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 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, 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 : The hearts of princes kiss obedience, |