Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave
working.
SONG.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the moutain-tops, that freeze,
Boro themselves, when he did sing
To his music, plants, and flowers,
Ever sprung; as sun, and showers,
There had been a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art;
Killing care, and grief of heart,
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
Enter a Gentleman.
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.
To betray me. [Aside.
My lords, I thank you both for your good wills,
Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so!)
But how to make you suddenly an answer,
Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car-In such a point of weight, so near mine honour
dinals
Q. Kath.
Would they speak with me?
Gent. They will'd me say so, madam.
Q. Kath.
Pray their graces
To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their
business
With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour?
I do not like their coming, now I think on't.
They should be good men: their affairs are right-
But all hoods make not monks.
Enter Wolsey and Campeius.
Wol.
Peace to your highness!
Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a
housewife;
(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.
Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with
these fears;
Your hopes and friends are infinite.
Q. Kath.
In England,
But little for my profit: Can you think, lords,
That any Englishman dare give me counsel ?
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,)
And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,
They that must weigh out my afflictions,
with-They that my trust must grow to, live not here;
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,
In mine own country, lords.
Cam.
I would, your grace
Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.
Q. Kath.
How, sir?
Čam. Put you main cause into the king's pro-
I would by all, against the worst may happen.
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?
Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to
draw
Into your private chamber, we shall give you
The full cause of our coming.
Q. Kath.
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 them,
Envy and base opinion set against them,
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.
Wol. Tanta est ergà le mentis integritas, regina
serenissima,-
Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin;
I am not such a truant since my coming,
As not to know the language I have liv'd in:
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange,
suspicious;
Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady?
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?
I will not wish you half my miseries,
I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye;
Take heed, for heaven's sake take heed, lest at once
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.
Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction;
You turn the good we offer into envy.
Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing: Wo upon ye, And all such false professors! Would ye 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! he 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.
Your fears are worse. Q. Kath. Have I liv'd 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? lov'd him next heav'n? obey'd him?
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?1
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?
[To her Women.
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me,
Almost, no grave allow'd me :-Like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head, and perish.
Wol.
If your grace
Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest,
You'd feel more comfort: 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 them.
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 storins.
I know, you have a gentle, noble temper,
A soul as even as a calm: Pray, think us
Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your
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
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.
Q. Kath. Do what ye will, my lords: And, pray, forgive me,
If I have us'd myself unmannerly:
You know, I am a woman, lacking wit
To make a seemly answer to such persons.
Pray, do my service to his majesty:
He has my heart yet; and shall have my prayers,
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,
Bestow your counsels on me: she now begs,
That little thought, when she set footing here,
She should have bought her dignities so dear.
SCENE II-Ante-chamber to the King's apart Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.
Nor. 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 more new disgraces,
With these you bear already.
Sur.
I am joyful
To meet the least occasion, that may give me
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke,
To be reveng'd on him.
Suff.
Which of the peers
Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
Strangely neglected? when did he regard
The stamp of nobleness in any person,
Out of himself?
Cham. My lords, 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 his tongue.
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. Sur. Sir, I should be glad to hear such news as this Once every hour.
Nor.
Believe it, this is true.
In the divorce, his contrary proceedings
Are all unfolded; wherein he appears,
As I could wish mine enemy.
Sur.
His practices to light?
Suff
O, how, how?
Suff. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried,
And came to the eve 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
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and ser- A creature of the queen's, lady Anne Bullen.
(1) Served him with superstitious attention.
Sur. Has the king this?
(2) Behaved.
No, no;
There be more wasps that buzz about his nose,
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius
Is stolen 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.
Cham.
And let him cry ha, louder!
Nor.
When returns Cranmer?
Does whet his anger to him.
Sur.
Lord, for thy justice!
Wol. The late queen's gentlewoman; a knight's
daughter,
To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen !-
This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it;
Then, out it goes.-What though I know her vir-
tuous,
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-rul'd king. Again, there sprung up
A heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; one
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king,
And is his oracle.
He is vex'd at something.
Suff. I would, 'twere something that would fret
The master-cord of his heart!
Enter the King, reading a Schedule; and Lovell. -
Suff
K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumu-
To his own portion! and what expense by the hour
Seems to flow from him! How, i'the name of Christ,
Now, God incense him, Does he rake this together ?-Now, my lords;
Saw you the cardinal?
Suf. 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.
This same Cranmer's A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain
Nor.
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.
K. Hen.
It may well be;
There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning,
Papers of state he sent me to peruse,
As I requir'd; And, wote you, what I found
He has; and we shall see him There; on my conscience, put unwittingly?
Enter Wolsey and Cromwell.
Observe, observe, he's moody.
Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the
king?
Crom. To his own hand, in his bed-chamber.
Wol. Look'd he o'the inside of the paper?
Crom.
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.
Wol.
Wol. Leave me a while.- [Exit Cromwell. It shall be to the duchess of Alençon,
The French king's sister; he shall marry her.—
(1) Follow. (2) New. (3) Made memorable.
You were now running o'er; you have scarce time, What appetite you have.
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span,
To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that'
deem you an ill husband; and am glad
To have you therein my companion.
Wol.
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 tendance to.
K. Hen. Wol. And ever may your highness yoke together, As I will lend you cause, my doing well With my well saying!
And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well:
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you:
He said, he did; and with his deed did crown
His word upon you. Since I had my office,
I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
Employ'd you where high profits might come home,
But par'd my present hävings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
What should this mean? Sur. The Lord increase this business! K. Hen. Have I not made you The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce, you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us, or no. What say you? Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your roval 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, fill'd 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.
Fairly answered; 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,
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.
Wol.
I do profess,
That for your highness' good I ever labour'd
More than mine own; that am, have, and will be.
Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
And throw it from their soul: though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms more horrid; vet my duty,
As doth the rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.
'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
[Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey: the Nobles throng after him, smiling, and whispering.
Wol. 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. negligence, Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil Made me put this main secret in the packet, I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this? No new device to beat this from his brains? I know, 'twill stir him strongly; Yet I know A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune, Will bring me off again. What's this-To the Pope? The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell! have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian of my glory, haste now to my setting: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.
Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry Authority so weighty.
Suff. Who dare cross them? Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it (I mean, your malice,) know, officious lords, I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel Of what coarse metal ye are moulded,-envy. 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 them, and, no doubt, In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, You ask with such a violence, the king (Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave
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? Sur. The king that gave it.
It must be himself then. Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. Wol. Proud lord, thou liest; Within these forty hours Surrey durst better Have burnt that tongue, than said so. Sur. Thy ambition, Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law: 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 succour, from the king, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st
him;
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Absolv'd him with an axe.
Wol.
This, and all else
This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer, is most false. The duke by law
Found his deserts; how innocent I was
From any private malice in his end,
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you,
You have as little honesty as honour ;
That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal master,
Dare mate1 a sounder man than Surrey can be,
And all that love his follies.
Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st
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.3
Wol.
Is poison to thy stomach.
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
(By what means got, I leave to your own con-
science,)
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.
Cham.
O my lord,
Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue:
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
So little of his great self.
Suff. 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 pramunire,
That therefore such a writ be sued against you; 1
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
Out of the king's protection:-This is my charge.
good-Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations
How to live better. For your stubborn answer,
About the giving back the great seal to us,
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank
you.
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 despis'd 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 sacring bell, when the brown wench
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.
Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this
But that I am bound in charity against it!
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal.
[Exeunt all but Wolsey.
Wol. 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 hope, to-morrow blossoms.
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost;
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
But, thus much, they are foul ones.
Wol.
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, So much fairer, This many summers in a sea of glory;
And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
When the king knows my truth.
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, This cannot save you: Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
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.
I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
It is, to see a nobleman want manners,
Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have
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.
Nor Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus
Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king
To be your servant.
Then, that, without the knowledge
(1) Equal. (3) A cardinal's hat is scarlet, and the method of daring larks is by small mirrors on scarlet cloth.
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: 0, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.-
Enter Cromwell, amazedly.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
Wol.
What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder,
A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
I am fallen indeed.
Crom.
How does your grace?
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