This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome. ACT III. SCENE I. PALACE AT BRIDEWELL. A Room in the Queen's Apartment. 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 ing. SONG. Orpheus with his lute made trees, Every thing that heard him play, 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 dinals 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? Enter Wolsey and Campeius. Wol. I would be all, against the worst may happen. Into your private chamber, we shall give you 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! Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them, Wol. Tanta est ergà te mentis integritas, regina serenissima, Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin; 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 dinal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, May be absolv'd in English. Wol. Noble lady, I am sorry, my integrity should breed To taint that honour every good tongue blesses; Cam. Most honour'd madam, My lord of York,—out of his noble nature, To betray me. [Aside. His service and his counsel. Q. Kath. 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, 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? |