How know'st thou this? Surv. Not long before your highness sped to France,
The duke, being at the Rose, within the parish
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
What was the speech amongst the Londoners
Concerning the French journey: I replied,
Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious,
To the king's danger. Presently the duke
Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted,
'Twould prove the verity of certain words
Spoke by a holy monk; that oft, says he,
Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a matter of some moment :
Whom after under the confession's seal
He solemnly had sworn, that, what he spoke,
My chaplain to no creature living, but
To me, should utter, with demure confidence
This pausingly ensu'd-Neither the king, nor his heirs,
(Tell you the duke) shall prosper: bid him strive
To gain the love of the commonalty; the duke
Shall govern England.
If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o' the tenants: Take good heed, You charge not in your spleen a noble person, And spoil your nobler soul! I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you.
Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dang'rous for him,
To ruminate on this so far, until
It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd,
It was much like to do: He answer'd, Tush!
It can do me no damage: adding further,
That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads
Should have gone off.
K. Hen.
Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha!
There's mischief in this man:-Canst thou say
further?
After your highness had reprov'd the duke About sir William Blomer,
SCENE III.-A Room in the Palace.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord SANDS.
Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should
juggle
Men into such strange mysteries?
Sands.
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English
Have got by the late voyage, is but merely
A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones;
For, when they hold them, you would swear directly,
Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so,
Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones;
That never saw them pace before, the spavin,
one would take it,
A springhalt reign'd among them,
Cham.
Death! my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
That sure, they have worn out Christendom. How
Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Cham. I am glad, 'tis there; now I would pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.
Lov.
They must either
(For so run the conditions,) leave these remnants
Of fool, and feather, that they got in France,
With all their honourable points of ignorance,
Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworks;
Abusing better men than they can be,
Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,
Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel,
And understand again like honest men;
Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it,
They may, cum privilegio, wear away
The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at.
Sands. "Tis time to give them physic, their
diseases
Are grown so catching.
Will have of these trim vanities!
Lov.
There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies;
A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow.
Sands. The devil fiddle them! I am glad, they're
(For, sure, there's no converting of them ;) now An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song, And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r-lady, Held current music too.
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
Sands.
Nor shall not, while I have a stump.
Cham.
Whither were you a-going?
Lov.
Your lordship is a guest too.
Cham.
No, my lord;
Sir Thomas, To the cardinal's;
O, 'tis true: This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind | Is not my friend: This, to confirm my welcome;
And to you all good health.
Your grace is noble :-
indeed,
Sands.
Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
And save me so much talking.
Wol.
His dews fall every where.
No doubt, he's noble;
Cham.
He had a black mouth, that said other of him.
Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal;
in him
Sparing would shew a worse sin than ill doctrine:
Men of his way should be most liberal,
They are set here for examples.
True, they are so;
Cham.
But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;
Your lordship shall along:-Come, good sir Thomas,
We shall be late else: which I would not be,
For I was spoke to with sir Henry Guildford,
This night to be comptrollers.
Sands.
I am your lordship's. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.-The Presence-Chamber in York-Place.
Hautboys. A small table under a state for the CAR-
DINAL, a longer table for the guests. Enter at
one door ANNE BULLEN, and divers Lords, Ladies,
and Gentlewomen, as guests; at another door,
enter Sir HENRY GUILDFORD.
Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
Salutes ye all: This night he dedicates
To fair content, and you: none here, he hopes,
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad; he would have all as merry
As first-good company, good wine, good welcome,
-O, my lord, you are
Can make good people.-
I am beholden to you: cheer your neighbours.—
Ladies, you are not merry;-Gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?
The red wine first must rise
In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have them
Talk us to silence.
You are a merry gamester,
Anne.
Sands.
My lord Sands.
Here's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam,
For 'tis to such a thing,-
Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. (Drums and trumpets within: Chambers discharged.)
Cham. Look out there, some of you.
[Exit a Servant. What warlike voice!
Wol.
And to what end is this?-Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war you are privileg'd.
Re-enter Servant.
Cham. How now? what is't?
A noble troop of strangers; For so they seem: they have left their barge, and landed;
And hither make, as great ambassadors
tardy;
Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord SANDS, and Sir From foreign princes.
THOMAS LOvell.
The very thought of this fair company
Clapp'd wings to me.
Cham.
You are young, sir Harry Guildford.
Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the cardinal
But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these
Should find a running banquet ere they rested,
I think, would better please them: By my life,
They are a sweet society of fair ones.
Lov. O, that your lordship were but now confessor
I would, I were;
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By my faith,
Sands.
And thank your lordship.-By your leave, sweet
ladies:
(Seats himself between Anne Bullen and
another lady.)
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ;
I had it from my father.
Anne.
Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:
But he would bite none; just as I do now, [her.)
He would kiss you twenty with a breath. (Kisses
Well said, my lord.-
Cham.
So now you are fairly seated:-Gentlemen,
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
Pass away frowning.
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And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them :-Some attend him.-
[Exit Chamberlain, attended. All arise,
and tables removed.
You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.
A good digestion to you all: and, once more,
I shower a welcome on you;-Welcome all.
Hautboys. Enter the King, and twelve others, as
maskers, habited like shepherds, with sixteen torch-
bearers; ushered by the Lord Chamberlain. They
pass directly before the Cardinal, and gracefully
salute him.
A noble company! what are their pleasures?
Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they
pray'd
To tell your grace ;-That, having heard by fame
Of this so noble and so fair assembly
This night to meet here, they could do no less,
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,
But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct,
An hour of revels with them.
Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat
Say, lord chamberlain,
Wol.
They have done my poor house grace; for which I
[sures.
pay them
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their plea-
(Ladies chosen for the dance. The King
chooses Anne Bullen.)
K. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O,
beauty,
Till now I never knew thee.
Wol. My lord,-
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Your grace is grown so pleasant.
K. Hen.
My lord chamberlain,
Pr'ythee, come hither: What fair lady's that?
Cham. An't please your grace, sir Thomas Bul-
len's daughter,
[women.
The viscount Rochford, one of her highness'
K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one.-Sweet-
heart,
I were unmannerly, to take you out,
And not to kiss you.-A health, gentlemen,
Let it go round.
Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
I'the privy chamber?
There's fresher air, my lord,
I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
K. Hen. I fear, too much.
Wol.
In the next chamber.
K. Hen. Lead in your ladies, every one.-S
partner,
I must not yet forsake you :-Let's be merry ;-
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure
To lead them once again; and then let's dream
Who's best in favour.-Let the music knock it.
[Exeunt, with trumpets.
SCENE I.-A Street.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.
1 Gent. Whither away so fast?
2 Gent.
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.
2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself?
1 Gent. When he was brought again to the 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 shew'd a most noble patience.
2 Gent. I do not think, he fears death.
1 Gent.
He never was so womanish; the cause
He may a little grieve at.
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.
2 Gent.
That trick of state
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.
Was a deep envious one.
1 Gent.
2 Gent.
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 Buck-
ingham,
The mirror of all courtesy ;
Stay there, sir,
And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.
Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; Tip-
staves before him; the axe with the edge towards
him; halberds on each side: with him, Sir THOMAS
LOVELL, Sir NICHOLAS VAUX, Sir WILLIAM
SANDS, and common people.
2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him.
Buck.
All good people,
O,-God save you! 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 wit-
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
Of the great duke of Buckingham.
1 Gent.
I'll save you
That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony
Of bringing back the prisoner.
2 Gent. Were you there?
1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I.
2 Gent. Pray, speak, what has happen'd?
1 Gent. You may guess quickly what.
2 Gent.
Is he found guilty?
1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it.
2 Gent. I am sorry for't.
1 Gent.
2 Gent. But pray, how pass'd it?
1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke
Came to the bar; where, to his accusations,
He pleaded still, not guilty, and alledg'd
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 him brought, viva voce, to his face:
At which appear'd against him, his surveyor;
Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Court,
Confessor to him; with that devil-monk,
Hopkins, that made this mischief.
2 Gent.
That fed him with his prophecies?
1 Gent.
The same.
All these accus'd him strongly; which he fain
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could
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;
It has done, upon the premises, but justice:
But those, that sought it, I could wish more chris-
tians:
Be what they will, I heartily forgive them:
Yet let them look they glory not in mischief,
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ;
For then my guiltless blood must cry against them.
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
'Gainst me, I can't take peace with: no black envy
Shall make 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 me,
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!
Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace;
Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux,
Who undertakes you to your end.
Prepare there, The duke is coming: see, the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture, as suits The greatness of his person.
Nay, sir Nicholas,
Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord bigh 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;
[for't.
And with that blood will make them one day groan
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.
1 Gent. O, this is full of pity!-Sir, it calls,
I fear, too many curses on their heads,
That were the authors.
2 Gent.
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.
Good angels keep it from us! Where may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir? 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it.
Let me have it; I am confident;
2 Gent. You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear A buzzing, of a separation Between the king and Katharine? Yes, but it held not: 1 Gent. 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.
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.
"Tis the cardinal;
1 Gent.
And merely to revenge him on the emperor,
For not bestowing on him, at his asking,
The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd.
2 Gent. 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.
1 Gent.
We are too open here to argue this;
Let's think in private more.
SCENE II.-An Ante-Chamber in the Palace.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter.
Cham. My lord,-The horses your lordship sent
and furnished. They were young, and handsome;
for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden,
When they were
and of the best breed in the north.
ready to set out for London, a man of my lord car-
dinal's, by commission, and main power, took 'em
from me; with this reason,-His master would be
served before a subject, if not before the king: which
stopped our mouths, sir.
I fear he will, indeed: Well, let him have them:
He will have all, I think.
Enter the Dukes of NORFOLK and SUFFOLK.
Well met, my good
Nor.
Good day to both your graces.
Suf. How is the king employ'd?
Cham.
Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
Nor.
Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's
[wife
Has crept too near his conscience.
Suf.
Has crept too near another lady.
This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he lists. The king will know him one [else. day.
Suf. Pray God, he do! he'll never know himself Nor. How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! For, now he has crack'd the [phew, league Between us and the emperor, the queen's great neHe 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? Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel! "Tis [them, most true, These news are every where; every tongue speaks 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.
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From princes into pages: all men's honours Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please.
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 My lord, you'll bear us company? [him:Cham. Excuse me; The king hath sent me other-where: 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?
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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 Wol-
The quiet of my wounded conscience, [sey,
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.
(To Wolsey.)
Wol.
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.) no pride in him? Not to speak of;
I would not be so sick though, for his place:
But this cannot continue.
I'll venture one heave at him. Suf.
I another. [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 judgInvited by your noble self, hath sent [ment, 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 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' You are so noble: To your highness' band 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
You are the king's now.
[to you:
But to be commanded
For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.
K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner.
Cam. Was he not held a learned man? Wol. Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread 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.
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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 appointinent; 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, So sweet a bedfellow? But,conscience,conscience,— Would it not grieve an able man, to leave 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;-Ŏ 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.
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