ACT II. SCENE 1.  Westminster. A street  Enter two GENTLEMEN, at several doors    FIRST GENTLEMAN. Whither away so fast?   SECOND GENTLEMAN. O, God save ye!     Ev'n to the Hall, to hear what shall become     Of the great Duke of Buckingham.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll save you     That labour, sir. All's now done but the ceremony     Of bringing back the prisoner.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Were you there?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, indeed, was I.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Pray, speak what has happen'd.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. You may guess quickly what.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Is he found guilty?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am sorry for't.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. So are a number more.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. But, pray, how pass'd it?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll tell you in a little. The great Duke.     Came to the bar; where to his accusations     He pleaded still not guilty, and alleged     Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.     The King's attorney, on the contrary,     Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions,     Of divers witnesses; which the Duke desir'd     To have brought, viva voce, to his face;     At which appear'd against him his surveyor,     Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor, and John Car,     Confessor to him, with that devil-monk,     Hopkins, that made this mischief.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. That was he     That fed him with his prophecies?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. The same.     All these accus'd him strongly, which he fain     Would have flung from him; but indeed he could not;     And so his peers, upon this evidence,     Have found him guilty of high treason. Much     He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all     Was either pitied in him or forgotten.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. After all this, how did he bear him-self   FIRST GENTLEMAN. When he was brought again to th' bar to hear     His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd     With such an agony he sweat extremely,     And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty;     But he fell to himself again, and sweetly     In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do not think he fears death.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sure, he does not;     He never was so womanish; the cause     He may a little grieve at.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Certainly     The Cardinal is the end of this.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis likely,     By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,     Then deputy of Ireland, who remov'd,     Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,     Lest he should help his father.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. That trick of state     Was a deep envious one.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. At his return     No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,     And generally: whoever the King favours     The Cardinal instantly will find employment,     And far enough from court too.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. All the commons     Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,     Wish him ten fathom deep: this Duke as much     They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,     The mirror of all courtesy-        Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment, tip-staves       before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds       on each side; accompanied with SIR THOMAS       LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDYS,       and common people, etc.    FIRST GENTLEMAN. Stay there, sir,     And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Let's stand close, and behold him.   BUCKINGHAM. All good people,     You that thus far have come to pity me,     Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.     I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment,     And by that name must die; yet, heaven bear witness,     And if I have a conscience, let it sink me     Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!     The law I bear no malice for my death:     'T has done, upon the premises, but justice.     But those that sought it I could wish more Christians.     Be what they will, I heartily forgive 'em;     Yet let 'em look they glory not in mischief     Nor build their evils on the graves of great men,     For then my guiltless blood must cry against 'em.     For further life in this world I ne'er hope     Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies     More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd me     And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,     His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave     Is only bitter to him, only dying,     Go with me like good angels to my end;     And as the long divorce of steel falls on me     Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,     And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, a God's name.   LOVELL. I do beseech your Grace, for charity,     If ever any malice in your heart     Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.   BUCKINGHAM. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you     As I would be forgiven. I forgive all.     There cannot be those numberless offences     'Gainst me that I cannot take peace with. No black envy     Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his Grace;     And if he speak of Buckingham, pray tell him     You met him half in heaven. My vows and prayers     Yet are the King's, and, till my soul forsake,     Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live     Longer than I have time to tell his years;     Ever belov'd and loving may his rule be;     And when old time Shall lead him to his end,     Goodness and he fill up one monument!   LOVELL. To th' water side I must conduct your Grace;     Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,     Who undertakes you to your end.   VAUX. Prepare there;     The Duke is coming; see the barge be ready;     And fit it with such furniture as suits     The greatness of his person.   BUCKINGHAM. Nay, Sir Nicholas,     Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.     When I came hither I was Lord High Constable     And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun.     Yet I am richer than my base accusers     That never knew what truth meant; I now seal it;     And with that blood will make 'em one day groan fort.     My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,     Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,     Flying for succour to his servant Banister,     Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd     And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!     Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying     My father's loss, like a most royal prince,     Restor'd me to my honours, and out of ruins     Made my name once more noble. Now his son,     Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all     That made me happy, at one stroke has taken     For ever from the world. I had my trial,     And must needs say a noble one; which makes me     A little happier than my wretched father;     Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both     Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most-     A most unnatural and faithless service.     Heaven has an end in all. Yet, you that hear me,     This from a dying man receive as certain:     Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels,     Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends     And give your hearts to, when they once perceive     The least rub in your fortunes, fall away     Like water from ye, never found again     But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,     Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour     Of my long weary life is come upon me.     Farewell;     And when you would say something that is sad,     Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me!                                           Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and train   FIRST GENTLEMAN. O, this is full of pity! Sir, it calls,     I fear, too many curses on their heads     That were the authors.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. If the Duke be guiltless,     'Tis full of woe; yet I can give you inkling     Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,     Greater than this.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Good angels keep it from us!     What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?   SECOND GENTLEMAN. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require     A strong faith to conceal it.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Let me have it;     I do not talk much.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. I am confident.     You shall, sir. Did you not of late days hear     A buzzing of a separation     Between the King and Katharine?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes, but it held not;     For when the King once heard it, out of anger     He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight     To stop the rumour and allay those tongues     That durst disperse it.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. But that slander, sir,     Is found a truth now; for it grows again     Fresher than e'er it was, and held for certain     The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinal     Or some about him near have, out of malice     To the good Queen, possess'd him with a scruple     That will undo her. To confirm this too,     Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd and lately;     As all think, for this business.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the Cardinal;     And merely to revenge him on the Emperor     For not bestowing on him at his asking     The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. I think you have hit the mark; but is't         not cruel     That she should feel the smart of this? The Cardinal     Will have his will, and she must fall.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis woeful.     We are too open here to argue this;     Let's think in private more.                               Exeunt     ACT II. SCENE 2.  London. The palace  Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN reading this letter    CHAMBERLAIN. 'My lord,     'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care     had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. They were     young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north.     When they were ready to set out for London, a man of     my Lord Cardinal's, by commission, and main power, took     'em from me, with this reason: his master would be serv'd     before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp'd     our mouths, sir.'      I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them.     He will have all, I think.      Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK    NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain.   CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces.   SUFFOLK. How is the King employ'd?   CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private,     Full of sad thoughts and troubles.   NORFOLK. What's the cause?   CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife     Has crept too near his conscience.   SUFFOLK. No, his conscience     Has crept too near another lady.   NORFOLK. 'Tis so;     This is the Cardinal's doing; the King-Cardinal,     That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,     Turns what he list. The King will know him one day.   SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He'll never know himself else.   NORFOLK. How holily he works in all his business!     And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the league     Between us and the Emperor, the Queen's great nephew,     He dives into the King's soul and there scatters     Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,     Fears, and despairs-and all these for his marriage;     And out of all these to restore the King,     He counsels a divorce, a loss of her     That like a jewel has hung twenty years     About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;     Of her that loves him with that excellence     That angels love good men with; even of her     That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,     Will bless the King-and is not this course pious?   CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true     These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks 'em,     And every true heart weeps for 't. All that dare     Look into these affairs see this main end-     The French King's sister. Heaven will one day open     The King's eyes, that so long have slept upon     This bold bad man.   SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery.   NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance;     Or this imperious man will work us an     From princes into pages. All men's honours     Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd     Into what pitch he please.   SUFFOLK. For me, my lords,     I love him not, nor fear him-there's my creed;     As I am made without him, so I'll stand,     If the King please; his curses and his blessings     Touch me alike; th' are breath I not believe in.     I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him     To him that made him proud-the Pope.   NORFOLK. Let's in;     And with some other business put the King     From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him.     My lord, you'll bear us company?   CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me,     The King has sent me otherwhere; besides,     You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him.     Health to your lordships!   NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain.                             Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING draws                                the curtain and sits reading pensively   SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted.   KING. Who's there, ha?   NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry.   KING HENRY. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves     Into my private meditations?     Who am I, ha?   NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences     Malice ne'er meant. Our breach of duty this way     Is business of estate, in which we come     To know your royal pleasure.   KING. Ye are too bold.     Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business.     Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?        Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission      Who's there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey,     The quiet of my wounded conscience,     Thou art a cure fit for a King.  [To CAMPEIUS]  You're       welcome,     Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom.     Use us and it.  [To WOLSEY]  My good lord, have great care     I be not found a talker.   WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot.     I would your Grace would give us but an hour     Of private conference.   KING.  [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]  We are busy; go.   NORFOLK.  [Aside to SUFFOLK]  This priest has no pride in him!   SUFFOLK.  [Aside to NORFOLK]  Not to speak of!     I would not be so sick though for his place.     But this cannot continue.   NORFOLK.  [Aside to SUFFOLK]  If it do,     I'll venture one have-at-him.   SUFFOLK.  [Aside to NORFOLK]  I another.                                            Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK   WOLSEY. Your Grace has given a precedent of wisdom     Above all princes, in committing freely     Your scruple to the voice of Christendom.     Who can be angry now? What envy reach you?     The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,     Must now confess, if they have any goodness,     The trial just and noble. All the clerks,     I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms     Have their free voices. Rome the nurse of judgment,     Invited by your noble self, hath sent     One general tongue unto us, this good man,     This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius,     Whom once more I present unto your Highness.   KING. And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,     And thank the holy conclave for their loves.     They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.   CAMPEIUS. Your Grace must needs deserve an strangers' loves,     You are so noble. To your Highness' hand     I tender my commission; by whose virtue-     The court of Rome commanding-you, my Lord     Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant     In the unpartial judging of this business.   KING. Two equal men. The Queen shall be acquainted     Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?   WOLSEY. I know your Majesty has always lov'd her     So dear in heart not to deny her that     A woman of less place might ask by law-     Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.   KING. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour     To him that does best. God forbid else. Cardinal,     Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;     I find him a fit fellow.                              Exit WOLSEY            Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER    WOLSEY.  [Aside to GARDINER]  Give me your hand: much       joy and favour to you;     You are the King's now.   GARDINER.  [Aside to WOLSEY]  But to be commanded     For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais'd me.   KING. Come hither, Gardiner.                   [Walks and whispers]   CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace     In this man's place before him?   WOLSEY. Yes, he was.   CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man?   WOLSEY. Yes, surely.   CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then,     Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal.   WOLSEY. How! Of me?   CAMPEIUS. They will not stick to say you envied him     And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,     Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him     That he ran mad and died.   WOLSEY. Heav'n's peace be with him!     That's Christian care enough. For living murmurers     There's places of rebuke. He was a fool,     For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,     If I command him, follows my appointment.     I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,     We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.   KING. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queen.                                                         Exit GARDINER     The most convenient place that I can think of     For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars;     There ye shall meet about this weighty business-     My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord,     Would it not grieve an able man to leave     So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!     O, 'tis a tender place! and I must leave her.              Exeunt     ACT II. SCENE 3.  London. The palace  Enter ANNE BULLEN and an OLD LADY    ANNE. Not for that neither. Here's the pang that pinches:     His Highness having liv'd so long with her, and she     So good a lady that no tongue could ever     Pronounce dishonour of her-by my life,     She never knew harm-doing-O, now, after     So many courses of the sun enthroned,     Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which     To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than     'Tis sweet at first t' acquire-after this process,     To give her the avaunt, it is a pity     Would move a monster.   OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper     Melt and lament for her.   ANNE. O, God's will! much better     She ne'er had known pomp; though't be temporal,     Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce     It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging     As soul and body's severing.   OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady!     She's a stranger now again.   ANNE. So much the more     Must pity drop upon her. Verily,     I swear 'tis better to be lowly born     And range with humble livers in content     Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief     And wear a golden sorrow.   OLD LADY. Our content     Is our best having.   ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead,     I would not be a queen.   OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would,     And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you,     For all this spice of your hypocrisy.     You that have so fair parts of woman on you     Have too a woman's heart, which ever yet     Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;     Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,     Saving your mincing, the capacity     Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive     If you might please to stretch it.   ANNE. Nay, good troth.   OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen!   ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven.   OLD LADY. 'Tis strange: a threepence bow'd would hire me,     Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you,     What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs     To bear that load of title?   ANNE. No, in truth.   OLD LADY. 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     For all the world.   OLD LADY. In faith, for little England     You'd venture an emballing. I myself     Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd     No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here?           Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN    CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know     The secret of your conference?   ANNE. My good lord,     Not your demand; it values not your asking.     Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.   CHAMBERLAIN. 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!   CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings     Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,     Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes     Ta'en of your many virtues, the King's Majesty     Commends his good opinion of you to you, and     Does purpose honour to you no less flowing     Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide     A thousand pound a year, annual support,     Out of his grace he adds.   ANNE. I do not know     What kind of my obedience I should tender;     More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers     Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes     More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes     Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,     Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,     As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness;     Whose health and royalty I pray for.   CHAMBERLAIN. Lady,     I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit     The King hath of you.  [Aside]  I have perus'd her well:     Beauty and honour in her are so mingled     That they have caught the King; and who knows yet     But from this lady may proceed a gem     To lighten all this isle?-I'll to the King     And say I spoke with you.   ANNE. My honour'd lord!                       Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN   OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see!     I have been begging sixteen years in court-     Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could     Come pat betwixt too early and too late     For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!     A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon     This compell'd fortune!-have your mouth fill'd up     Before you open it.   ANNE. This is strange to me.   OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.     There was a lady once-'tis an old story-     That would not be a queen, that would she not,     For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?   ANNE. Come, you are pleasant.   OLD LADY. With your theme I could     O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!     A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!     No other obligation! By my life,     That promises moe thousands: honour's train     Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time     I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,     Are you not stronger than you were?   ANNE. Good lady,     Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,     And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,     If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me     To think what follows.     The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful     In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver     What here y' have heard to her.   OLD LADY. What do you think me?                              Exeunt     ACT II. SCENE 4.  London. A hall in Blackfriars  Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver wands; next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, 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 silver cross; then a GENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, 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 CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place some distance from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side of the court, in manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES. The LORDS sit next the BISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the stage    WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read,     Let silence be commanded.   KING. What's the need?     It hath already publicly been read,     And on all sides th' authority allow'd;     You may then spare that time.   WOLSEY. Be't so; proceed.   SCRIBE. Say 'Henry King of England, come into the court.'   CRIER. Henry King of England, &c.   KING. Here.   SCRIBE. Say 'Katharine Queen of England, come into the 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    QUEEN KATHARINE. 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,     Born out of your dominions, having here     No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance     Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,     In what have I offended you? What cause     Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure     That thus you should proceed to put me of     And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,     I have been to you a true and humble wife,     At all times to your will conformable,     Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,     Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry     As I saw it inclin'd. 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     He were mine enemy? What friend of mine     That had to him deriv'd your anger did     Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice     He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind     That I have been your wife in this obedience     Upward of twenty years, and have been blest     With many children by you. If, in the course     And process of this time, you can report,     And prove it too against mine honour, aught,     My bond to wedlock or my love and duty,     Against your sacred person, in God's name,     Turn me away and let the foul'st contempt     Shut door upon me, and so give me up     To the sharp'st kind of justice. Please you, sir,     The King, your father, was reputed for     A prince most prudent, of an excellent     And unmatch'd wit and judgment; Ferdinand,     My father, King of Spain, was reckon'd one     The wisest prince that there had reign'd by many     A year before. It is not to be question'd     That they had gather'd a wise council to them     Of every realm, that did debate this business,     Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly     Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may     Be by my friends in Spain advis'd, whose counsel     I will implore. If not, i' th' name of God,     Your pleasure be fulfill'd!   WOLSEY. You have here, lady,     And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men     Of singular integrity and learning,     Yea, the elect o' th' land, who are assembled     To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless     That longer you desire the court, as well     For your own quiet as to rectify     What is unsettled in the King.   CAMPEIUS. His Grace     Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam,     It's fit this royal session do proceed     And that, without delay, their arguments     Be now produc'd and heard.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal,     To you I speak.   WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam?   QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir,     I am about to weep; but, thinking that     We are a queen, or long have dream'd so, certain     The daughter of a king, my drops of tears     I'll turn to sparks of fire.   WOLSEY. Be patient yet.   QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before     Or God will punish me. I do believe,     Induc'd by potent circumstances, that     You are mine enemy, and make my challenge     You shall not be my judge; for it is you     Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me-     Which God's dew quench! Therefore I say again,     I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul     Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more     I hold my most malicious foe and think not     At all a friend to truth.   WOLSEY. I do profess     You speak not like yourself, who ever yet     Have stood to charity and display'd th' effects     Of disposition gentle and of wisdom     O'ertopping woman's pow'r. Madam, you do me wrong:     I have no spleen against you, nor injustice     For you or any; how far I have proceeded,     Or how far further shall, is warranted     By a commission from the Consistory,     Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me     That I have blown this coal: I do deny it.     The King is present; if it be known to him     That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,     And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much     As you have done my truth. If he know     That I am free of your report, he knows     I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him     It lies to cure me, and the cure is to     Remove these thoughts from you; the which before     His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech     You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking     And to say so no more.   QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord,     I am a simple woman, much too weak     T' oppose your cunning. Y'are meek and humble-mouth'd;     You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,     With meekness and humility; but your heart     Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.     You have, by fortune and his Highness' favours,     Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted     Where pow'rs are your retainers, and your words,     Domestics to you, serve your will as't please     Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you     You tender more your person's honour than     Your high profession spiritual; that again     I do refuse you for my judge and here,     Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,     To bring my whole cause 'fore his Holiness     And to be judg'd by him.                      [She curtsies to the KING, and offers to depart]   CAMPEIUS. The Queen is obstinate,     Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and     Disdainful to be tried by't; 'tis not well.     She's going away.   KING. Call her again.   CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.   GENTLEMAN USHER. Madam, you are call'd back.   QUEEN KATHARINE. What need you note it? Pray you keep your way;     When you are call'd, return. Now the Lord help!     They vex me past my patience. Pray you pass on.     I will not tarry; no, nor ever more     Upon this business my appearance make     In any of their courts.           Exeunt QUEEN and her attendants   KING. Go thy ways, Kate.     That man i' th' world who shall report he has     A better wife, let him in nought be trusted     For speaking false in that. Thou art, alone-     If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,     Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,     Obeying in commanding, and thy parts     Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out-     The queen of earthly queens. She's noble born;     And like her true nobility she has     Carried herself towards me.   WOLSEY. Most gracious sir,     In humblest manner I require your Highness     That it shall please you to declare in hearing     Of all these ears-for where I am robb'd and bound,     There must I be unloos'd, although not there     At once and fully satisfied-whether ever I     Did broach this business to your Highness, or     Laid any scruple in your way which might     Induce you to the question on't, or ever     Have to you, but with thanks to God for such     A royal lady, spake one the least word that might     Be to the prejudice of her present state,     Or touch of her good person?   KING. My Lord Cardinal,     I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,     I free you from't. You are not to be taught     That you have many enemies that know not     Why they are so, but, like to village curs,     Bark when their fellows do. By some of these     The Queen is put in anger. Y'are excus'd.     But will you be more justified? You ever     Have wish'd the sleeping of this business; never desir'd     It to be stirr'd; but oft have hind'red, oft,     The passages made toward it. On my honour,     I speak my good Lord Cardinal to this point,     And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't,     I will be bold with time and your attention.     Then mark th' inducement. Thus it came-give heed to't:     My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness,     Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utter'd     By th' Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador,     Who had been hither sent on the debating     A marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleans and     Our daughter Mary. I' th' progress of this business,     Ere a determinate resolution, he-     I mean the Bishop-did require a respite     Wherein he might the King his lord advertise     Whether our daughter were legitimate,     Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,     Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook     The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,     Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble     The region of my breast, which forc'd such way     That many maz'd considerings did throng     And press'd in with this caution. First, methought     I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had     Commanded nature that my lady's womb,     If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should     Do no more offices of life to't than     The grave does to the dead; for her male issue     Or died where they were made, or shortly after     This world had air'd them. Hence I took a thought     This was a judgment on me, that my kingdom,     Well worthy the best heir o' th' world, should not     Be gladded in't by me. Then follows that     I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in     By this my issue's fail, and that gave to me     Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in     The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer     Toward this remedy, whereupon we are     Now present here together; that's to say     I meant to rectify my conscience, which     I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,     By all the reverend fathers of the land     And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private     With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember     How under my oppression I did reek,     When I first mov'd you.   LINCOLN. Very well, my liege.   KING. I have spoke long; be pleas'd yourself to say     How far you satisfied me.   LINCOLN. So please your Highness,     The question did at first so stagger me-     Bearing a state of mighty moment in't     And consequence of dread-that I committed     The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt,     And did entreat your Highness to this course     Which you are running here.   KING. I then mov'd you,     My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave     To make this present summons. Unsolicited     I left no reverend person in this court,     But by particular consent proceeded     Under your hands and seals; therefore, go on,     For no dislike i' th' world against the person     Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points     Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward.     Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life     And kingly dignity, we are contented     To wear our moral state to come with her,     Katharine our queen, before the primest creature     That's paragon'd o' th' world.   CAMPEIUS. So please your Highness,     The Queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness     That we adjourn this court till further day;     Meanwhile must be an earnest motion     Made to the Queen to call back her appeal     She intends unto his Holiness.   KING.  [Aside]  I may perceive     These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor     This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.     My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,     Prithee return. With thy approach I know     My comfort comes along. -Break up the court;     I say, set on.                   Exuent in manner as they entered