(I mean, the bishop) did require a respite;
Wherein he might the king his lord advertise
Whether our daughter were legitimate,
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,
Sometimes our brother's wife. This respite shook
The bosom of my conscience, enter'd me,

Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
The region of my breast; which forc'd such way,
That many maz'd considerings did throng,

And press'd in with this caution. First, methought,
I stood not in the smile of Heaven; who had
Commanded nature, that my lady's womb,
If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should
Do no more offices of life to 't, than
The grave does to the dead; for her male issue
Or died where they were made, or shortly after
This world had air'd them. Hence I took a thought,
This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom,
Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not
Be gladded in 't by me. Then follows, that
I weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in
By this my issue's fail; and that gave to me
Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in
The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer
Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
Now present here together; that's to say,
I meant to rectify my conscience, - which
I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,
By all the reverend fathers of the land,
And doctors learn'd. First, I began in private
With you, my lord of Lincoln: you remember
How under my oppression I did reek,

When I first mov'd you.

Lin.

Very well, my liege.

K. Hen. I have spoke long: be pleas'd yourself to say How far you satisfied me.

Lin.

So please your highness,

The daring'st counsel which I had to doubt,
And did entreat your highness to this course,

Which you are running here.

K. Hen.

I then mov'd you,
My lord of Canterbury; and got your leave
To make this present summons.

Unsolicited

I left no reverend person in this court;
But by particular consent proceeded,
Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on;
For no dislike i' the world against the person
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points
Of my alleged reasons drive this forward.
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life,
And kingly dignity, we are contented

To wear our mortal state to come with her,
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
That's paragon'd o' the world.

Cam.
The queen being absent, 't is a needful fitness

So please your highness,

That we adjourn this court till farther day:
Meanwhile must be an earnest motion

Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
She intends unto his holiness.

K. Hen.

I may perceive,

[Aside

These cardinals trifle with me: I abhor

This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome.
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer!
Pr'ythee, return: with thy approach, I know,
My comfort comes along. - Break up the court:
I say, set on.

[Exeunt, in manner as they entered.

ACT III. SCENE I.

The Palace at Bridewell.

A Room in the Queen's Apartment.

The Queen, and her Women, as at work.

Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with

troubles;

Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst. Leave working.

SONG.

Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops, that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing:
To his music, plants, and flowers,
Ever sprung; as sun, and showers,

There had made a lasting spring.

Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads, and then lay by.

In sweet music is such art,
Killing care, and grief of heart,
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.

Enter a Gentleman.

Q. Kath. How now!

Gent. An 't please your grace, the two great cardinals

Wait in the presence.

Q. Kath.

Would they speak with me?

Gent. They will 'd me say so, Madam.

Q. Kath.

Pray their graces

To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their business
With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour?

I do not like their coming, now I think on 't.
They should be good men, their affairs as righteous;
But all hoods make not monks.

Wol.

Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEeius.

Peace to your highness.

Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a housewife; I would be all, against the worst may happen.

What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?

Wol. May it please you, noble Madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you

The full cause of our coming.

There's nothing I have done yet, o'my conscience,

Deserves a corner: would all other women

Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!
My lords, I care not, (so much I am happy
Above a number) if my actions

Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them,
Envy and base opinion set against them,

I know my life so even. If your business
Seek me out, and that way I am wife in,

Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing.

Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,

Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin:

I am not such a truant since my coming,

As not to know the language I have liv'd in:

A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious;
Pray, speak in English. Here are some will thank you,

If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake:

Believe me,

she has had much wrong. Lord cardinal,

The willing'st sin I ever yet committed,

May be absolv'd in English.

Wol.

Noble lady,

I am sorry, my integrity should breed,

(And service to his majesty and you)
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.
We come not by the way of accusation,

To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,
Nor to betray any you way to sorrow;

You have too much, good lady; but to know
How you stand minded in the weighty difference
Between the king and you, and to deliver,
Like free and honest men, our just opinions,
And comforts to your cause.

Cam.

My lord of York,

Most honour'd Madam,

out of his noble nature,

Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace,
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure
Both of his truth and him, (which was too far)
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,

His service and his counsel.

My lords, I thank you both for your good wills,

Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so!)
But how to make ye suddenly an answer,

In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,
(More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit,
And to such men of gravity and learning,
In truth, I know not. I was set at work

Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking
Either for such men, or such business.

For her sake that I have been, for I feel
The last fit of my greatness, good your graces,

Let me have time and counsel for my cause.

Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless.

[Aside

Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears: Your hopes and friends are infinite.

Q. Kath.
In England,
But little for my profit: can you think, lords,
That any Englishman dare give me counsel?
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure,
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest)
And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends,
They that must weigh out my afflictions,
They that my trust must grow to, live not here: