NORFOLK opens a folding-door. The KING is discovered sitting, and reading pensively. Suf. How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted. K. Hen. Who is there? ha? Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry. K. Hen. Who 's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private meditations? Who am I? ha? Nor. 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. K. Hen. You are too bold; Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business : Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS. Who's there? my good lord cardinal?-O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded conscience, Thou art a cure fit for a king.-You 're welcome, [To CAMPEIUS. Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom; Use us, and it:-My good lord, have great care I be not found a talker. Wol. Sir, you cannot. [TO WOLSEY I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference. K. Hen. Nor. This priest has no pride in him? Not to speak of; Aside. Suf. But this cannot continue. Wol. 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, One general tongue unto us, this good man, This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius;! K. Hen. 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. Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' loves, You are so noble: To your highness' hand I tender my commission; by whose virtue, K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be ac quainted, Forthwith, for what you come :-Where 's Gardiner? Wol. 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. K. Hen. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour To him that does best; God forbid else. Cardinal, [Exit WOLSEY. Re-enter WOLSEY, with GARDiner. Wol. Give me your hand: much joy and favour to you; You are the king's now. Gard. " But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. [Aside. K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner. [They converse apart. Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace In this man's place before him? Wol. Yes, he was. Yes, surely. Cam. Was he not held a learned man? Wol. Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. Wol. How! of me? Cam. 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. Wol. For he would needs be virtuous: That good fellow, K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. my lord, Would it not grieve an able man, to leave So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience,O, 't is a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt. VOL. VII. D SCENE III.-An Antechamber in the Queen's Apartments. 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 Still growing in a majesty and pomp,-the which "T is sweet at first to acquire,-after this process, Would move a monster. Old L. Melt and lament for her. Anne. Hearts of most hard temper O, God's will! inuch better She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal, a It from the bearer, 't is a sufferance, panging As soul and body's severing. Old L. She's a stranger now again. Anne. Alas, poor lady! So much the more Must pity drop upon her. Verily, I swear, 't is better to be lowly born Old L. Is our best having. Anne. Our content By my troth and maidenhead, I would not be a queen. a Quarrel is an arrow. Beshrew me, I would, Old L. And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you, You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Which, to say sooth, are blessings: and which gifts Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, Anne. queen ? Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. Old L. T is strange: a three-pence bowed would hire me, Old as I am, to queen it: But, I pray you, What think you of a duchess? have you limbs Anne. No, in truth. Old L. Then you are weakly made: Pluck off a little; b I would not be a young count in your way, For more than blushing comes to: if your back Anne. How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old L. In faith, for little England Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd a Cheveril-kid-skin. So in Romeo and Juliet,' "O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad." b Pluck off a little-descend a little: You refuse to be a queen, a duchess, try a count. |