KING HENRY THE EIGHTH.

PROLOGUE.

I COME no more to make you laugh; things now,
That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
We now present. Those that can pity, here
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
The subject will deserve it. Such as give
Their money out of hope they may believe,
May here find truth too. Those that come to see
Only a show or two, and so agree,

The play may pass; if they be still, and willing,
I'll undertake, may see away their shilling
Richly in two short hours. Only they
That come to hear a merry, bawdy play,
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
In a long, motley coat, guarded with yellow,
Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,
To rank our chosen truth with such a show
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting

Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,
(To make that only true we now intend,)

Will leave us never an understanding friend.

Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town,

Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see

The very persons of our noble story,

As they were living; think you see them great,
And followed with the general throng and sweat
Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see
How soon this mightiness meets misery!
And, if you can be merry then, I'll say,
A man may weep upon his wedding-day.

ACT I.

SCENE I. London. An Antechamber in the Palace.

Enter the DUKE of NORFOLK, at one door; at the other, the DUKE of BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD ABERGAVENNY. Buckingham. GOOD morrow, and well met. How have you done,

Since last we saw in France?

Nor.

I thank your grace;
Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.

Buck.

An untimely ague

Stayed me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Arde.

Nor.

'Twixt Guynes and Arde:
I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
In their embracement, as they grew together;

Which had they, what four throned ones could have weighed
Such a compounded one?

I was my chamber's prisoner.
Nor.
Then you lost
The view of earthly glory. Men might say,
Till this time, pomp was single; but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders it's. To-day, the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain, India; every man, that stood,
Showed like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubims, all gilt: the madams too,
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labor
Was to them as a painting. Now this mask
Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them; him in eye,
Still him in praise; and, being present both,
'Twas said, they saw but one; and no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns

(For so they praise them) by their heralds challenged The noble spirits to arms, they did perform

Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story, Being now seen possible enough, got credit,

That Bevis was believed.

Buck.
O, you go far.
Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect
In honor honesty, the tract of every thing
Would by a good discourser lose some life,
Which action's self was tongue to.
To the disposing of it nought rebelled;
Order gave each thing view; the office did
Distinctly his full function.

All was royal;

Buck.
Who did guide,
I mean, who set the body and the limbs.
Of this great sport together, as you guess?
Nor. One, certes, that promises no element
In such a business.

Buck.
I pray you, who, my lord?
Nor. All this was ordered by the good discretion
Of the right reverend cardinal of York.

Buck. The devil speed him! No man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun, And keep it from the earth.

Surely, sir,

Nor.
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
For, being not propped by ancestry, (whose grace
Chalks successors their way,) nor called upon
For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
To eminent assistants, but, spider-like,

Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
The force of his own merit makes his way;
A gift that Heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.

Aber.

I cannot tell

What Heaven hath given him; let some graver eye
Pierce into that: but I can see his pride

Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that?
If not from hell, the devil is a niggard;

Or has given all before, and he begins

A new hell in himself.

Buck.

Why the devil,

W

Upon this French going-out, took he upon him,

VOL. III.-17

Without the privity o' the king, to appoint
Who should attend on him?

He makes up the file

Of all the gentry; for the most part such,
Too, whom as great a charge as little honor
He meant to lay upon; and his own letter,
The honorable board of council out,

Must fetch him in the papers.

Aber.
I do know
Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sickened their estates, that never
They shall abound as formerly.

Buck.

O, many

Have broke their backs with laying manors on thera
For this great journey. What did this vanity,
But minister communication of

A most poor issue?

Nor.

Grievingly I think,

The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.

Buck.
Every man,
After the hideous storm that followed, was
A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy, That this tempest,
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
The sudden breach on't.

Nor.

Which is budded out;

For France hath flawed the league, and hath attached Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

Aber.

The ambassador is silenced?

Nor.

Is it therefore

Marry, is't.

Aber. A proper title of a peace, and purchased

At a superfluous rate!

Buck.

Why, all this business

'Like it your grace,

Our reverend cardinal carried.

Nor.

The state takes notice of the private difference

Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you,
(And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
Honor and plenteous safety,) that you read
The cardinal's malice and his potency

Together; to consider further, that

What his high hatred would effect, wants not
A minister in his power. You know his nature,
That he's revengeful; and I know his sword
Hath a sharp edge; it's long, and, it may be said,

It reaches far; and where 'twill not extend,
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel;
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock,
That I advise your shunning.

Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, (the purse borne before him,)
certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with papers.
The CARDINAL, in his passage, fixeth his eye on BUCK-
INGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain.
Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor? ha?
Where's his examination?

1 Secr.

Here, so please you.

Wol. Is he in person ready?

1 Secr. Ay, please your grace. Wol. Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham Shall lessen this big look. [Exeunt WOLSEY and Train. Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouthed, and I Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore, best Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book Out-worths a noble's blood.

Nor.

What, are you chafed? Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only, Which your disease requires.

Buck.

I read in his look

Matter against me; and his eye reviled

Me, as his abject object: at this instant

He bores me with some trick. He's gone to the king;
I'll follow, and outstare him.

Nor.
Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills,
Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like
A full hot-horse; who being allowed his way,
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
Can advise me like you; be to yourself

As you would to your friend.

Buck.
I'll to the king;
And from a mouth of honor quite cry down
This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim,
There's difference in no persons.

Nor.
Be advised;
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself. We may outrun,
By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
And lose by overrunning. Know you not,
The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er,