King Henry the Eighth
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William Shakespeare

King Henry the Eighth




DRAMATIS PERSONAE

KING HENRY THE EIGHTH

CARDINAL WOLSEY CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

CAPUCIUS, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V

CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY

DUKE OF NORFOLK DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM

DUKE OF SUFFOLK EARL OF SURREY

LORD CHAMBERLAIN LORD CHANCELLOR

GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER

BISHOP OF LINCOLN LORD ABERGAVENNY

LORD SANDYS SIR HENRY GUILDFORD

SIR THOMAS LOVELL SIR ANTHONY DENNY

SIR NICHOLAS VAUX SECRETARIES to Wolsey

CROMWELL, servant to Wolsey

GRIFFITH, gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine

THREE GENTLEMEN

DOCTOR BUTTS, physician to the King

GARTER KING-AT-ARMS

SURVEYOR to the Duke of Buckingham

BRANDON, and a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS

DOORKEEPER Of the Council chamber

PORTER, and his MAN PAGE to Gardiner

A CRIER

QUEEN KATHARINE, wife to King Henry, afterwards divorced

ANNE BULLEN, her Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen

AN OLD LADY, friend to Anne Bullen

PATIENCE, woman to Queen Katharine

Lord Mayor, Aldermen, Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows; Women attending upon the Queen; Scribes, Officers, Guards, and other Attendants; Spirits




SCENE:

London; Westminster; Kimbolton





THE 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 deceiv'd; 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 follow'd 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 1


London. 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 ye done
		Since last we saw in France?
		NORFOLK. I thank your Grace,
		Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer
		Of what I saw there.
		BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague
		Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when
		Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
		Met in the vale of Andren.
		NORFOLK. '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 thron'd ones could have weigh'd
		Such a compounded one?
		BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time
		I was my chamber's prisoner.
		NORFOLK. 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 its. 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
		Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
		As cherubins, an gilt; the madams too,
		Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear
		The pride upon them, that their very labour
		Was to them as a painting. Now this masque
		Was cried incomparable; and th' 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 phrase 'em-by their heralds challeng'd
		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 believ'd.
		BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far!
		NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect
		In honour honesty, the tract of ev'rything
		Would by a good discourser lose some life
		Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal:
		To the disposing of it nought rebell'd;
		Order gave each thing view. The office did
		Distinctly his full function.
		BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide-
		I mean, who set the body and the limbs
		Of this great sport together, as you guess?
		NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element
		In such a business.
		BUCKINGHAM. I pray you, who, my lord?
		NORFOLK. All this was ord'red by the good discretion
		Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.
		BUCKINGHAM. 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' th' beneficial sun,
		And keep it from the earth.
		NORFOLK. Surely, sir,
		There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
		For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace
		Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
		For high feats done to th' crown, neither allied
		To eminent assistants, but spider-like,
		Out of his self-drawing web, 'a 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.
		ABERGAVENNY. 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.
		BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil,
		Upon this French going out, took he upon him-
		Without the privity o' th' King-t' appoint
		Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
		Of all the gentry; for the most part such
		To whom as great a charge as little honour
		He meant to lay upon; and his own letter,
		The honourable board of council out,
		Must fetch him in he papers.
		ABERGAVENNY. I do know
		Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
		By this so sicken'd their estates that never
		They shall abound as formerly.
		BUCKINGHAM. O, many
		Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em
		For this great journey. What did this vanity
		But minister communication of
		A most poor issue?
		NORFOLK. Grievingly I think
		The peace between the French and us not values
		The cost that did conclude it.
		BUCKINGHAM. Every man,
		After the hideous storm that follow'd, was
		A thing inspir'd, and, not consulting, broke
		Into a general prophecy-that this tempest,
		Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
		The sudden breach on't.
		NORFOLK. Which is budded out;
		For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
		Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux.
		ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore
		Th' ambassador is silenc'd?
		NORFOLK. Marry, is't.
		ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas'd
		At a superfluous rate!
		BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business
		Our reverend Cardinal carried.
		NORFOLK. Like it your Grace,
		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
		Honour 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't 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 BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain

		WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? Ha!
		Where's his examination?
		SECRETARY. Here, so please you.
		WOLSEY. Is he in person ready?
		SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace.
		WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham
		shall lessen this big look.
		Exeunt WOLSEY and his
		train
		BUCKINGHAM. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
		Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
		Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
		Outworths a noble's blood.
		NORFOLK. What, are you chaf'd?
		Ask God for temp'rance; that's th' appliance only
		Which your disease requires.
		BUCKINGHAM. I read in's looks
		Matter against me, and his eye revil'd
		Me as his abject object. At this instant
		He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' King;
		I'll follow, and outstare him.
		NORFOLK. 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 allow'd 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.
		BUCKINGHAM. I'll to the King,
		And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
		This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim
		There's difference in no persons.
		NORFOLK. Be advis'd:
		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 over-running. Know you not
		The fire that mounts the liquor till't run o'er
		In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis'd.
		I say again there is no English soul
		More stronger to direct you than yourself,
		If with the sap of reason you would quench
		Or but allay the fire of passion.
		BUCKINGHAM. Sir,
		I am thankful to you, and I'll go along
		By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow-
		Whom from the flow of gan I name not, but
		From sincere motions, by intelligence,
		And proofs as clear as founts in July when
		We see each grain of gravel-I do know
		To be corrupt and treasonous.
		NORFOLK. Say not treasonous.
		BUCKINGHAM. To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong

		As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox,
		Or wolf, or both-for he is equal rav'nous
		As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief
		As able to perform't, his mind and place
		Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-
		Only to show his pomp as well in France
		As here at home, suggests the King our master
		To this last costly treaty, th' interview
		That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass
		Did break i' th' wrenching.
		NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did.
		BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal
		The articles o' th' combination drew
		As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified
		As he cried 'Thus let be' to as much end
		As give a crutch to th' dead. But our Count-Cardinal
		Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,
		Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,
		Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
		To th' old dam treason: Charles the Emperor,
		Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt-
		For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came
		To whisper Wolsey-here makes visitation-
		His fears were that the interview betwixt
		England and France might through their amity
		Breed him some prejudice; for from this league
		Peep'd harms that menac'd him-privily
		Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow-
		Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor
		Paid ere he promis'd; whereby his suit was granted
		Ere it was ask'd-but when the way was made,
		And pav'd with gold, the Emperor thus desir'd,
		That he would please to alter the King's course,
		And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know,
		As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal
		Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,
		And for his own advantage.
		NORFOLK. I am sorry
		To hear this of him, and could wish he were
		Something mistaken in't.
		BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable:
		I do pronounce him in that very shape
		He shall appear in proof.


Enter BRANDON, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS before him, and two or three of the guard

		BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it.
		SERGEANT. Sir,
		My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
		Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
		Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
		Of our most sovereign King.
		BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord,
		The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish
		Under device and practice.
		BRANDON. I am sorry
		To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
		The business present; 'tis his Highness' pleasure
		You shall to th' Tower.
		BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing
		To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me
		Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heav'n
		Be done in this and all things! I obey.
		O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well!
		BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company.
		[To ABERGAVENNY] The King
		Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know
		How he determines further.
		ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said,
		The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure
		By me obey'd.
		BRANDON. Here is warrant from
		The King t' attach Lord Montacute and the bodies
		Of the Duke's confessor, John de la Car,
		One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-
		BUCKINGHAM. So, so!
		These are the limbs o' th' plot; no more, I hope.
		BRANDON. A monk o' th' Chartreux.
		BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins?
		BRANDON. He.
		BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o'er-great Cardinal
		Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already.
		I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
		Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on
		By dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.
		Exeunt




ACT I. SCENE 2


London. The Council Chamber

Cornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL'S shoulder, the NOBLES, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself under the KING'S feet on his right side

		KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it,
		Thanks you for this great care; I stood i' th' level
		Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks
		To you that chok'd it. Let be call'd before us
		That gentleman of Buckingham's. In person
		I'll hear his confessions justify;
		And point by point the treasons of his master
		He shall again relate.

A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!' Enter the QUEEN, usher'd by the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him

		QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor.
		KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit
		Never name to us: you have half our power.
		The other moiety ere you ask is given;
		Repeat your will, and take it.
		QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty.
		That you would love yourself, and in that love
		Not unconsidered leave your honour nor
		The dignity of your office, is the point
		Of my petition.
		KING. Lady mine, proceed.
		QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few,
		And those of true condition, that your subjects
		Are in great grievance: there have been commissions
		Sent down among 'em which hath flaw'd the heart
		Of all their loyalties; wherein, although,
		My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches
		Most bitterly on you as putter-on
		Of these exactions, yet the King our master-
		Whose honour Heaven shield from soil! – even he escapes not
		Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks
		The sides of loyalty, and almost appears
		In loud rebellion.
		NORFOLK. Not almost appears-
		It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,
		The clothiers all, not able to maintain
		The many to them 'longing, have put of
		The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who
		Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
		And lack of other means, in desperate manner
		Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar,
		And danger serves among them.
		KING. Taxation!
		Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal,
		You that are blam'd for it alike with us,
		Know you of this taxation?
		WOLSEY. Please you, sir,
		I know but of a single part in aught
		Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file
		Where others tell steps with me.
		QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord!
		You know no more than others! But you frame
		Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome
		To those which would not know them, and yet must
		Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,
		Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
		Most pestilent to th' hearing; and to bear 'em
		The back is sacrifice to th' load. They say
		They are devis'd by you, or else you suffer
		Too hard an exclamation.
		KING. Still exaction!
		The nature of it? In what kind, let's know,
		Is this exaction?
		QUEEN KATHARINE. I am much too venturous
		In tempting of your patience, but am bold'ned
		Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief
		Comes through commissions, which compels from each
		The sixth part of his substance, to be levied
		Without delay; and the pretence for this
		Is nam'd your wars in France. This makes bold mouths;
		Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
		Allegiance in them; their curses now
		Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass
		This tractable obedience is a slave
		To each incensed will. I would your Highness
		Would give it quick consideration, for
		There is no primer business.
		KING. By my life,
		This is against our pleasure.
		WOLSEY. And for me,
		I have no further gone in this than by
		A single voice; and that not pass'd me but
		By learned approbation of the judges. If I am
		Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know
		My faculties nor person, yet will be
		The chronicles of my doing, let me say
		'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake
		That virtue must go through. We must not stint
		Our necessary actions in the fear
		To cope malicious censurers, which ever
		As rav'nous fishes do a vessel follow
		That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further
		Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
		By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
		Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft
		Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
		For our best act. If we shall stand still,
		In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
		We should take root here where we sit, or sit
		State-statues only.
		KING. Things done well
		And with a care exempt themselves from fear:
		Things done without example, in their issue
		Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
		Of this commission? I believe, not any.
		We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
		And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?
		A trembling contribution! Why, we take
		From every tree lop, bark, and part o' th' timber;
		And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
		The air will drink the sap. To every county
		Where this is question'd send our letters with
		Free pardon to each man that has denied
		The force of this commission. Pray, look tot;
		I put it to your care.
		WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY] A word with you.
		Let there be letters writ to every shire
		Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons
		Hardly conceive of me-let it be nois'd
		That through our intercession this revokement
		And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you
		Further in the proceeding. Exit
		SECRETARY

Enter SURVEYOR

		QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham
		Is run in your displeasure.
		KING. It grieves many.
		The gentleman is learn'd and a most rare speaker;
		To nature none more bound; his training such
		That he may furnish and instruct great teachers
		And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,
		When these so noble benefits shall prove
		Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt,
		They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly
		Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,
		Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,
		Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find
		His hour of speech a minute-he, my lady,
		Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
		That once were his, and is become as black
		As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-
		This was his gentleman in trust-of him
		Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount
		The fore-recited practices, whereof
		We cannot feel too little, hear too much.
		WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,
		Most like a careful subject, have collected
		Out of the Duke of Buckingham.
		KING. Speak freely.
		SURVEYOR. First, it was usual with him-every day
		It would infect his speech-that if the King
		Should without issue die, he'll carry it so
		To make the sceptre his. These very words
		I've heard him utter to his son-in-law,
		Lord Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd
		Revenge upon the Cardinal.
		WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note
		This dangerous conception in this point:
		Not friended by his wish, to your high person
		His will is most malignant, and it stretches
		Beyond you to your friends.
		QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn'd Lord Cardinal,
		Deliver all with charity.
		KING. Speak on.
		How grounded he his title to the crown
		Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him
		At any time speak aught?
		SURVEYOR. He was brought to this
		By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton.
		KING. What was that Henton?
		SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar,
		His confessor, who fed him every minute
		With words of sovereignty.
		KING. How know'st thou this?
		SURVEYOR. 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 among 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 Car, 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's heirs,
		Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive
		To gain the love o' th' commonalty; the Duke
		Shall govern England."'
		QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well,
		You were the Duke's surveyor, and lost your office
		On the complaint o' th' 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.
		KING. Let him on.
		Go forward.
		SURVEYOR. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
		I told my lord the Duke, by th' devil's illusions
		The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous
		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.
		KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!
		There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say further?
		SURVEYOR. I can, my liege.
		KING. Proceed.
		SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich,
		After your Highness had reprov'd the Duke
		About Sir William Bulmer-
		KING. I remember
		Of such a time: being my sworn servant,
		The Duke retain'd him his. But on: what hence?
		SURVEYOR. 'If' quoth he 'I for this had been committed-
		As to the Tower I thought-I would have play'd
		The part my father meant to act upon
		Th' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,
		Made suit to come in's presence, which if granted,
		As he made semblance of his duty, would
		Have put his knife into him.'
		KING. A giant traitor!
		WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom,
		And this man out of prison?
		QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all!
		KING. There's something more would out of thee: what say'st?
		SURVEYOR. After 'the Duke his father' with the 'knife,'
		He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
		Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes,
		He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour
		Was, were he evil us'd, he would outgo
		His father by as much as a performance
		Does an irresolute purpose.
		KING. There's his period,
		To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd;
		Call him to present trial. If he may
		Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none,
		Let him not seek't of us. By day and night!
		He's traitor to th' height.

Exeunt




ACT I. SCENE 3


London. The palace

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS

		CHAMBERLAIN. Is't possible the spells of France should juggle
		Men into such strange mysteries?
		SANDYS. New customs,
		Though they be never so ridiculous,
		Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
		CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English
		Have got by the late voyage is but merely
		A fit or two o' th' face; but they are shrewd ones;
		For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly
		Their very noses had been counsellors
		To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.
		SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take
		it,
		That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin
		Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.
		CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord,
		Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to't,
		That sure th' have worn out Christendom.

Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL

		How now?
		What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
		LOVELL. Faith, my lord,
		I hear of none but the new proclamation
		That's clapp'd upon the court gate.
		CHAMBERLAIN. What is't for?
		LOVELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
		That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.
		CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our
		monsieurs
		To think an English courtier may be wise,
		And never see the Louvre.
		LOVELL. They must either,
		For so run the conditions, leave those 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 blist'red 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.
		SANDYS. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
		Are grown so catching.
		CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies
		Will have of these trim vanities!
		LOVELL. Ay, marry,
		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.
		SANDYS. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,
		For sure there's no converting 'em. Now
		An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
		A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong
		And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r Lady,
		Held current music too.
		CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys;
		Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
		SANDYS. No, my lord,
		Nor shall not while I have a stamp.
		CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas,
		Whither were you a-going?
		LOVELL. To the Cardinal's;
		Your lordship is a guest too.
		CHAMBERLAIN. 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.
		LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
		A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
		His dews fall everywhere.
		CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he's noble;
		He had a black mouth that said other of him.
		SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him
		Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:
		Men of his way should be most liberal,
		They are set here for examples.
		CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so;
		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.
		SANDYS. I am your lordship's.

Exeunt




ACT I. SCENE 4


London. The Presence Chamber in York Place

Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table for the guests. Then enter ANNE BULLEN, and divers other LADIES and GENTLEMEN, as guests, at one door; at another door enter SIR HENRY GUILDFORD

		GUILDFORD. 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,
		Can make good people.


Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL

		O, my lord, y'are tardy,
		The very thought of this fair company
		Clapp'd wings to me.
		CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.
		SANDYS. 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 'em. By my life,
		They are a sweet society of fair ones.
		LOVELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor
		To one or two of these!
		SANDYS. I would I were;
		They should find easy penance.
		LOVELL. Faith, how easy?
		SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it.
		CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,
		Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this.
		His Grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not freeze:
		Two women plac'd together makes cold weather.
		My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep 'em waking:
		Pray sit between these ladies.
		SANDYS. By my faith,
		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. Was he mad, sir?
		SANDYS. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too.
		But he would bite none; just as I do now,
		He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses
		her]
		CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord.
		So, now y'are fairly seated. Gentlemen,
		The penance lies on you if these fair ladies
		Pass away frowning.
		SANDYS. For my little cure,
		Let me alone.


Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and takes his state

		WOLSEY. Y'are welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady
		Or gentleman that is not freely merry
		Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome-
		And to you all, good health!
		[Drinks]
		SANDYS. Your Grace is noble.
		Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks
		And save me so much talking.
		WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys,
		I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours.
		Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,
		Whose fault is this?
		SANDYS. The red wine first must rise
		In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em
		Talk us to silence.
		ANNE. You are a merry gamester,
		My Lord Sandys.
		SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play.
		Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam,
		For 'tis to such a thing-
		ANNE. You cannot show me.
		SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon.
		[Drum and trumpet. Chambers
		discharg'd]
		WOLSEY. What's that?
		CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye. Exit a
		SERVANT
		WOLSEY. What warlike voice,
		And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not:
		By all the laws of war y'are privileg'd.

Re-enter SERVANT

		CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is't?
		SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers-
		For so they seem. Th' have left their barge and landed,
		And hither make, as great ambassadors
		From foreign princes.
		WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain,
		Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;
		And pray receive 'em nobly and conduct 'em
		Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
		Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.
		Exit CHAMBERLAIN attended. All rise, and tables
		remov'd
		You have now a broken banquet, but we'll mend it.
		A good digestion to you all; and once more
		I show'r a welcome on ye; welcome all.

Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers, habited like shepherds, usher'd by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN.

They pass directly before the CARDINAL, and gracefully salute him

		A noble company! What are their pleasures?
		CHAMBERLAIN. 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,
		Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat
		An hour of revels with 'em.
		WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain,
		They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em
		A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures.
		[They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE
		BULLEN]
		KING. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,
		Till now I never knew thee! [Music.
		Dance]
		WOLSEY. My lord!
		CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace?
		WOLSEY. Pray tell 'em thus much from me:
		There should be one amongst 'em, by his person,
		More worthy this place than myself; to whom,
		If I but knew him, with my love and duty
		I would surrender it.
		CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord.
		[He whispers to the
		maskers]
		WOLSEY. What say they?
		CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess,
		There is indeed; which they would have your Grace
		Find out, and he will take it.
		WOLSEY. Let me see, then. [Comes from his
		state]
		By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make
		My royal choice.
		KING. [Unmasking] Ye have found him, Cardinal.
		You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord.
		You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, Cardinal,
		I should judge now unhappily.
		WOLSEY. I am glad
		Your Grace is grown so pleasant.
		KING. My Lord Chamberlain,
		Prithee come hither: what fair lady's that?
		CHAMBERLAIN. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's
		daughter-
		The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness' women.
		KING. 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.
		WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
		I' th' privy chamber?
		LOVELL. Yes, my lord.
		WOLSEY. Your Grace,
		I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
		KING. I fear, too much.
		WOLSEY. There's fresher air, my lord,
		In the next chamber.
		KING. Lead in your ladies, ev'ry one. Sweet 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 'em once again; and then let's dream
		Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it.


Exeunt, with trumpets




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




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