Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, Old L. Yes, troth, and troth, You would not be a Queen? Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven, Old L. 'Tis strange; a three-pence bow'd would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you, Anne. No, in truth. Old L. 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 burden, 'tis too weak Ever to get a boy. Anne. How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a Queen Old L. In faith, for little England You'd venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes Anne. My good lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Cham. 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! Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair Lady, the King's Majesty A thousand pound a year, annual support, Anne. I do not know, What kind of my obedience I should tender; Are all I can return. 'Beseech your Lordship, Cham. Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, [Aside Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, vet, But from this lady may proceed a gem, VOL. XIII. ZE And say, I spoke with you. [Exit Lord Chamberlain, see! Old L. Why, this it is; see, I have been begging sixteen years in court, This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd up, Anne. This is strange to me. Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,) Old L. With your theme, I could O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! A thousand pounds a year! for pure respect; That promises more thousands: Honour's train Say, Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, Would I had no being, And leave me out on't. If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me, The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful Old L. What do you think me? [Exeunt. SCENE IV. A Hall in Black - Fryars. Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Ver gers, with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in the habits of doctors; after them, the Archbishop of Canterbury alone; after him, the Bishops of Lincoin, 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, the two Cardinals WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen with the sword and mace. Then enter the King and Queen, and their trains. The King takes place under the cloth of state; the two Car dinals sit under him, as judges. The Queen takes place, at some distance from the King. 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 Crier and the rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the stage. Wol. Whil'st our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. K. Hen. What's the need? I hath already publickly been read. And on all sides the authority allow'd; You may then spare that time. Wol. Be't so: Proceed. Scribe. Say, Henry King of England, come into the court. Crier. Henry King of England, &c. K. Hen. Here. Scribe. Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into court. Crier. Katharine Queen of England, &c. [The Queen makes no answer rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet; then speaks.] Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me: for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, I have been to you a true and humble wife, Yea, subject to your As I saw it inclin'd. countenance; glad, or sorry, 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 |