it therefore
 	The ambassador is silenced?
 NORFOLK	Marry, is't.
 ABERGAVENNY	A proper title of a peace; and purchased
 	At a superfluous rate!
 BUCKINGHAM	Why, all this business
 	Our reverend cardinal carried.
 NORFOLK	Like it your grace,
 	The state takes notice of the private difference
 	Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you--
 	And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
 	Honour and plenteous safety--that you read
 	The cardinal's malice and his potency
 	Together; to consider further that
 	What his high hatred would effect wants not
 	A minister in his power. You know his nature,
 	That he's revengeful, and I know his sword
 	Hath a sharp edge: it's long and, 't may be said,
 	It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend,
 	Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,
 	You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock
 	That I advise your shunning.
 	[Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him,
 	certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with
 	papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his
 	eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full
 	of disdain]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?
 	Where's his examination?
 First Secretary	Here, so please you.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Is he in person ready?
 First Secretary	Ay, please your grace.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham
 	Shall lessen this big look.
 	[Exeunt CARDINAL WOLSEY and his Train]
 BUCKINGHAM	This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
 	Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
 	Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
 	Outworths a noble's blood.
 NORFOLK	What, are you chafed?
 	Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only
 	Which your disease requires.
 BUCKINGHAM	I read in's looks
 	Matter against me; and his eye reviled
 	Me, as his abject object: at this instant
 	He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king;
 	I'll follow and outstare him.
 NORFOLK	Stay, my lord,
 	And let your reason with your choler question
 	What 'tis you go about: to climb steep hills
 	Requires slow pace at first: anger is like
 	A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
 	Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
 	Can advise me like you: be to yourself
 	As you would to your friend.
 BUCKINGHAM	I'll to the king;
 	And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
 	This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim
 	There's difference in no persons.
 NORFOLK	Be advised;
 	Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
 	That it do singe yourself: we may outrun,
 	By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
 	And lose by over-running. Know you not,
 	The fire that mounts the liquor til run o'er,
 	In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised:
 	I say again, there is no English soul
 	More stronger to direct you than yourself,
 	If with the sap of reason you would quench,
 	Or but allay, the fire of passion.
 	I am thankful to you; and I'll go along
 	By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow,
 	Whom from the flow of gall I name not but
 	From sincere motions, by intelligence,
 	And proofs as clear as founts in July when
 	We see each grain of gravel, I do know
 	To be corrupt and treasonous.
 NORFOLK	Say not 'treasonous.'
 BUCKINGHAM	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't; his mind and place
 	Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally--
 	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' the rinsing.
 NORFOLK	Faith, and so it did.
 BUCKINGHAM	Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal
 	The articles o' the combination drew
 	As himself pleased; and they were ratified
 	As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end
 	As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal
 	Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,
 	Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,--
 	Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
 	To the 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; for from this league
 	Peep'd harms that menaced him: he privily
 	Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,--
 	Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor
 	Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted
 	Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made,
 	And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired,
 	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.
 NORFOLK	I am sorry
 	To hear this of him; and could wish he were
 	Something mistaken in't.
 BUCKINGHAM	No, not a syllable:
 	I  do pronounce him in that very shape
 	He shall appear in proof.
 	[Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and
 	two or three of the Guard]
 BRANDON	Your office, sergeant; execute it.
 Sergeant	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.
 BUCKINGHAM	Lo, you, my lord,
 	The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish
 	Under device and practise.
 BRANDON	I am sorry
 	To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
 	The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure
 	You shall to the Tower.
 BUCKINGHAM	It will help me nothing
 	To plead mine innocence; for that dye 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 Abergavenny, fare you well!
 BRANDON	Nay, he must bear you company. The king
 	Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know
 	How he determines further.
 ABERGAVENNY	As the duke said,
 	The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure
 	By me obey'd!
 BRANDON	                  Here is a warrant from
 	The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies
 	Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car,
 	One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor--
 	These are the limbs o' the plot: no more, I hope.
 BRANDON	A monk o' the Chartreux.
 BUCKINGHAM	O, Nicholas Hopkins?
 BUCKINGHAM	My surveyor is false; the o'er-great cardinal
 	Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already:
 	I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
 	Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on,
 	By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell.
 SCENE II	The same. The council-chamber.
 	[Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on
 	CARDINAL WOLSEY's shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL;
 	CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY
 	VIII's feet on his right side]
 KING HENRY VIII	My life itself, and the best heart of it,
 	Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level
 	Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks
 	To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us
 	That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person
 	I'll hear him his confessions justify;
 	And point by point the treasons of his master
 	He shall again relate.
 	[A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter
 	she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state,
 	takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him]
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor.
 KING HENRY VIII	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.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Thank your majesty.
 	That you would love yourself, and in that love
 	Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor
 	The dignity of your office, is the point
 	Of my petition.
 KING HENRY VIII	                  Lady mine, proceed.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	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 'em, 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.
 NORFOLK	                  Not almost appears,
 	It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,
 	The clothiers all, not able to maintain
 	The many to them longing, have put off
 	The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,
 	Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
 	And lack of other means, in desperate manner
 	Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar,
 	And danger serves among then!
 	Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal,
 	You that are blamed for it alike with us,
 	Know you of this taxation?
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Please you, sir,
 	I know but of a single part, in aught
 	Pertains to the state; and front but in that file
 	Where others tell steps with me.
 	You know no more than others; but you frame
 	Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome
 	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 the bearing; and, to bear 'em,
 	The back is sacrifice to the load. They say
 	They are devised by you; or else you suffer
 	Too hard an exclamation.
 KING HENRY VIII	Still exaction!
 	The nature of it? in what kind, let's know,
 	Is this exaction?
 QUEEN KATHARINE	                  I am much too venturous
 	In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd
 	Under your promised pardon. The subjects' 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 named, 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: and it's come to pass,
 	This tractable obedience is a slave
 	To each incensed will. I would your highness
 	Would give it quick consideration, for
 	There is no primer business.
 KING HENRY VIII	By my life,
 	This is against our pleasure.
 	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
 	Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know
 	My faculties nor person, yet will be
 	The chronicles of my doing, let me say
 	'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
 	That virtue must go through. We must not stint
 	Our necessary actions, in the fear
 	To cope malicious censurers; which ever,
 	As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow
 	That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further
 	Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
 	By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
 	Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft,
 	Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
 	For our best act. If we shall stand still,
 	In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
 	We should take root here where we sit, or sit
 	State-statues only.
 KING HENRY VIII	Things done well,
 	And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;
 	Things done without example, in their issue
 	Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
 	Of this commission? I believe, not any.
 	We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
 	And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?
 	A trembling contribution! Why, we take
 	From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber;
 	And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
 	The air will drink the sap. To every county
 	Where this is question'd send our letters, with
 	Free pardon to each man that has denied
 	The force of this commission: pray, look to't;
 	I put it to your care.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	A word with you.
 	[To the Secretary]
 	Let there be letters writ to every shire,
 	Of the king's grace and pardon. The grieved commons
 	Hardly conceive of me; let it be noised
 	That through our intercession this revokement
 	And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you
 	Further in the proceeding.
 	[Exit Secretary]
 	[Enter Surveyor]
 QUEEN KATHARINE	I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham
 	Is run in your displeasure.
 KING HENRY VIII	It grieves many:
 	The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker;
 	To nature none more bound; his training such,
 	That he may furnish and instruct great teachers,
 	And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,
 	When these so noble benefits shall prove
 	Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt,
 	They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly
 	Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,
 	Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,
 	Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find
 	His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady,
 	Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
 	That once were his, and is become as black
 	As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear--
 	This was his gentleman in trust--of him
 	Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount
 	The fore-recited practises; whereof
 	We cannot feel too little, hear too much.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,
 	Most like a careful subject, have collected
 	Out of the Duke of Buckingham.
 KING HENRY VIII	Speak freely.
 Surveyor	First, it was usual with him, every day
 	It would infect his speech, that if the king
 	Should without issue die, he'll carry it so
 	To make the sceptre his: these very words
 	I've heard him utter to his son-in-law,
 	Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced
 	Revenge upon the cardinal.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Please your highness, note
 	This dangerous conception in this point.
 	Not friended by by his wish, to your high person
 	His will is most malignant; and it stretches
 	Beyond you, to your friends.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	My learn'd lord cardinal,
 	Deliver all with charity.
 	How grounded he his title to the crown,
 	Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him
 	At any time speak aught?
 Surveyor	He was brought to this
 	By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins.
 KING HENRY VIII	What was that Hopkins?
 Surveyor	Sir, a Chartreux friar,
 	His confessor, who fed him every minute
 	With words of sovereignty.
 KING HENRY VIII	How know'st thou this?
 Surveyor	Not long before your highness sped to France,
 	The duke being at the Rose, within the parish
 	Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
 	What was the speech among the Londoners
 	Concerning the French journey: I replied,
 	Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious,
 	To the king's danger. Presently the duke
 	Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted
 	'Twould prove the verity of certain words
 	Spoke by a holy monk; 'that oft,' says he,
 	'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
 	John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour
 	To hear from him a matter of some moment:
 	Whom after under the confession's seal
 	He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke
 	My chaplain to no creature living, but
 	To me, should utter, with demure confidence
 	This pausingly ensued: neither the king nor's heirs,
 	Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive
 	To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke
 	Shall govern England.'
 QUEEN KATHARINE	If I know you well,
 	You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
 	On the complaint o' the tenants: take good heed
 	You charge not in your spleen a noble person
 	And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed;
 	Yes, heartily beseech you.
 KING HENRY VIII	Let him on.
 	Go forward.
 Surveyor	     On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
 	I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions
 	The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him
 	To ruminate on this so far, until
 	It forged him some design, which, being believed,
 	It was much like to do: he answer'd, 'Tush,
 	It can do me no damage;' adding further,
 	That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
 	The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads
 	Should have gone off.
 KING HENRY VIII	Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!
 	There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further?
 Surveyor	I can, my liege.
 KING HENRY VIII	                  Proceed.
 Surveyor	Being at Greenwich,
 	After your highness had reproved the duke
 	About Sir William Blomer,--
 	Of such a time: being my sworn servant,
 	The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence?
 Surveyor	'If,' quoth he, 'I for this had been committed,
 	As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd
 	The part my father meant to act upon
 	The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,
 	Made suit to come in's presence; which if granted,
 	As he made semblance of his duty, would
 	Have put his knife to him.'
 KING HENRY VIII	A giant traitor!
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,
 	and this man out of prison?
 QUEEN KATHARINE	God mend all!
 KING HENRY VIII	There's something more would out of thee; what say'st?
 Surveyor	After 'the duke his father,' with 'the knife,'
 	He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
 	Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes
 	He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor
 	Was,--were he evil used, he would outgo
 	His father by as much as a performance
 	Does an irresolute purpose.
 KING HENRY VIII	There's his period,
 	To sheathe 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.
 SCENE III	An ante-chamber in the palace.
 	[Enter Chamberlain and SANDS]
 Chamberlain	Is't possible the spells of France should juggle
 	Men into such strange mysteries?
 SANDS	New customs,
 	Though they be never so ridiculous,
 	Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
 Chamberlain	As far as I see, all the good our English
 	Have got by the late voyage is but merely
 	A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones;
 	For when they hold 'em, 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 'em pace before, the spavin
 	Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.
 Chamberlain	Death! my lord,
 	Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
 	That, sure, they've worn out Christendom.
 	[Enter LOVELL]
 		                  How now!
 	What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
 LOVELL	Faith, my lord,
 	I hear of none, but the new proclamation
 	That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.
 Chamberlain	What is't for?
 LOVELL	The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
 	That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.
 Chamberlain	I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs
 	To think an English courtier may be wise,
 	And never see the Louvre.
 LOVELL	They must either,
 	For so run the conditions, leave those remnants
 	Of fool and feather that they got in France,
 	With all their honourable point of ignorance
 	Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks,
 	Abusing better men than they can be,
 	Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean
 	The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,
 	Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel,
 	And understand again like honest men;
 	Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it,
 	They may, 'cum privilegio,' wear away
 	The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at.
 SANDS	'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
 	Are grown so catching.
 Chamberlain	What a loss our ladies
 	Will have of these trim vanities!
 LOVELL	Ay, marry,
 	There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons
 	Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies;
 	A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.
 SANDS	The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,
 	For, sure, there's no converting of 'em: now
 	An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
 	A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong
 	And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r lady,
 	Held current music too.
 Chamberlain	Well said, Lord Sands;
 	Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
 SANDS	No, my lord;
 	Nor shall not, while I have a stump.
 Chamberlain	Sir Thomas,
 	Whither were you a-going?
 LOVELL	To the cardinal's:
 	Your lordship is a guest too.
 Chamberlain	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.
 LOVELL	That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
 	A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
 	His dews fall every where.
 Chamberlain	No doubt he's noble;
 	He had a black mouth that said other of him.
 SANDS	He may, my lord; 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.
 Chamberlain	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.
 SCENE IV	A Hall in York Place.
 	[Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL
 	WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter
 	ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as
 	guests, at one door; at another door, enter
 GUILDFORD	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. O, my lord, you're tardy:
 	[Enter Chamberlain, SANDS, and LOVELL]
 	The very thought of this fair company
 	Clapp'd wings to me.
 Chamberlain	You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.
 SANDS	Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal
 	But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these
 	Should find a running banquet ere they rested,
 	I think would better please 'em: by my life,
 	They are a sweet society of fair ones.
 LOVELL	O, that your lordship were but now confessor
 	To one or two of these!
 SANDS	I would I were;
 	They should find easy penance.
 LOVELL	Faith, how easy?
 SANDS	As easy as a down-bed would afford it.
 Chamberlain	Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,
 	Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this:
 	His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze;
 	Two women placed together makes cold weather:
 	My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking;
 	Pray, sit between these ladies.
 SANDS	By my faith,
 	And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies:
 	If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;
 	I had it from my father.
 ANNE	Was he mad, sir?
 SANDS	O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:
 	But he would bite none; just as I do now,
 	He would kiss you twenty with a breath.
 	[Kisses her]
 Chamberlain	Well said, my lord.
 	So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen,
 	The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
 	Pass away frowning.
 SANDS	For my little cure,
 	Let me alone.
 	[Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	You're 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.
 SANDS	Your grace is noble:
 	Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
 	And save me so much talking.
 	I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours.
 	Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen,
 	Whose fault is this?
 SANDS	The red wine first must rise
 	In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em
 	Talk us to silence.
 ANNE	You are a merry gamester,
 	My Lord Sands.
 SANDS	                  Yes, if I make my play.
 	Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam,
 	For 'tis to such a thing,--
 ANNE	You cannot show me.
 SANDS	I told your grace they would talk anon.
 	[Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged]
 Chamberlain	Look out there, some of ye.
 	[Exit Servant]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	What warlike voice,
 	And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;
 	By all the laws of war you're privileged.
 	[Re-enter Servant]
 Chamberlain	How now! what is't?
 Servant	A noble troop of strangers;
 	For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed;
 	And hither make, as great ambassadors
 	From foreign princes.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Good lord chamberlain,
 	Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;
 	And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em
 	Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
 	Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.
 	[Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, 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 ye; welcome all.
 	[Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as
 	masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the
 	Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL
 	WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him]
 	A noble company! what are their pleasures?
 Chamberlain	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 'em.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Say, lord chamberlain,
 	They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em
 	A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures.
 	[They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII
 	chooses ANNE]
 KING HENRY VIII	The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,
 	Till now I never knew thee!
 	[Music. Dance]
 Chamberlain	Your grace?
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Pray, tell 'em thus much from me:
 	There should be one amongst 'em, by his person,
 	More worthy this place than myself; to whom,
 	If I but knew him, with my love and duty
 	I would surrender it.
 Chamberlain	I will, my lord.
 	[Whispers the Masquers]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	What say they?
 Chamberlain	                  Such a one, they all confess,
 	There is indeed; which they would have your grace
 	Find out, and he will take it.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Let me see, then.
 	By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make
 	My royal choice.
 KING HENRY VIII	                  Ye have found him, cardinal:
 	You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord:
 	You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal,
 	I should judge now unhappily.
 	Your grace is grown so pleasant.
 KING HENRY VIII	My lord chamberlain,
 	Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that?
 Chamberlain	An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter--
 	The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness' women.
 KING HENRY VIII	By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart,
 	I were unmannerly, to take you out,
 	And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!
 	Let it go round.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
 	I' the privy chamber?
 LOVELL	Yes, my lord.
 	I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
 KING HENRY VIII	I fear, too much.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	                  There's fresher air, my lord,
 	In the next chamber.
 KING HENRY VIII	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 'em once again; and then let's dream
 	Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it.
 	[Exeunt with trumpets]
 SCENE I	Westminster. A street.
 	[Enter two Gentlemen, meeting]
 First Gentleman	Whither away so fast?
 Second Gentleman	O, God save ye!
 	Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
 	Of the great Duke of Buckingham.
 First Gentleman	I'll save you
 	That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony
 	Of bringing back the prisoner.
 Second Gentleman	Were you there?
 First Gentleman	Yes, indeed, was I.
 Second Gentleman	Pray, speak what has happen'd.
 First Gentleman	You may guess quickly what.
 Second Gentleman	Is he found guilty?
 First Gentleman	Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't.
 Second Gentleman	I am sorry for't.
 First Gentleman	                  So are a number more.
 Second Gentleman	But, pray, how pass'd it?
 First Gentleman	I'll tell you in a little. The great duke
 	Came to the bar; where to his accusations
 	He pleaded still not guilty and alleged
 	Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
 	The king's attorney on the contrary
 	Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions
 	Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired
 	To have brought viva voce to his face:
 	At which appear'd against him his surveyor;
 	Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car,
 	Confessor to him; with that devil-monk,
 	Hopkins, that made this mischief.
 Second Gentleman	That was he
 	That fed him with his prophecies?
 First Gentleman	The same.
 	All these accused him strongly; which he fain
 	Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not:
 	And so his peers, upon this evidence,
 	Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
 	He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all
 	Was either pitied in him or forgotten.
 Second Gentleman	After all this, how did he bear himself?
 First Gentleman	When he was brought again to the bar, to hear
 	His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd
 	With such an agony, he sweat extremely,
 	And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty:
 	But he fell to himself again, and sweetly
 	In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.
 Second Gentleman	I do not think he fears death.
 First Gentleman	Sure, he does not:
 	He never was so womanish; the cause
 	He may a little grieve at.
 Second Gentleman	Certainly
 	The cardinal is the end of this.
 First Gentleman	'Tis likely,
 	By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,
 	Then deputy of Ireland; who removed,
 	Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,
 	Lest he should help his father.
 Second Gentleman	That trick of state
 	Was a deep envious one.
 First Gentleman	At his return
 	No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,
 	And generally, whoever the king favours,
 	The cardinal instantly will find employment,
 	And far enough from court too.
 Second Gentleman	All the commons
 	Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
 	Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much
 	They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,
 	The mirror of all courtesy;--
 First Gentleman	Stay there, sir,
 	And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.
 	[Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves
 	before him; the axe with the edge towards him;
 	halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL,
 	VAUX, SANDS, and common people]
 Second Gentleman	Let's stand close, and behold him.
 BUCKINGHAM	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 received a traitor's judgment,
 	And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness,
 	And if I have a conscience, let it sink me,
 	Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!
 	The law I bear no malice for my death;
 	'T has done, upon the premises, but justice:
 	But those that sought it I could wish more Christians:
 	Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em:
 	Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief,
 	Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;
 	For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em.
 	For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
 	Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies
 	More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me,
 	And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
 	His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave
 	Is only bitter to him, only dying,
 	Go with me, like good angels, to my end;
 	And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me,
 	Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
 	And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o' God's name.
 LOVELL	I do beseech your grace, for charity,
 	If ever any malice in your heart
 	Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.
 BUCKINGHAM	Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you
 	As I would be forgiven: I forgive all;
 	There cannot be those numberless offences
 	'Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with:
 	no black envy
 	Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace;
 	And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him
 	You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers
 	Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake,
 	Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live
 	Longer than I have time to tell his years!
 	Ever beloved and loving may his rule be!
 	And when old time shall lead him to his end,
 	Goodness and he fill up one monument!
 LOVELL	To the water side I must conduct your grace;
 	Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,
 	Who undertakes you to your end.
 VAUX	Prepare there,
 	The duke is coming: see the barge be ready;
 	And fit it with such furniture as suits
 	The greatness of his person.
 BUCKINGHAM	Nay, Sir Nicholas,
 	Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
 	When I came hither, I was lord high constable
 	And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:
 	Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
 	That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;
 	And with that blood will make 'em one day groan for't.
 	My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
 	Who first raised head against usurping Richard,
 	Flying for succor 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,
 	Restored 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 loved most;
 	A most unnatural and faithless service!
 	Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me,
 	This from a dying man receive as certain:
 	Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels
 	Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends
 	And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
 	The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
 	Like water from ye, never found again
 	But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
 	Pray for me! I must now forsake 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 God forgive me!
 	[Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train]
 First Gentleman	O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,
 	I fear, too many curses on their beads
 	That were the authors.
 Second Gentleman	If the duke be guiltless,
 	'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling
 	Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,
 	Greater than this.
 First Gentleman	                  Good angels keep it from us!
 	What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?
 Second Gentleman	This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
 	A strong faith to conceal it.
 First Gentleman	Let me have it;
 	I do not talk much.
 Second Gentleman	I am confident,
 	You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear
 	A buzzing of a separation
 	Between the king and Katharine?
 First Gentleman	Yes, but it held not:
 	For when the king once heard it, out of anger
 	He sent command to the lord mayor straight
 	To stop the rumor, and allay those tongues
 	That durst disperse it.
 Second Gentleman	But that slander, sir,
 	Is found a truth now: for it grows again
 	Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain
 	The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal,
 	Or some about him near, have, out of malice
 	To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple
 	That will undo her: to confirm this too,
 	Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately;
 	As all think, for this business.
 First Gentleman	'Tis the cardinal;
 	And merely to revenge him on the emperor
 	For not bestowing on him, at his asking,
 	The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed.
 Second Gentleman	I think you have hit the mark: but is't not cruel
 	That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal
 	Will have his will, and she must fall.
 First Gentleman	'Tis woful.
 	We are too open here to argue this;
 	Let's think in private more.
 SCENE II	An ante-chamber in the palace.
 	[Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter]
 Chamberlain	'My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with
 	all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and
 	furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the
 	best breed in the north. When they were ready to
 	set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by
 	commission and main power, took 'em from me; with
 	this reason: His master would be served before a
 	subject, if not before the king; which stopped our
 	mouths, sir.'
 	I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them:
 	He will have all, I think.
 	[Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]
 NORFOLK	Well met, my lord chamberlain.
 Chamberlain	Good day to both your graces.
 SUFFOLK	How is the king employ'd?
 Chamberlain	I left him private,
 	Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
 NORFOLK	What's the cause?
 Chamberlain	It seems the marriage with his brother's wife
 	Has crept too near his conscience.
 SUFFOLK	No, his conscience
 	Has crept too near another lady.
 NORFOLK	'Tis so:
 	This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal:
 	That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
 	Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.
 SUFFOLK	Pray God he do! he'll never know himself else.
 NORFOLK	How holily he works in all his business!
 	And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league
 	Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew,
 	He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters
 	Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
 	Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage:
 	And out of all these to restore the king,
 	He counsels a divorce; a loss of her
 	That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
 	About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
 	Of her that loves him with that excellence
 	That angels love good men with; even of her
 	That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
 	Will bless the king: and is not this course pious?
 Chamberlain	Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true
 	These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em,
 	And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare
 	Look into these affairs see this main end,
 	The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open
 	The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon
 	This bold bad man.
 SUFFOLK	                  And free us from his slavery.
 NORFOLK	We had need pray,
 	And heartily, for our deliverance;
 	Or this imperious man will work us all
 	From princes into pages: all men's honours
 	Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd
 	Into what pitch he please.
 SUFFOLK	For me, my lords,
 	I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed:
 	As I am made without him, so I'll stand,
 	If the king please; his curses and his blessings
 	Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in.
 	I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him
 	To him that made him proud, the pope.
 NORFOLK	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?
 Chamberlain	Excuse me;
 	The king has sent me otherwhere: besides,
 	You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him:
 	Health to your lordships.
 NORFOLK	Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.
 	[Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the
 	curtain, and sits reading pensively]
 SUFFOLK	How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted.
 KING HENRY VIII	Who's there, ha?
 NORFOLK	                  Pray God he be not angry.
 KING HENRY VIII	Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves
 	Into my private meditations?
 	Who am I? ha?
 NORFOLK	A gracious king that pardons all offences
 	Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way
 	Is business of estate; in which we come
 	To know your royal pleasure.
 KING HENRY VIII	Ye are too bold:
 	Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business:
 	Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?
 	a commission]
 	Who's there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey,
 	The quiet of my wounded conscience;
 	Thou art a cure fit for a king.
 		          You're welcome,
 	Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom:
 	Use us and it.
 	My good lord, have great care
 	I be not found a talker.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Sir, you cannot.
 	I would your grace would give us but an hour
 	Of private conference.
 		 We are busy; go.
 	This priest has no pride in him?
 SUFFOLK	[Aside to NORFOLK]             Not to speak of:
 	I would not be so sick though for his place:
 	But this cannot continue.
 NORFOLK	[Aside to SUFFOLK]      If it do,
 	I'll venture one have-at-him.
 SUFFOLK	[Aside to NORFOLK]          I another.
 	[Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	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 blood and favour to her,
 	Must now confess, if they have any goodness,
 	The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
 	I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms
 	Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment,
 	Invited by your noble self, hath sent
 	One general tongue unto us, this good man,
 	This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius;
 	Whom once more I present unto your highness.
 KING HENRY VIII	And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,
 	And thank the holy conclave for their loves:
 	They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves,
 	You are so noble. To your highness' hand
 	I tender my commission; by whose virtue,
 	The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord
 	Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant
 	In the unpartial judging of this business.
 KING HENRY VIII	Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted
 	Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	I know your majesty has always loved her
 	So dear in heart, not to deny her that
 	A woman of less place might ask by law:
 	Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.
 KING HENRY VIII	Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour
 	To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,
 	Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary:
 	I find him a fit fellow.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	[Aside to GARDINER]  Give me your hand much joy and
 	favour to you;
 	You are the king's now.
 		  But to be commanded
 	For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me.
 KING HENRY VIII	Come hither, Gardiner.
 	[Walks and whispers]
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace
 	In this man's place before him?
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Was he not held a learned man?
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then
 	Even of yourself, lord cardinal.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	They will not stick to say you envied him,
 	And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
 	Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him,
 	That he ran mad and died.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Heaven's peace be with him!
 	That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers
 	There's places of rebuke. He was a fool;
 	For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,
 	If I command him, follows my appointment:
 	I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
 	We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
 KING HENRY VIII	Deliver this with modesty to the queen.
 	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.
 SCENE III	An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments.
 	[Enter ANNE and an Old Lady]
 ANNE	Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches:
 	His highness having lived so long with her, and she
 	So good a lady that no tongue could ever
 	Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life,
 	She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after
 	So many courses of the sun enthroned,
 	Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which
 	To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than
 	'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process,
 	To give her the avaunt! it is a pity
 	Would move a monster.
 Old Lady	Hearts of most hard temper
 	Melt and lament for her.
 ANNE	O, God's will! much better
 	She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal,
 	Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce
 	It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging
 	As soul and body's severing.
 Old Lady	Alas, poor lady!
 	She's a stranger now again.
 ANNE	So much the more
 	Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
 	I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
 	And range with humble livers in content,
 	Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief,
 	And wear a golden sorrow.
 Old Lady	Our content
 	Is our best having.
 ANNE	By my troth and maidenhead,
 	I would not be a queen.
 Old Lady	Beshrew me, I would,
 	And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you,
 	For all this spice of your hypocrisy:
 	You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,
 	Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet
 	Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;
 	Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,
 	Saving your mincing, the capacity
 	Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive,
 	If you might please to stretch it.
 ANNE	Nay, good troth.
 Old Lady	Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen?
 ANNE	No, not for all the riches under heaven.
 Old Lady:	'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me,
 	Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you,
 	What think you of a duchess? have you limbs
 	To bear that load of title?
 ANNE	No, in truth.
 Old Lady	Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little;
 	I would not be a young count in your way,
 	For more than blushing comes to: if your back
 	Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak
 	Ever to get a boy.
 ANNE	                  How you do talk!
 	I swear again, I would not be a queen
 	For all the world.
 Old Lady	                  In faith, for little England
 	You'ld venture an emballing: I myself
 	Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd
 	No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
 	[Enter Chamberlain]
 Chamberlain	Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know
 	The secret of your conference?
 ANNE	My good lord,
 	Not your demand; it values not your asking:
 	Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.
 Chamberlain	It was a gentle business, and becoming
 	The action of good women: there is hope
 	All will be well.
 ANNE	                  Now, I pray God, amen!
 Chamberlain	You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings
 	Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
 	Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's
 	Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty
 	Commends his good opinion of you, and
 	Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
 	Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title
 	A thousand pound a year, annual support,
 	Out of his grace he adds.
 ANNE	I do not know
 	What kind of my obedience I should tender;
 	More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers
 	Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes
 	More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes
 	Are all I can return. 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.
 Chamberlain	Lady,
 	I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit
 	The king hath of you.
 		I have perused her well;
 	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.
 	[Exit Chamberlain]
 ANNE	My honour'd lord.
 Old Lady	Why, this it is; see, see!
 	I have been begging sixteen years in court,
 	Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could
 	Come pat betwixt too early and too late
 	For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!
 	A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon
 	This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up
 	Before you open it.
 ANNE	This is strange to me.
 Old Lady	How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no.
 	There was a lady once, 'tis an old story,
 	That would not be a queen, that would she not,
 	For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it?
 ANNE	Come, you are pleasant.
 Old Lady	With your theme, I could
 	O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!
 	A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!
 	No other obligation! By my life,
 	That promises moe thousands: honour's train
 	Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time
 	I know your back 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've heard to her.
 Old Lady	What do you think me?
 SCENE IV	A hall in Black-Friars.
 	[Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers,
 	with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in
 	the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone;
 	after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint
 	Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows
 	a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal,
 	and a cardinal's hat; then two Priests, bearing
 	each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher
 	bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms
 	bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing
 	two great silver pillars; after them, side by side,
 	with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes
 	place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and
 	CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN
 	KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING
 	HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves on each
 	side the court, in manner of a consistory; below
 	them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops.
 	The rest of the Attendants stand in convenient
 	order about the stage]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Whilst our commission from Rome is read,
 	Let silence be commanded.
 KING HENRY VIII	What's the need?
 	It hath already publicly been read,
 	And on all sides the authority allow'd;
 	You may, then, spare that time.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Be't so. Proceed.
 Scribe	Say, Henry King of England, come into the court.
 Crier	Henry King of England, &c.
 Scribe	Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.
 Crier	Katharine Queen of England, &c.
 	[QUEEN KATHARINE makes no answer, rises out of her
 	chair, goes about the court, comes to KING HENRY
 	VIII, and kneels at his feet; then speaks]
 QUEEN KATHARINE	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,
 	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 behavior 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;
 	Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,
 	Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry
 	As I saw it inclined: when was the hour
 	I ever contradicted your desire,
 	Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends
 	Have I not strove to love, although I knew
 	He were mine enemy? what friend of mine
 	That had to him derived your anger, did I
 	Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice
 	He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind
 	That I have been your wife, in this obedience,
 	Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
 	With many children by you: if, in the course
 	And process of 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 sharp'st kind of justice. Please you sir,
 	The king, your father, was reputed for
 	A prince most prudent, of an excellent
 	And unmatch'd wit and judgment: Ferdinand,
 	My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one
 	The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many
 	A year before: it is not to be question'd
 	That they had gather'd a wise council to them
 	Of every realm, that did debate this business,
 	Who deem'd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly
 	Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
 	Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel
 	I will implore: if not, i' the name of God,
 	Your pleasure be fulfill'd!
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	You have here, lady,
 	And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men
 	Of singular integrity and learning,
 	Yea, the elect o' the land, who are assembled
 	To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless
 	That longer you desire the court; as well
 	For your own quiet, as to rectify
 	What is unsettled in the king.
 	Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam,
 	It's fit this royal session do proceed;
 	And that, without delay, their arguments
 	Be now produced and heard.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Lord cardinal,
 	To you I speak.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	                  Your pleasure, madam?
 	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.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Be patient yet.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	I will, when you are humble; nay, before,
 	Or God will punish me. I do believe,
 	Induced by potent circumstances, that
 	You are mine enemy, and make my challenge
 	You shall not be my judge: for it is you
 	Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me;
 	Which God'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.
 	You speak not like yourself; who ever yet
 	Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects
 	Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom
 	O'ertopping woman's power. 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. If he know
 	That I am free of your report, he knows
 	I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him
 	It lies to cure me: and the cure is, to
 	Remove these thoughts from you: the which before
 	His highness shall speak in, I do beseech
 	You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking
 	And to say so no more.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	My lord, my lord,
 	I am a simple woman, much too weak
 	To oppose your cunning. You're meek and
 	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 have, by fortune and his highness' favours,
 	Gone slightly o'er low steps and now are mounted
 	Where powers are your retainers, and your words,
 	Domestics to you, serve your will as't please
 	Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,
 	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 judged by him.
 	[She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart]
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	The queen is obstinate,
 	Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
 	Disdainful to be tried by't: 'tis not well.
 	She's going away.
 KING HENRY VIII	Call her again.
 Crier	Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.
 GRIFFITH	Madam, you are call'd back.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	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 KATHARINE and her Attendants]
 KING HENRY VIII	Go thy ways, Kate:
 	That man i' the world who shall report he has
 	A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,
 	For speaking false in that: thou art, alone,
 	If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,
 	Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,
 	Obeying in commanding, and thy parts
 	Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,
 	The queen of earthly queens: she's noble born;
 	And, like her true nobility, she has
 	Carried herself towards me.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	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 unloosed, although not there
 	At once and fully satisfied,--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? or ever
 	Have to you, but with thanks to God for such
 	A royal lady, spake one the least word that might
 	Be to the prejudice of her present state,
 	Or touch of her good person?
 KING HENRY VIII	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 put in anger. You're excused:
 	But will you be more justified? You ever
 	Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desired
 	It to be stirr'd; but oft have hinder'd, oft,
 	The passages made toward it: on my honour,
 	I speak my good lord cardinal to this point,
 	And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to't,
 	I will be bold with time and your attention:
 	Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed to't:
 	My conscience first received a tenderness,
 	Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd
 	By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador;
 	Who had been hither sent on the debating
 	A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and
 	Our daughter Mary: i' the progress of this business,
 	Ere a determinate resolution, he,
 	I mean the bishop, did require a respite;
 	Wherein he might the king his lord advertise
 	Whether our daughter were legitimate,
 	Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,
 	Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook
 	The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,
 	Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
 	The region of my breast; which forced such way,
 	That many mazed considerings did throng
 	And press'd in with this caution. First, methought
 	I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had
 	Commanded nature, that my lady's womb,
 	If it conceived a male child by me, should
 	Do no more offices of life to't than
 	The grave does to the dead; for her male issue
 	Or died where they were made, or shortly after
 	This world had air'd them: hence I took a thought,
 	This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom,
 	Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not
 	Be gladded in't by me: then follows, that
 	I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in
 	By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me
 	Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in
 	The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer
 	Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
 	Now present here together: that's to say,
 	I meant to rectify my conscience,--which
 	I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,--
 	By all the reverend fathers of the land
 	And doctors learn'd: first I began in private
 	With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember
 	How under my oppression I did reek,
 	When I first moved you.
 LINCOLN	Very well, my liege.
 KING HENRY VIII	I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say
 	How far you satisfied me.
 LINCOLN	So please your highness,
 	The question did at first so stagger me,
 	Bearing a state of mighty moment in't
 	And consequence of dread, that I committed
 	The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt;
 	And did entreat your highness to this course
 	Which you are running here.
 KING HENRY VIII	I then moved you,
 	My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave
 	To make this present summons: unsolicited
 	I left no reverend person in this court;
 	But by particular consent proceeded
 	Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on:
 	For no dislike i' the world against the person
 	Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points
 	Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward:
 	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' the world.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	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.
 KING HENRY VIII	[Aside]	I may perceive
 	These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor
 	This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
 	My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
 	Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know,
 	My comfort comes along. Break up the court:
 	I say, set on.
 	[Exeunt in manner as they entered]
 SCENE I	London. QUEEN KATHARINE's apartments.
 	[Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work]
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles;
 	Sing, and disperse 'em, if thou canst: leave working.
 	Orpheus with his lute made trees,
 	And the mountain tops that freeze,
 	Bow themselves when he did sing:
 	To his music plants and flowers
 	Ever sprung; as sun and showers
 	There had made a lasting spring.
 	Every thing that heard him play,
 	Even the billows of the sea,
 	Hung their heads, and then lay by.
 	In sweet music is such art,
 	Killing care and grief of heart
 	Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
 	[Enter a Gentleman]
 Gentleman	An't please your grace, the two great cardinals
 	Wait in the presence.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Would they speak with me?
 Gentleman	They will'd me say so, madam.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Pray their graces
 	To come near.
 	[Exit Gentleman]
 	What can be their business
 	With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour?
 	I do not like their coming. Now I think on't,
 	They should be good men; their affairs as righteous:
 	But all hoods make not monks.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Peace to your highness!
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Your graces find me here part of a housewife,
 	I would be all, against the worst may happen.
 	What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	May it please you noble madam, to withdraw
 	Into your private chamber, we shall give you
 	The full cause of our coming.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Speak it here:
 	There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,
 	Deserves a corner: would all other women
 	Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!
 	My lords, I care not, so much I am happy
 	Above a number, if my actions
 	Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw 'em,
 	Envy and base opinion set against 'em,
 	I know my life so even. If your business
 	Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,
 	Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina
 QUEEN KATHARINE	O, good my lord, no Latin;
 	I am not such a truant since my coming,
 	As not to know the language I have lived in:
 	A strange tongue makes my cause more strange,
 	Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you,
 	If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake;
 	Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal,
 	The willing'st sin I ever yet committed
 	May be absolved in English.
 	I am sorry my integrity should breed,
 	And service to his majesty and you,
 	So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.
 	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.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Most honour'd madam,
 	My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,
 	Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace,
 	Forgetting, like a good man your late censure
 	Both of his truth and him, which was too far,
 	Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
 	His service and his counsel.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	[Aside]	To betray me.--
 	My lords, I thank you both for your good wills;
 	Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so!
 	But how to make ye suddenly an answer,
 	In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,--
 	More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit,
 	And to such men of gravity and learning,
 	In truth, I know not. I was set at work
 	Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking
 	Either for such men or such business.
 	For her sake that I have been,--for I feel
 	The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces,
 	Let me have time and counsel for my cause:
 	Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears:
 	Your hopes and friends are infinite.
 	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,
 	Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,
 	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.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	I would your grace
 	Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	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 ye,
 	You'll part away disgraced.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	He tells you rightly.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	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.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Your rage mistakes us.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	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 'em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?
 	The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady,
 	A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?
 	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 burthen of my sorrows fall upon ye.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Madam, this is a mere distraction;
 	You turn the good we offer into envy.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Ye turn me into nothing: woe upon ye
 	And all such false professors! would you have me--
 	If you have any justice, any pity;
 	If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits--
 	Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
 	Alas, has banish'd me his bed already,
 	His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords,
 	And all the fellowship I hold now with him
 	Is only my obedience. What can happen
 	To me above this wretchedness? all your studies
 	Make me a curse like this.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Your fears are worse.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself,
 	Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one?
 	A woman, I dare say without vain-glory,
 	Never yet branded with suspicion?
 	Have I with all my full affections
 	Still met the king? loved him next heaven?
 	obey'd him?
 	Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?
 	Almost forgot my prayers to content him?
 	And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords.
 	Bring me a constant woman to her husband,
 	One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure;
 	And to that woman, when she has done most,
 	Yet will I add an honour, a great patience.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	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.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Pray, hear me.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	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.
 	What will become of me now, wretched lady!
 	I am the most unhappy woman living.
 	Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes!
 	Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
 	No friend, 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.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	If your grace
 	Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,
 	You'ld feel more comfort: why should we, good lady,
 	Upon what cause, wrong you? alas, our places,
 	The way of our profession is against it:
 	We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow 'em.
 	For goodness' sake, consider what you do;
 	How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly
 	Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage.
 	The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
 	So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits
 	They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
 	I know you have a gentle, noble temper,
 	A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us
 	Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.
 CARDINAL CAMPEIUS	Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your virtues
 	With these weak women's fears: a noble spirit,
 	As yours was put into you, ever casts
 	Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves you;
 	Beware you lose it not: for us, if you please
 	To trust us in your business, we are ready
 	To use our utmost studies in your service.
 QUEEN KATHARINE	Do what ye will, my lords: and, pray, forgive me,
 	If I have used 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.
 SCENE II	Ante-chamber to KING HENRY VIII's apartment.
 	[Enter NORFOLK, SUFFOLK, SURREY, and Chamberlain]
 NORFOLK	If you will now unite in your complaints,
 	And force them with a constancy, the cardinal
 	Cannot stand under them: if you omit
 	The offer of this time, I cannot promise
 	But that you shall sustain moe new disgraces,
 	With these you bear already.
 SURREY	I am joyful
 	To meet the least occasion that may give me
 	Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke,
 	To be revenged on him.
 SUFFOLK	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?
 Chamberlain	                  My lords, you speak your pleasures:
 	What he deserves of you and me I know;
 	What we can do to him, though now the time
 	Gives way to us, I much fear. If you cannot
 	Bar his access to the king, never attempt
 	Any thing on him; for he hath a witchcraft
 	Over the king in's tongue.
 NORFOLK	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. No, he's settled,
 	Not to come off, in his displeasure.
 	I should be glad to hear such news as this
 	Once every hour.
 NORFOLK	                  Believe it, this is true:
 	In the divorce his contrary proceedings
 	Are all unfolded wherein he appears
 	As I would wish mine enemy.
 SURREY	How came
 	His practises to light?
 SUFFOLK	Most strangely.
 SURREY	O, how, how?
 SUFFOLK	The cardinal's letters to the pope miscarried,
 	And came to the eye o' the king: wherein was read,
 	How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness
 	To stay the judgment o' the divorce; for if
 	It did take place, 'I do,' quoth he, 'perceive
 	My king is tangled in affection to
 	A creature of the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen.'
 SURREY	Has the king this?
 SUFFOLK	                  Believe it.
 SURREY	Will this work?
 Chamberlain	The king in this perceives him, how he coasts
 	And hedges his own way. But in this point
 	All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic
 	After his patient's death: the king already
 	Hath married the fair lady.
 SURREY	Would he had!
 SUFFOLK	May you be happy in your wish, my lord
 	For, I profess, you have it.
 SURREY	Now, all my joy
 	Trace the conjunction!
 SUFFOLK	My amen to't!
 NORFOLK	All men's!
 SUFFOLK	There's order given for her coronation:
 	Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left
 	To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords,
 	She is a gallant creature, and complete
 	In mind and feature: I persuade me, from her
 	Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall
 	In it be memorised.
 SURREY	But, will the king
 	Digest this letter of the cardinal's?
 	The Lord forbid!
 NORFOLK	                  Marry, amen!
 SUFFOLK	No, no;
 	There be moe wasps that buzz about his nose
 	Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius
 	Is stol'n away to Rome; hath ta'en no leave;
 	Has left the cause o' the king unhandled; and
 	Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal,
 	To second all his plot. I do assure you
 	The king cried Ha! at this.
 Chamberlain	Now, God incense him,
 	And let him cry Ha! louder!
 NORFOLK	But, my lord,
 	When returns Cranmer?
 SUFFOLK	He is return'd in his opinions; which
 	Have satisfied the king for his divorce,
 	Together with all famous colleges
 	Almost in Christendom: shortly, I believe,
 	His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
 	Her coronation. Katharine no more
 	Shall be call'd queen, but princess dowager
 	And widow to Prince Arthur.
 NORFOLK	This same Cranmer's
 	A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain
 	In the king's business.
 SUFFOLK	He has; and we shall see him
 	For it an archbishop.
 NORFOLK	So I hear.
 SUFFOLK	'Tis so.
 	The cardinal!
 NORFOLK	                  Observe, observe, he's moody.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	The packet, Cromwell.
 	Gave't you the king?
 CROMWELL	To his own hand, in's bedchamber.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Look'd he o' the inside of the paper?
 CROMWELL	Presently
 	He did unseal them: and the first he view'd,
 	He did it with a serious mind; a heed
 	Was in his countenance. You he bade
 	Attend him here this morning.
 	To come abroad?
 CROMWELL	                  I think, by this he is.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Leave me awhile.
 	It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,
 	The French king's sister: he shall marry her.
 	Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him:
 	There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen!
 	No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wish
 	To hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!
 NORFOLK	He's discontented.
 SUFFOLK	                  May be, he hears the king
 	Does whet his anger to him.
 SURREY	Sharp enough,
 	Lord, for thy justice!
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	[Aside]  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; and not wholesome to
 	Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of
 	Our hard-ruled king. Again, there is sprung up
 	An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one
 	Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
 	And is his oracle.
 NORFOLK	                  He is vex'd at something.
 SURREY	I would 'twere something that would fret the string,
 	The master-cord on's heart!
 	[Enter KING HENRY VIII, reading of a schedule, and LOVELL]
 SUFFOLK	The king, the king!
 KING HENRY VIII	What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
 	To his own portion! and what expense by the hour
 	Seems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift,
 	Does he rake this together! Now, my lords,
 	Saw you the cardinal?
 NORFOLK	My lord, we have
 	Stood here observing him: some strange commotion
 	Is in his brain: he bites his lip, and starts;
 	Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,
 	Then lays his finger on his temple, straight
 	Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,
 	Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts
 	His eye against the moon: in most strange postures
 	We have seen him set himself.
 KING HENRY VIII	It may well be;
 	There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning
 	Papers of state he sent me to peruse,
 	As I required: and wot you what I found
 	There,--on my conscience, put unwittingly?
 	Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing;
 	The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,
 	Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which
 	I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks
 	Possession of a subject.
 NORFOLK	It's heaven's will:
 	Some spirit put this paper in the packet,
 	To bless your eye withal.
 KING HENRY VIII	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, not worth
 	His serious considering.
 	[King HENRY VIII takes his seat; whispers LOVELL,
 	who goes to CARDINAL WOLSEY]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Heaven forgive me!
 	Ever God bless your highness!
 KING HENRY VIII	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.
 	For holy offices I have a time; a time
 	To think upon the part of business which
 	I bear i' the state; and nature does require
 	Her times of preservation, which perforce
 	I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,
 	Must give my tendence to.
 KING HENRY VIII	You have said well.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	And ever may your highness yoke together,
 	As I will lend you cause, my doing well
 	With my well saying!
 KING HENRY VIII	'Tis well said again;
 	And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well:
 	And yet words are no deeds. My father loved you:
 	His 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,
 	But pared my present havings, to bestow
 	My bounties upon you.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	[Aside]             What should this mean?
 SURREY	[Aside]  The Lord increase this business!
 KING HENRY VIII	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?
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,
 	Shower'd on me daily, have been more than could
 	My studied purposes requite; which went
 	Beyond all man's endeavours: my endeavours
 	Have ever come too short of my desires,
 	Yet filed with my abilities: mine own ends
 	Have been mine so that evermore they pointed
 	To the good of your most sacred person and
 	The profit of the state. For your great graces
 	Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I
 	Can nothing render but allegiant thanks,
 	My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty,
 	Which ever has and ever shall be growing,
 	Till death, that winter, kill it.
 KING HENRY VIII	Fairly answer'd;
 	A loyal and obedient subject is
 	Therein illustrated: the honour of it
 	Does pay the act of it; as, i' the contrary,
 	The foulness is the punishment. I presume
 	That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you,
 	My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour, more
 	On you than any; so your hand and heart,
 	Your brain, and every function of your power,
 	Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
 	As 'twere in love's particular, be more
 	To me, your friend, than any.
 	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 'em, 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.
 KING HENRY VIII	'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.
 	the Nobles throng after him, smiling and whispering]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	What should this mean?
 	What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
 	He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
 	Leap'd from his eyes: so looks the chafed lion
 	Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him;
 	Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;
 	I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;
 	This paper has undone me: 'tis 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's 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 to my setting: I shall fall
 	Like a bright exhalation m the evening,
 	And no man see me more.
 	and the Chamberlain]
 NORFOLK	Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal: who commands you
 	To render up the great seal presently
 	Into our hands; and to confine yourself
 	To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's,
 	Till you hear further from his highness.
 	Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry
 	Authority so weighty.
 SUFFOLK	Who dare cross 'em,
 	Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	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:
 	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 courses, men of malice;
 	You have Christian warrant for 'em, 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-patents: now, who'll take it?
 SURREY	The king, that gave it.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	It must be himself, then.
 SURREY	Thou art a proud traitor, priest.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Proud lord, thou liest:
 	Within these forty hours Surrey durst better
 	Have burnt that tongue than said so.
 SURREY	Thy ambition,
 	Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land
 	Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law:
 	The heads of all thy brother cardinals,
 	With thee and all thy best parts bound together,
 	Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
 	You sent me deputy for Ireland;
 	Far from his succor, from the king, from all
 	That might have mercy on the fault thou gavest him;
 	Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
 	Absolved him with an axe.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	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 loved many words, lord, I should tell you
 	You have as little honesty as honour,
 	That in the way of loyalty and truth
 	Toward the king, my ever royal master,
 	Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be,
 	And all that love his follies.
 SURREY	By my soul,
 	Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou
 	shouldst feel
 	My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords,
 	Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?
 	And from this fellow? if we live thus tamely,
 	To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,
 	Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward,
 	And dare us with his cap like larks.
 	Is poison to thy stomach.
 SURREY	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, as you are truly noble,
 	As you respect the common good, the state
 	Of our despised nobility, our issues,
 	Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,
 	Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
 	Collected from his life. I'll startle you
 	Worse than the scaring bell, when the brown wench
 	Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	How much, methinks, I could despise this man,
 	But that I am bound in charity against it!
 NORFOLK	Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand:
 	But, thus much, they are foul ones.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	So much fairer
 	And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
 	When the king knows my truth.
 SURREY	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.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Speak on, sir;
 	I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
 	It is to see a nobleman want manners.
 SURREY	I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!
 	First, that, without the king's assent or knowledge,
 	You wrought to be a legate; by which power
 	You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.
 NORFOLK	Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else
 	To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus'
 	Was still inscribed; in which you brought the king
 	To be your servant.
 SUFFOLK	Then that, without the knowledge
 	Either of king or council, when you went
 	Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold
 	To carry into Flanders the great seal.
 SURREY	Item, you sent a large commission
 	To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,
 	Without the king's will or the state's allowance,
 	A league between his highness and Ferrara.
 SUFFOLK	That, out of mere ambition, you have caused
 	Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.
 SURREY	Then that you have sent innumerable substance--
 	By what means got, I leave to your own conscience--
 	To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
 	You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
 	Of all the kingdom. Many more there are;
 	Which, since they are of you, and odious,
 	I will not taint my mouth with.
 Chamberlain	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.
 SURREY	I forgive him.
 SUFFOLK	Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is,
 	Because all those things you have done of late,
 	By your power legatine, within this kingdom,
 	Fall into the compass of a praemunire,
 	That therefore such a writ be sued against you;
 	To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
 	Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
 	Out of the king's protection. This is my charge.
 NORFOLK	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 CARDINAL WOLSEY]
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	So farewell to the little good you bear me.
 	Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
 	This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
 	The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
 	And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
 	The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
 	And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
 	His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
 	And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
 	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
 	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, and stands amazed]
 		Why, how now, Cromwell!
 CROMWELL	I have no power to speak, sir.
 	At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder
 	A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
 	I am fall'n indeed.
 CROMWELL	How does your grace?
 	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 cured 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 burthen, Cromwell, 'tis a burthen
 	Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!
 CROMWELL	I am glad your grace has made that right use of it.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	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?
 CROMWELL	                  The heaviest and the worst
 	Is your displeasure with the king.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	God bless him!
 CROMWELL	The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen
 	Lord chancellor in your place.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	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! What more?
 CROMWELL	That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
 	Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	That's news indeed.
 CROMWELL	Last, that the Lady Anne,
 	Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
 	This day was view'd in open as his queen,
 	Going to chapel; and the voice is now
 	Only about her coronation.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	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 fall'n 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: good Cromwell,
 	Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
 	For thine own future safety.
 CROMWELL	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.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
 	In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
 	Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
 	Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
 	And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
 	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 it?
 	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,--prithee, lead me in:
 	There take an inventory of all I have,
 	To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
 	And my integrity to heaven, is all
 	I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!
 	Had I but served my God with half the zeal
 	I served my king, he would not in mine age
 	Have left me naked to mine enemies.
 CROMWELL	Good sir, have patience.
 CARDINAL WOLSEY	So I have. Farewell
 	The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.
 SCENE I	A street in Westminster.
 	[Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another]
 First Gentleman	You're well met once again.
 Second Gentleman	So are you.
 First Gentleman	You come to take your stand here, and behold
 	The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?
 Second Gentleman	'Tis all my business. At our last encounter,
 	The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.
 First Gentleman	'Tis very true: but that time offer'd sorrow;
 	This, general joy.
 Second Gentleman	'Tis well: the citizens,
 	I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds--
 	As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward--
 	In celebration of this day with shows,
 	Pageants and sights of honour.
 First Gentleman	Never greater,
 	Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.
 Second Gentleman	May I be bold to ask at what that contains,
 	That paper in your hand?
 First Gentleman	Yes; 'tis the list
 	Of those that claim their offices this day
 	By custom of the coronation.
 	The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
 	To be high-steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,
 	He to be earl marshal: you may read the rest.
 Second Gentleman	I thank you, sir: had I not known those customs,
 	I should have been beholding to your paper.
 	But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
 	The princess dowager? how goes her business?
 First Gentleman	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 was often cited by them, but appear'd not:
 	And, to be short, for not appearance and
 	The king's late scruple, by the main assent
 	Of all these learned men she was divorced,
 	And the late marriage made of none effect
 	Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,
 	Where she remains now sick.
 Second Gentleman	Alas, good lady!
 	The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming.
 	1. A lively flourish of Trumpets.
 	2. Then, two Judges.
 	3. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace
 	before him.
 	4. Choristers, singing.
 	5. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then
 	Garter, in his coat of arms, and on his
 	head a gilt copper crown.
 	6. Marquess Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold,
 	on his head a demi-coronal of gold. With
 	him, SURREY, bearing the rod of silver with
 	the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet.
 	Collars of SS.
 	7. SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet
 	on his head, bearing a long white wand, as
 	high-steward. With him, NORFOLK, with the
 	rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head.
 	Collars of SS.
 	8. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports;
 	under it, QUEEN ANNE in her robe; in her hair
 	richly adorned with pearl, crowned. On each
 	side her, the Bishops of London and
 	9. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of
 	gold, wrought with flowers, bearing QUEEN
 	ANNE's train.
 	10. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain
 	circlets of gold without flowers.
 	[They pass over the stage in order and state]
 Second Gentleman	A royal train, believe me. These I know:
 	Who's that that bears the sceptre?
 First Gentleman	Marquess Dorset:
 	And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.
 Second Gentleman	A bold brave gentleman. That should be
 	The Duke of Suffolk?
 First Gentleman	'Tis the same: high-steward.
 Second Gentleman	And that my Lord of Norfolk?
 First Gentleman	Yes;
 Second Gentleman	Heaven bless thee!
 	[Looking on QUEEN ANNE]
 	Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.
 	Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;
 	Our king has all the Indies in his arms,
 	And more and richer, when he strains that lady:
 	I cannot blame his conscience.
 First Gentleman	They that bear
 	The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
 	Of the Cinque-ports.
 Second Gentleman	Those men are happy; and so are all are near her.
 	I take it, she that carries up the train
 	Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.
 First Gentleman	It is; and all the rest are countesses.
 Second Gentleman	Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed;
 	And sometimes falling ones.
 First Gentleman	No more of that.
 	[Exit procession, and then a great flourish of trumpets]
 	[Enter a third Gentleman]
 First Gentleman	God save you, sir! where have you been broiling?
 Third Gentleman	Among the crowd i' the Abbey; where a finger
 	Could not be wedged in more: I am stifled
 	With the mere rankness of their joy.
 Second Gentleman	You saw
 	The ceremony?
 Third Gentleman	                  That I did.
 First Gentleman	How was it?
 Third Gentleman	Well worth the seeing.
 Second Gentleman	Good sir, speak it to us.
 Third Gentleman	As well as I am able. The rich stream
 	Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen
 	To a prepared place in the choir, fell off
 	A distance from her; while her grace sat down
 	To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,
 	In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
 	The beauty of her person to the people.
 	Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
 	That ever lay by man: which when the people
 	Had the full view of, such a noise arose
 	As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
 	As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks--
 	Doublets, I think,--flew up; and had their faces
 	Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
 	I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
 	That had not half a week to go, like rams
 	In the old time of war, would shake the press,
 	And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living
 	Could say 'This is my wife' there; all were woven
 	So strangely in one piece.
 Second Gentleman	But, what follow'd?
 Third Gentleman	At length her grace rose, and with modest paces
 	Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saint-like
 	Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly.
 	Then rose again and bow'd her to the people:
 	When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
 	She had all the royal makings of a queen;
 	As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
 	The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
 	Laid nobly on her: which perform'd, the choir,
 	With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
 	Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted,
 	And with the same full state paced back again
 	To York-place, where the feast is held.
 First Gentleman	Sir,
 	You must no more call it York-place, that's past;
 	For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost:
 	'Tis now the king's, and call'd Whitehall.
 Third Gentleman	I know it;
 	But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
 	Is fresh about me.
 Second Gentleman	                  What two reverend bishops
 	Were those that went on each side of the queen?
 Third Gentleman	Stokesly and Gardiner; the one of Winchester,
 	Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,
 	The other, London.
 Second Gentleman	                  He of Winchester
 	Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's,
 	The virtuous Cranmer.
 Third Gentleman	All the land knows that:
 	However, yet there is no great breach; when it comes,
 	Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.
 Second Gentleman	Who may that be, I pray you?
 Third Gentleman	Thomas Cromwell;
 	A man in much esteem with the king, and truly
 	A worthy friend. The king has made him master
 	O' the jewel house,
 	And one, already, of the privy council.
 Second Gentleman	He will deserve more.
 Third Gentleman	Yes, without all doubt.
 	Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
 	Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests:
 	Something I can command. As I walk thither,
 	I'll tell ye more.
 Both	                  You may command us, sir.
 SCENE II	Kimbolton.
 	[Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between
 	GRIFFITH, her gentleman usher, and PATIENCE, her woman]
 GRIFFITH	How does your grace?
 KATHARINE	O Griffith, sick to death!
 	My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth,
 	Willing to leave their burthen. 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?
 GRIFFITH	        Yes, madam; but I think your grace,
 	Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
 KATHARINE	Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died:
 	If well, he stepp'd before me, happily
 	For my example.
 GRIFFITH	                  Well, the voice goes, madam:
 	For after the stout Earl 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.
 KATHARINE	Alas, poor man!
 GRIFFITH	At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
 	Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
 	With all his covent, 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!'
 	So went to bed; where eagerly his sickness
 	Pursued 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,
 	He gave his honours to the world again,
 	His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
 KATHARINE	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, ever ranking
 	Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion,
 	Tied all the kingdom: simony was fair-play;
 	His own opinion was his law: i' the presence
 	He would say untruths; and be ever double
 	Both in his words and meaning: he was never,
 	But where he meant to ruin, pitiful:
 	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 in example.
 GRIFFITH	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?
 KATHARINE	Yes, good Griffith;
 	I were malicious else.
 GRIFFITH	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 loved 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 raised in you,
 	Ipswich and Oxford! 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 God.
 KATHARINE	After my death I wish no other herald,
 	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 named my knell, whilst I sit meditating
 	On that celestial harmony I go to.
 	[Sad and solemn music]
 GRIFFITH	She is asleep: good wench, let's sit down quiet,
 	For fear we wake her: softly, gentle Patience.
 	[The vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after
 	another, six personages, clad in white robes,
 	wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden
 	vizards on their faces; branches of bays or palm in
 	their hands. They first congee unto her, then
 	dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold
 	a spare garland over her head; at which the other
 	four make reverent curtsies; then the two that held
 	the garland deliver the same to the other next two,
 	who observe the same order in their changes, and
 	holding the garland over her head: which done,
 	they deliver the same garland to the last two, who
 	likewise observe the same order: at which, as it
 	were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs
 	of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven:
 	and so in their dancing vanish, carrying the
 	garland with them. The music continues]
 KATHARINE	Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye all gone,
 	And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
 GRIFFITH	Madam, we are here.
 KATHARINE	It is not you I call for:
 	Saw ye none enter since I slept?
 GRIFFITH	None, madam.
 KATHARINE	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.
 GRIFFITH	I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
 	Possess your fancy.
 KATHARINE	Bid the music leave,
 	They are harsh and heavy to me.
 	[Music ceases]
 PATIENCE	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 earthy cold? Mark her eyes!
 GRIFFITH	She is going, wench: pray, pray.
 PATIENCE	Heaven comfort her!
 	[Enter a Messenger]
 Messenger	An't like your grace,--
 KATHARINE	You are a saucy fellow:
 	Deserve we no more reverence?
 GRIFFITH	You are to blame,
 	Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
 	To use so rude behavior; go to, kneel.
 Messenger	I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
 	My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
 	A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
 KATHARINE	Admit him entrance, Griffith: but this fellow
 	Let me ne'er see again.
 	[Exeunt GRIFFITH and Messenger]
 	[Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUS]
 		 If my sight fail not,
 	You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
 	My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
 CAPUCIUS	Madam, the same; your servant.
 KATHARINE	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?
 CAPUCIUS	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.
 KATHARINE	O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;
 	'Tis like a pardon after execution:
 	That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me;
 	But now I am past an comforts here, but prayers.
 	How does his highness?
 CAPUCIUS	Madam, in good health.
 KATHARINE	So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
 	When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
 	Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter,
 	I caused you write, yet sent away?
 PATIENCE	No, madam.
 	[Giving it to KATHARINE]
 KATHARINE	Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
 	This to my lord the king.
 CAPUCIUS	Most willing, madam.
 KATHARINE	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--
 	She is young, and of a noble modest nature,
 	I hope she will deserve well,--and a little
 	To love her for her mother's sake, that loved 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:
 	Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
 	And now I should not lie, but will deserve
 	For virtue and true beauty of the soul,
 	For honesty and decent carriage,
 	A right good husband, let him be a noble
 	And, sure, those men are happy that shall have 'em.
 	The last is, for my men; they are the poorest,
 	But poverty could never draw 'em from me;
 	That they may have their wages duly paid 'em,
 	And something over to remember me by:
 	If heaven had pleased to have given me longer life
 	And able means, we had not parted thus.
 	These are the whole contents: 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.
 CAPUCIUS	By heaven, I will,
 	Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
 KATHARINE	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 used 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.
 	[Exeunt, leading KATHARINE]
 SCENE I	London. A gallery in the palace.
 	[Enter GARDINER, Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a
 	torch before him, met by LOVELL]
 GARDINER	It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?
 Boy	It hath struck.
 GARDINER	These should be hours for necessities,
 	Not for delights; times to repair our nature
 	With comforting repose, and not for us
 	To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!
 	Whither so late?
 LOVELL	                  Came you from the king, my lord
 GARDINER	I did, Sir Thomas: and left him at primero
 	With the Duke of Suffolk.
 LOVELL	I must to him too,
 	Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.
 GARDINER	Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter?
 	It seems you are in haste: an if there be
 	No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
 	Some touch of your late business: affairs, that walk,
 	As they say spirits do, at midnight, have
 	In them a wilder nature than the business
 	That seeks dispatch by day.
 LOVELL	My lord, I love you;
 	And durst commend a secret to your ear
 	Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour,
 	They say, in great extremity; and fear'd
 	She'll with the labour end.
 GARDINER	The fruit she goes with
 	I pray for heartily, that it may find
 	Good time, and live: but for the stock, Sir Thomas,
 	I wish it grubb'd up now.
 LOVELL	Methinks I could
 	Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says
 	She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
 	Deserve our better wishes.
 GARDINER	But, sir, sir,
 	Hear me, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman
 	Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
 	And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,
 	'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me,
 	Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,
 	Sleep in their graves.
 LOVELL	Now, sir, you speak of two
 	The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell,
 	Beside that of the jewel house, is made master
 	O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir,
 	Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments,
 	With which the time will load him. The archbishop
 	Is the king's hand and tongue; and who dare speak
 	One syllable against him?
 GARDINER	Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,
 	There are that dare; and I myself have ventured
 	To speak my mind of him: and indeed this day,
 	Sir, I may tell it you, I think I have
 	Incensed the lords o' the council, that he is,
 	For so I know he is, they know he is,
 	A most arch heretic, a pestilence
 	That does infect the land: with which they moved
 	Have broken with the king; who hath so far
 	Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace
 	And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs
 	Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded
 	To-morrow morning to the council-board
 	He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas,
 	And we must root him out. From your affairs
 	I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas.
 LOVELL	Many good nights, my lord: I rest your servant.
 	[Exeunt GARDINER and Page]
 KING HENRY VIII	Charles, I will play no more tonight;
 	My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.
 SUFFOLK	Sir, I did never win of you before.
 KING HENRY VIII	But little, Charles;
 	Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.
 	Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news?
 LOVELL	I could not personally deliver to her
 	What you commanded me, but by her woman
 	I sent your message; who return'd her thanks
 	In the great'st humbleness, and desired your highness
 	Most heartily to pray for her.
 KING HENRY VIII	What say'st thou, ha?
 	To pray for her? what, is she crying out?
 LOVELL	So said her woman; and that her sufferance made
 	Almost each pang a death.
 KING HENRY VIII	Alas, good lady!
 SUFFOLK	God safely quit her of her burthen, and
 	With gentle travail, to the gladding of
 	Your highness with an heir!
 KING HENRY VIII	'Tis midnight, Charles;
 	Prithee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
 	The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
 	For I must think of that which company
 	Would not be friendly to.
 SUFFOLK	I wish your highness
 	A quiet night; and my good mistress will
 	Remember in my prayers.
 KING HENRY VIII	Charles, good night.
 	[Exit SUFFOLK]
 	[Enter DENNY]
 	Well, sir, what follows?
 DENNY	Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop,
 	As you commanded me.
 KING HENRY VIII	Ha! Canterbury?
 DENNY	Ay, my good lord.
 KING HENRY VIII	'Tis true: where is he, Denny?
 DENNY	He attends your highness' pleasure.
 	[Exit DENNY]
 LOVELL	[Aside]  This is about that which the bishop spake:
 	I am happily come hither.
 	[Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER]
 KING HENRY VIII	Avoid the gallery.
 	[LOVELL seems to stay]
 	Ha! I have said. Be gone. What!
 	[Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY]
 CRANMER	[Aside]
 	I am fearful: wherefore frowns he thus?
 	'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.
 KING HENRY VIII	How now, my lord! you desire to know
 	Wherefore I sent for you.
 CRANMER	[Kneeling]              It is my duty
 	To attend your highness' pleasure.
 KING HENRY VIII	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: come, come, give me your hand.
 	Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
 	And am right sorry to repeat what follows
 	I have, and most unwillingly, of late
 	Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,
 	Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
 	Have moved us and our council, that you shall
 	This morning come before us; where, I know,
 	You cannot with such freedom purge yourself,
 	But that, till further trial in those charges
 	Which will require your answer, you must take
 	Your patience to you, and be well contented
 	To make your house our Tower: you a brother of us,
 	It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
 	Would come against you.
 CRANMER	[Kneeling]
 		  I humbly thank your highness;
 	And am right glad to catch this good occasion
 	Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
 	And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know,
 	There's none stands under more calumnious tongues
 	Than I myself, poor man.
 KING HENRY VIII	Stand up, good Canterbury:
 	Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
 	In us, thy friend: give me thy hand, stand up:
 	Prithee, let's walk. Now, by my holidame.
 	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; and to have heard you,
 	Without indurance, further.
 CRANMER	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. I fear nothing
 	What can be said against me.
 KING HENRY VIII	Know you not
 	How your state stands i' the world, with the whole world?
 	Your enemies are many, and not small; their practises
 	Must bear the same proportion; and not ever
 	The justice and the truth o' the question carries
 	The due o' the verdict with it: at what ease
 	Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt
 	To swear against you? such things have been done.
 	You are potently opposed; and with a malice
 	Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,
 	I mean, in perjured witness, than your master,
 	Whose minister you are, whiles here he lived
 	Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to;
 	You take a precipice for no leap of danger,
 	And woo your own destruction.
 CRANMER	God and your majesty
 	Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
 	The trap is laid for me!
 KING HENRY VIII	Be of good cheer;
 	They shall no more prevail than we give way to.
 	Keep comfort to you; and this morning see
 	You do appear before them: if they shall chance,
 	In charging you with matters, to commit you,
 	The best persuasions to the contrary
 	Fail not to use, and with what vehemency
 	The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties
 	Will render you no remedy, this ring
 	Deliver them, and your appeal to us
 	There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!
 	He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother!
 	I swear he is true--hearted; and a soul
 	None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,
 	And do as I have bid you.
 	[Exit CRANMER]
 		    He has strangled
 	His language in his tears.
 	[Enter Old Lady, LOVELL following]
 Gentleman	[Within]                 Come back: what mean you?
 Old Lady	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!
 KING HENRY VIII	Now, by thy looks
 	I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd?
 	Say, ay; and of a boy.
 Old Lady	Ay, ay, my liege;
 	And of a lovely boy: the God of heaven
 	Both now and ever bless her! 'tis a girl,
 	Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen
 	Desires your visitation, and to be
 	Acquainted with this stranger 'tis as like you
 	As cherry is to cherry.
 KING HENRY VIII	Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the queen.
 Old Lady	An hundred marks! By this light, I'll ha' more.
 	An ordinary groom is for such payment.
 	I will have more, or scold it out of him.
 	Said I for this, the girl was like to him?
 	I will have more, or else unsay't; and now,
 	While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue.
 SCENE II	Before the council-chamber. Pursuivants, Pages, &c.
 	[Enter CRANMER]
 CRANMER	I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman,
 	That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me
 	To make great haste. All fast? what means this? Ho!
 	Who waits there? Sure, you know me?
 	[Enter Keeper]
 Keeper	Yes, my lord;
 	But yet I cannot help you.
 Keeper	Your grace must wait till you be call'd for.
 DOCTOR BUTTS	[Aside]  This is a piece of malice. I am glad
 	I came this way so happily: the king
 	Shall understand it presently.
 CRANMER	[Aside]	'Tis Butts,
 	The king's physician: as he pass'd along,
 	How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
 	Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain,
 	This is of purpose laid by some that hate me--
 	God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice--
 	To quench mine honour: they would shame to make me
 	Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor,
 	'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures
 	Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.
 	[Enter the KING HENRY VIII and DOCTOR BUTTS at a window above]
 DOCTOR BUTTS	I'll show your grace the strangest sight--
 KING HENRY VIII	What's that, Butts?
 DOCTOR BUTTS	I think your highness saw this many a day.
 KING HENRY VIII	Body o' me, where is it?
 DOCTOR BUTTS	There, my lord:
 	The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury;
 	Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,
 	Pages, and footboys.
 KING HENRY VIII	Ha! 'tis he, indeed:
 	Is this the honour they do one another?
 	'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought
 	They had parted so much honesty among 'em
 	At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer
 	A man of his place, and so near our favour,
 	To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures,
 	And at the door too, like a post with packets.
 	By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery:
 	Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close:
 	We shall hear more anon.
 SCENE III	The Council-Chamber.
 	[Enter Chancellor; places himself at the upper end
 	of the table on the left hand; a seat being left
 	void above him, as for CRANMER's seat. SUFFOLK,
 	NORFOLK, SURREY, Chamberlain, GARDINER, seat
 	themselves in order on each side. CROMWELL at
 	lower end, as secretary. Keeper at the door]
 Chancellor	Speak to the business, master-secretary:
 	Why are we met in council?
 CROMWELL	Please your honours,
 	The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.
 GARDINER	Has he had knowledge of it?
 NORFOLK	Who waits there?
 Keeper	Without, my noble lords?
 Keeper	My lord archbishop;
 	And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.
 Chancellor	Let him come in.
 Keeper	                  Your grace may enter now.
 	[CRANMER enters and approaches the council-table]
 Chancellor	My good lord archbishop, I'm very sorry
 	To sit here at this present, and behold
 	That chair stand empty: but we all are men,
 	In our own natures frail, and capable
 	Of our flesh; few are angels: out of which frailty
 	And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us,
 	Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little,
 	Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
 	The whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains,
 	For so we are inform'd, with new opinions,
 	Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,
 	And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.
 GARDINER	Which reformation must be sudden too,
 	My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses
 	Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
 	But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 'em,
 	Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,
 	Out of our easiness and childish pity
 	To one man's honour, this contagious sickness,
 	Farewell all physic: and what follows then?
 	Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
 	Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours,
 	The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
 	Yet freshly pitied in our memories.
 CRANMER	My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
 	Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
 	And with no little study, that my teaching
 	And the strong course of my authority
 	Might go one way, and safely; and the end
 	Was ever, to do well: nor is there living,
 	I speak it with a single heart, my lords,
 	A man that more detests, more stirs against,
 	Both in his private conscience and his place,
 	Defacers of a public peace, than I do.
 	Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
 	With less allegiance in it! Men that make
 	Envy and crooked malice nourishment
 	Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,
 	That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
 	Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
 	And freely urge against me.
 SUFFOLK	Nay, my lord,
 	That cannot be: you are a counsellor,
 	And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.
 GARDINER	My lord, because we have business of more moment,
 	We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure,
 	And our consent, for better trial of you,
 	From hence you be committed to the Tower;
 	Where, being but a private man again,
 	You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
 	More than, I fear, you are provided for.
 CRANMER	Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;
 	You are always my good friend; if your will pass,
 	I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,
 	You are so merciful: I see your end;
 	'Tis my undoing: love and meekness, lord,
 	Become a churchman better than ambition:
 	Win straying souls with modesty again,
 	Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
 	Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
 	I make as little doubt, as you do conscience
 	In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
 	But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
 GARDINER	My lord, my lord, you are a sectary,
 	That's the plain truth: your painted gloss discovers,
 	To men that understand you, words and weakness.
 CROMWELL	My Lord of Winchester, you are a little,
 	By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
 	However faulty, yet should find respect
 	For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty
 	To load a falling man.
 GARDINER	Good master secretary,
 	I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
 	Of all this table, say so.
 CROMWELL	Why, my lord?
 GARDINER	Do not I know you for a favourer
 	Of this new sect? ye are not sound.
 CROMWELL	Not sound?
 GARDINER	Not sound, I say.
 CROMWELL	                  Would you were half so honest!
 	Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
 GARDINER	I shall remember this bold language.
 	Remember your bold life too.
 Chancellor	This is too much;
 	Forbear, for shame, my lords.
 GARDINER	I have done.
 Chancellor	Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,
 	I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
 	You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
 	There to remain till the king's further pleasure
 	Be known unto us: are you all agreed, lords?
 All	We are.
 CRANMER	      Is there no other way of mercy,
 	But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
 GARDINER	What other
 	Would you expect? you are strangely troublesome.
 	Let some o' the guard be ready there.
 	[Enter Guard]
 CRANMER	For me?
 	Must I go like a traitor thither?
 GARDINER	Receive him,
 	And see him safe i' the Tower.
 CRANMER	Stay, good my lords,
 	I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords;
 	By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
 	Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
 	To a most noble judge, the king my master.
 Chamberlain	This is the king's ring.
 SURREY	'Tis no counterfeit.
 SUFFOLK	'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all,
 	When ye first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,
 	'Twould fall upon ourselves.
 NORFOLK	Do you think, my lords,
 	The king will suffer but the little finger
 	Of this man to be vex'd?
 Chancellor	'Tis now too certain:
 	How much more is his life in value with him?
 	Would I were fairly out on't!
 CROMWELL	My mind gave me,
 	In seeking tales and informations
 	Against this man, whose honesty the devil
 	And his disciples only envy at,
 	Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!
 	[Enter KING, frowning on them; takes his seat]
 GARDINER	Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven
 	In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
 	Not only good and wise, but most religious:
 	One that, in all obedience, makes the church
 	The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
 	That holy duty, out of dear respect,
 	His royal self in judgment comes to hear
 	The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
 KING HENRY VIII	You were ever good at sudden commendations,
 	Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
 	To hear such flattery now, and in my presence;
 	They are too thin and bare to hide offences.
 	To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel,
 	And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
 	But, whatsoe'er thou takest me for, I'm sure
 	Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.
 	Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest
 	He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee:
 	By all that's holy, he had better starve
 	Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
 SURREY	May it please your grace,--
 KING HENRY VIII	No, sir, it does not please me.
 	I had thought I had had men of some understanding
 	And wisdom of my council; but I find none.
 	Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
 	This good man,--few of you deserve that title,--
 	This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
 	At chamber--door? and one as great as you are?
 	Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
 	Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
 	Power as he was a counsellor to try him,
 	Not as a groom: there's some of ye, I see,
 	More out of malice than integrity,
 	Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
 	Which ye shall never have while I live.
 Chancellor	Thus far,
 	My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
 	To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed
 	Concerning his imprisonment, was rather,
 	If there be faith in men, meant for his trial,
 	And fair purgation to the world, than malice,
 	I'm sure, in me.
 KING HENRY VIII	Well, well, my lords, respect him;
 	Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
 	I will say thus much for him, if a prince
 	May be beholding to a subject, I
 	Am, for his love and service, so to him.
 	Make me no more ado, but all embrace him:
 	Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of
 	I have a suit which you must not deny me;
 	That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
 	You must be godfather, and answer for her.
 CRANMER	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?
 KING HENRY VIII	Come, come, my lord, you'ld spare your spoons: you
 	shall have two noble partners with you; the old
 	Duchess of Norfolk, and Lady Marquess Dorset: will
 	these please you?
 	Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,
 	Embrace and love this man.
 GARDINER	With a true heart
 	And brother-love I do it.
 CRANMER	And let heaven
 	Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.
 KING HENRY VIII	Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart:
 	The common voice, I see, is verified
 	Of thee, which says thus, 'Do my Lord of Canterbury
 	A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.'
 	Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
 	To have this young one made a Christian.
 	As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
 	So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.
 SCENE IV	The palace yard.
 	[Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man]
 Porter	You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: do you
 	take the court for Paris-garden? ye rude slaves,
 	leave your gaping.
 	Good master porter, I belong to the larder.
 Porter	Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue! is
 	this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree
 	staves, and strong ones: these are but switches to
 	'em. I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing
 	christenings? do you look for ale and cakes here,
 	you rude rascals?
 Man	Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much impossible--
 	Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons--
 	To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
 	On May-day morning; which will never be:
 	We may as well push against Powle's, as stir em.
 Porter	How got they in, and be hang'd?
 Man	Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
 	As much as one sound cudgel of four foot--
 	You see the poor remainder--could distribute,
 	I made no spare, sir.
 Porter	You did nothing, sir.
 Man	I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
 	To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared any
 	That had a head to hit, either young or old,
 	He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
 	Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again
 	And that I would not for a cow, God save her!
 	Do you hear, master porter?
 Porter	I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
 	Keep the door close, sirrah.
 Man	What would you have me do?
 Porter	What should you do, but knock 'em down by the
 	dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have
 	we some strange Indian with the great tool come to
 	court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a
 	fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian
 	conscience, this one christening will beget a
 	thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.
 Man	The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a
 	fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a
 	brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty
 	of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand
 	about him are under the line, they need no other
 	penance: that fire-drake did I hit three times on
 	the head, and three times was his nose discharged
 	against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to
 	blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small
 	wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked
 	porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a
 	combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once,
 	and hit that woman; who cried out 'Clubs!' when I
 	might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to
 	her succor, which were the hope o' the Strand, where
 	she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my
 	place: at length they came to the broom-staff to
 	me; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file of
 	boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower
 	of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in,
 	and let 'em win the work: the devil was amongst
 	'em, I think, surely.
 Porter	These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse,
 	and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but
 	the tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of
 	Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure.
 	I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they
 	are like to dance these three days; besides the
 	running banquet of two beadles that is to come.
 	[Enter Chamberlain]
 Chamberlain	Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!
 	They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
 	As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
 	These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows:
 	There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
 	Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have
 	Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
 	When they pass back from the christening.
 Porter	An't please
 	your honour,
 	We are but men; and what so many may do,
 	Not being torn a-pieces, we have done:
 	An army cannot rule 'em.
 Chamberlain	As I live,
 	If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
 	By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
 	Clap round fines for neglect: ye are lazy knaves;
 	And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
 	Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
 	They're come already from the christening:
 	Go, break among the press, and find a way out
 	To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find
 	A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.
 Porter	Make way there for the princess.
 Man	You great fellow,
 	Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
 Porter	You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail;
 	I'll peck you o'er the pales else.
 SCENE V	The palace.
 	[Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord
 	Mayor, Garter, CRANMER, NORFOLK with his marshal's
 	staff, SUFFOLK, two Noblemen bearing great
 	standing-bowls for the christening-gifts; then
 	four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the
 	Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child
 	richly habited in a mantle, &c., train borne by a
 	Lady; then follows the Marchioness Dorset, the
 	other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once
 	about the stage, and Garter speaks]
 Garter	Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous
 	life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
 	princess of England, Elizabeth!
 	[Flourish. Enter KING HENRY VIII and Guard]
 CRANMER	[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!
 KING HENRY VIII	Thank you, good lord archbishop:
 	What is her name?
 CRANMER	                  Elizabeth.
 KING HENRY VIII	Stand up, lord.
 	[KING HENRY VIII kisses the child]
 	With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
 	Into whose hand I give thy life.
 KING HENRY VIII	My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal:
 	I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,
 	When she has so much English.
 CRANMER	Let me speak, sir,
 	For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
 	Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em 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--
 	But few now living can behold that goodness--
 	A pattern to all princes living with her,
 	And all that shall succeed: Saba was never
 	More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
 	Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
 	That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
 	With all the virtues that attend the good,
 	Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
 	Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her:
 	She shall be loved and fear'd: her own shall bless her;
 	Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
 	And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her:
 	In her days every man shall eat in safety,
 	Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
 	The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours:
 	God shall be truly known; and those about her
 	From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
 	And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
 	Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
 	The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
 	Her ashes new create another heir,
 	As great in admiration as herself;
 	So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
 	When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,
 	Who from the sacred ashes of her honour
 	Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
 	And so stand fix'd: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
 	That were the servants to this chosen infant,
 	Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him:
 	Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
 	His honour and the greatness of his name
 	Shall be, and make new nations: he shall flourish,
 	And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
 	To all the plains about him: our children's children
 	Shall see this, and bless heaven.
 KING HENRY VIII	Thou speakest wonders.
 CRANMER	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.
 KING HENRY VIII	O lord archbishop,
 	Thou hast made me now a man! never, before
 	This happy child, did I get any thing:
 	This oracle of comfort has so pleased me,
 	That when I am in heaven I shall desire
 	To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.
 	I thank ye all. To you, my good lord mayor,
 	And your good brethren, I am much beholding;
 	I have received much honour by your presence,
 	And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords:
 	Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
 	She will be sick else. This day, no man think
 	Has business at his house; for all shall stay:
 	This little one shall make it holiday.
 	'Tis ten to one this play can never please
 	All that are here: some come to take their ease,
 	And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear,
 	We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear,
 	They'll say 'tis naught: others, to hear the city
 	Abused extremely, and to cry 'That's witty!'
 	Which we have not done neither: that, I fear,
 	All the expected good we're like to hear
 	For this play at this time, is only in
 	The merciful construction of good women;
 	For such a one we show'd 'em: if they smile,
 	And say 'twill do, I know, within a while
 	All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
 	If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.

Next: King John