And heartily, for our deliverance;

Or this imperious man will work us all
From princes into pages: all men's honours
Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd
Into what pitch he please.

Suf.
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, they 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.
Nor.
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?

Cham. Excuse me; The king hath sent me otherwhere besides, You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: Health to your lordships.

Nor.

Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.
[Exit Lord Chamberlain,

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: Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha?

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.

3

me

Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom;
Use us, and it :-My good lord, have great care
I be not found a talker.

Wol.

[To Wolsey.

Sir, you cannot.

I would, your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conference.

K. Hen.

We are busy; go.

[To Norfolk and Suffolk.

Nor. This priest has no pride in him?
Suf.
Not to speak of;
I would not be so sick though, for his place:
But this cannot continue.

Nor.

If it do,

I another.

I'll venture one heave at him.

Suf.

Aside.

[Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk.
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,
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.
K. Hen. And once more, in mine arms I hid 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,
(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.

K. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be
acquainted

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,
Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary;
I find him a fit fellow.
[Exit Wolsey.
Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER.
Wol. Give me your hand: much joy and favour

to you:

You are the king's now.

Gurd.

But to be commanded.

For ever by your grace, whose hand hath rais'd me.

K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner.

[Aside,

[They converse apart. Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace In this man's place before him?

Wol.

Yes, he was.

Cam. Was he not held a learned man?
Wol.

Yes, surely. 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. Heaven'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.

K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. [Exit Gardiner. The most convenient place that I can think of, For such receipt of learning, is Black-Friars; 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.

SCENE III.

An ante-chamber 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
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 enthron'd,

Still growing in a majesty and pomp,-the which
To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than
'Tis sweet at first to acquire,-after this process,
To give her the avaunt! it is a pity

Would move a monster.

Old L.

Hearts of most hard temper

Melt and lament for her.
Anne.

O, God's will! much better,

She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal,
Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce

It, from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging

As soul and body's severing.

Old L.

Alas, poor lady!

So much the more

She's a stranger now again.
Anne.
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 glistering grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.

Old L.

Is our best having.

Anne.

Our content

By my troth, and maidenhead,

I would not be a queen.

Old L.

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 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 bowed 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 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
For all the world.

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 here? Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What wer'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.

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,
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty
Commends his good opinion to you, and
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
Than marchioness of Pembroke; to which title
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