The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

Ay, and the best she shall have, and my favour

  To him that does best, God forbid else. Cardinal,

  Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new secretary.

  Cardinal Wolsey goes to the door and calls Gardiner

  I find him a fit fellow.

  Enter Gardiner

  CARDINAL WOLSEY (aside to Gardiner)

  Give me your hand. Much joy and favour to you.

  You are the King’s now.

  GARDINER (aside to Wolsey) But to be commanded

  For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me.

  KING HENRY Come hither, Gardiner.

  The King walks with Gardiner and whispers with him

  CARDINAL CAMPEIUS (to Wolsey)

  My lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace

  In this man’s place before him?

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  Yes, he was.

  CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

  Was he not held a learnèd man?

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  Yes, surely.

  CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

  Believe me, there’s an ill opinion spread then,

  Even of yourself, lord Cardinal.

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  How? Of me?

  CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

  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 grieved him

  That he ran mad and died.

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  Heav’n’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.

  (Gesturing towards Gardiner)

  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 griped by meaner persons.

  KING HENRY (to Gardiner)

  Deliver this with modesty to th’ Queen.

  Exit Gardiner

  The most convenient place that I can think of

  For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars;

  There ye shall meet about this weighty business.

  My Wolsey, see it furnished. 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

  2.3 Enter Anne Boleyn and an Old Lady

  ANNE

  Not for that neither. Here’s the pang that pinches—

  His highness having lived 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 enthroned,

  Still growing in a majesty and pomp the which

  To leave a thousandfold more bitter than

  ’Tis sweet at first t’acquire—after this process,

  To give her the avaunt, it is a pity

  Would move a monster.

  OLD LADY

  Hearts of most hard temper

  Melt and lament for her.

  ANNE

  O, God’s will! Much better

  She ne’er had known pomp; though’t be temporal,

  Yet if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce

  It from the bearer, ’tis a sufferance panging

  As soul and bodies severing.

  OLD LADY

  Alas, poor lady!

  She’s a stranger now again.

  ANNE

  So much the more

  Must pity drop upon her. Verily,

  I swear, ’tis better to be lowly born

  And range with humble livers in content

  Than to be perked up in a glist’ring grief

  And wear a golden sorrow.

  OLD LADY

  Our content

  Is our best having.

  ANNE

  By my troth and maidenhead,

  I would not be a queen.

  OLD LADY

  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 LADY

  Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen?

  ANNE

  No, not for all the riches under heaven.

  OLD LADY

  ’Tis strange. A threepence 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 LADY

  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 LADY

  In faith, for little England

  You’d venture an emballing; I myself

  Would for Caernarfonshire, although there ’longed

  No more to th’ crown but that. Lo, who comes here?

  Enter the Lord Chamberlain

  LORD CHAMBERLAIN

  Good morrow, ladies. What were’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.

  LORD CHAMBERLAIN

  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.

  LORD CHAMBERLAIN

  You bear a gentle mind, and heav’nly 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 of 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

  Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes

  More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes

  Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,

  Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,

  As from a blushing handmaid to his highness,

  Whose health and royalty I pray for.

  LORD CHAMBERLAIN

  Lady,

  I shall not fail t’approve the fair conceit

  The King hath of you. (Aside) I have perused her well.

  Beauty and honour in her are so mingled

  That they have caught the King, and who knows yet

  But from this lady may proceed a gem

  To lighten all this isle. (To Anne) I’ll to the King

  And say I spoke with you;

  ANNE My honoured lord.

  Exit the Lord Chambe
rlain

  OLD LADY Why, this it is—see, see!

  I have been begging sixteen years in court,

  Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could

  Come pat betwixt too early and too late

  For any suit of pounds; and you—O, fate!—

  A very fresh fish here—fie, fie upon

  This compelled fortune!—have your mouth filled up

  Before you open it.

  ANNE

  This is strange to me.

  OLD LADY

  How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.

  There was a lady once—’tis an old story—

  That would not be a queen, that would she not,

  For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?

  ANNE

  Come, you are pleasant.

  OLD LADY

  With your theme I could

  O’ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke?

  A thousand pounds a year, for pure respect?

  No other obligation? By my life,

  That promises more thousands. Honour’s train

  Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time

  I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,

  Are you not stronger than you were?

  ANNE

  Good lady,

  Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,

  And leave me out on’t. Would I had no being;

  If this salute my blood a jot. It faints me

  To think what follows.

  The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful

  In our long absence. Pray do not deliver

  What here you’ve heard to her.

  OLD LADY

  What do you think me—

  Exeunt

  2.4 Trumpets: sennet. Then cornetts. Enter two vergers with short silver wands; next them two Scribes in the habit of doctors; after them the Archbishop of Canterbury alone; after him the Bishops of Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a gentleman bearing both the purse containing the great seal and a cardinal’s hat; then two priests bearing each a silver cross; then a gentleman usher, bare-headed, accompanied with a serjeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two cardinals, Wolsey and Campeius; then two noblemen with the sword and mace. The King ⌈ascends⌉ to his seat under the cloth of state; the two cardinals sit under him as judges; the Queen, attended by Griffith her gentleman usher, takes place some distance from the King; the Bishops place themselves on each side the court in the manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the stage

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  Whilst our commission from Rome is read

  Let silence be commanded.

  KING HENRY

  What’s the need?

  It hath already publicly been read,

  And on all sides th’authority allowed.

  You may then spare that time.

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  Be’t so. Proceed.

  SCRIBE (to the Crier)

  Say, ‘Henry, King of England, come into the court’.

  CRIER

  Henry, King of England, come into the court.

  KING HENRY Here.

  SCRIBE (to the Crier)

  Say, ‘Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court’.

  CRIER

  Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court.

  The Queen makes no answer, but rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet. Then she speaks

  QUEEN KATHERINE

  Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,

  And to bestow your pity on me; for

  I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,

  Born out of your dominions, having here

  No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance

  Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,

  In what have I offended you? What cause

  Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure

  That thus you should proceed to put me off,

  And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness

  I have been to you a true and humble wife,

  At all times to your will conformable,

  Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,

  Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry

  As I saw it inclined. When was the hour

  I ever contradicted your desire,

  Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends

  Have I not strove to love, although I knew

  He were mine enemy? What friend of mine

  That had to him derived your anger did I

  Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice

  He was from thence discharged? Sir, call to mind

  That I have been your wife in this obedience

  Upward of twenty years, and have been blessed

  With many children by you. If, in the course

  And process of this time, you can report—

  And prove it, too—against mine honour aught,

  My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty

  Against your sacred person, in God’s name

  Turn me away, and let the foul‘st contempt

  Shut door upon me, and so give me up

  To the sharp’st kind of justice. Please you, sir,

  The King your father was reputed for

  A prince most prudent, of an excellent

  And unmatched wit and judgement. Ferdinand

  My father, King of Spain, was reckoned one

  The wisest prince that there had reigned by many

  A year before. It is not to be questioned

  That they had gathered a wise council to them

  Of every realm, that did debate this business,

  Who deemed our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly

  Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may

  Be by my friends in Spain advised, whose counsel

  I will implore. If not, i’th’ name of God,

  Your pleasure be fulfilled.

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  You have here, lady,

  And of your choice, these reverend fathers, men

  Of singular integrity and learning,

  Yea, the elect o’th’ land, who are assembled

  To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless

  That longer you desire the court, as well

  For your own quiet, as to rectify

  What is unsettled in the King.

  CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

  His grace

  Hath spoken well and justly. Therefore, madam,

  It’s fit this royal session do proceed,

  And that without delay their arguments

  Be now produced and heard.

  QUEEN KATHERINE (to Wolsey) Lord Cardinal,

  To you I speak.

  CARDINAL WOLSEY Your pleasure, madam.

  QUEEN KATHERINE

  Sir,

  I am about to weep, but thinking that

  We are a queen, or long have dreamed so, certain

  The daughter of a king, my drops of tears

  I’ll turn to sparks of fire.

  CARDINAL WOLSEY

  Be patient yet.

  QUEEN KATHERINE

  I will when you are humble! Nay, before,

  Or God will punish me. I do believe,

  Induced by potent circumstances, that

  You are mine enemy, and make my challenge

  You shall not be my judge. For it is you

  Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me,

  Which God’s dew quench. Therefore I say again,

  I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul,

  Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more

  I hold my most malicious foe, and think not

  At all a friend to truth.

  CARDINAL WOISEY

 
I do profess

  You speak not like yourself, who ever yet

  Have stood to charity, and displayed th‘effects

  Of disposition gentle and of wisdom

  O’er-topping woman’s power. Madam, you do me wrong.

  I have no spleen against you, nor injustice

  For you or any. How far I have proceeded,

  Or how far further shall, is warranted

  By a commission from the consistory,

  Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me

  That I ‘have blown this coal’. I do deny it.

  The King is present. If it be known to him

  That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,

  And worthily, my falsehood—yea, as much

  As you have done my truth. If he know

  That I am free of your report, he knows

  I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him

  It lies to cure me, and the cure is to

  Remove these thoughts from you. The which before

  His highness shall speak in, I do beseech

  You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking,

  And to say so no more.

  QUEEN KATHERINE

  My lord, my lord—

  I am a simple woman, much too weak

  T‘oppose your cunning. You’re meek and humblemouthed;

  You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,

  With meekness and humility—but your heart

  Is crammed with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.

  You have by fortune and his highness’ favours

  Gone slightly o’er low steps, and now are mounted

  Where powers are your retainers, and your words,

  Domestics to you, serve your will as’t please

  Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,

  You tender more your person’s honour than

  Your high profession spiritual, that again

  I do refuse you for my judge, and here,

  Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,

  To bring my whole cause ’fore his holiness,

  And to be judged by him.

  She curtsies to the King and begins to depart

  CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

  The Queen is obstinate,

  Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and

  Disdainful to be tried by’t. ’Tis not well.

  She’s going away.

  KING HENRY (to the Crier) Call her again.

  CRIER

  Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court.

  GRIFFITH (to the Queen) Madam, you are called back.

  QUEEN KATHERINE

  What need you note it? Pray you keep your way.

  When you are called, return. Now the Lord help.

  They vex me past my patience. Pray you, pass on.