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She intends unto his holiness.

[They rise to depart. K. Hen.

I may perceive, [Aside. These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, Pr’ythee return! with thy approach, I know, My comfort comes along. Break up the court: I say, set on [Exeunt, in manner as they enter'd,

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The Queen, and some of her Women, at work. Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows

sad with troubles; Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave work


Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops, that freeze,

Bow themselves, when he did sing:
To his musick, 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 musick is such art;
Killing care, and grief of heart,

Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.

Enter a Gentleman. Q. Kath. How now? Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car


Wait in the presence.
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 as righteous: 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

I would be all, against the worst may happen.
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?
IVol. May it please you, noble madam, to with-

Into your private chamber, we shall give you
The full cause of our coming.
Q. Kuth.

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 te 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

you, If

you speak truth, for their poor mistress’ sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: Lord car

The willing 'st sin I ever yet committed,
May be absolv'd in English.

Noble lady,
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

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. Cam.

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.
Q. Kath.

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 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. 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, 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?

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