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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.

Wol.

He tells you rightly.

Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin :

Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge That no king can corrupt.

Cam.

Your rage mistakes us. Q. Kath. The more shame for ye holy men I thought ye,

Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;

But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye: Mend '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.

Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy.

Q. Kath. 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 habitsPut 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

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Q. Kath. 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. Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.

Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,

To give up willingly that noble title

Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

Wol.

Pray, hear me.

Q. Kath. Would I had never trod this English earth,

Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!

Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.

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 friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow'd me: like the lily, That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd,

I'll hang my head and perish.

Wol.

If your grace

Could but be brought to know our ends are

honest,

You'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

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