Born out of your dominions; having here
No judge indifferent1, 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 inclin'd. 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 deriv'd 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 blest
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 sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir,
The king, your father, was reputed for
A prince most prudent, of an excellent

And unmatch'd wit and judgment; Ferdinand,

My father, King of Spain, was reckon❜d one

The wisest princes that there had reign'd by many
A year before: It is not to be question'd

That they had gather'd a wise council to them

Of every realm, that did debate this business,

Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherefore I humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I

may

Be by my friends in Spain advis'd, whose counsel

I will implore: if not, in the name of God,

Your pleasure be fulfill'd!

Wolsey.

You have here, lady,

(And of your choice) these reverend fathers; men Of singular integrity and learning;

1 Indifferent, impartial.

Yea, the elect of the 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.

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 produc'd and heard.

Queen Katherine.

To you I speak.

Wolsey.

Queen.

Lord cardinal,

Your pleasure, madam?

Sir,

I am about to weep; but thinking that

We are a queen (or long have dream'd so), certain
The daughter of a king, my drops of tears

I'll turn to sparks of fire.

Wol.

Be patient yet.

Queen. I will, when you are humble; nay, before, Or God will punish me. I do believe,

Induc'd 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 you, once more,
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not
At all a friend of truth.

Wol.

I do profess

You speak not like yourself, who ever yet

Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects

Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom

O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me wrong: Remove these thoughts from you; the which before

His highness shall speak in, I do beseech

You, gracious mädam, to unthink your speaking,

And to say no more.

Queen.

My lord, my lord!

I am a simple woman, much too weak

To oppose your cunning. You are meek and humblemouth'd:

You sign your place and calling, in full seeming
With meekness and humility; but your heart
Is cramm'd 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 wards,
Domesticks 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 judg'd by him.

[Offers to depart.

Cam.
The queen is obstinate:
Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
Disdainful to be tried by it; 'tis not well.
She's going away.

King H.

Call her again.

Crier. Kathrine, Queen of England, come into court. Attendant. Madam, you are call'd back.

Queen. What need you note it? Pray you, keep your way;
When
you are call'd, return. Now the Lord help;
They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on:
I will not tarry: no, nor ever more,

Upon this business, my appearance make
In any of their courts.

II.

CROMWELL AND WOLSEY.

Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours. There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.—

[Enter Cromwell, amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell?

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.

Wol.

What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
A great man should decline?

I am fall'n indeed.

Crom. How does your grace?

Wol.

Nay, an you weep,

Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.

I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me.
I humbly thank his grace, and from these shoulders

These ruin'd pillars,

out of pity, taken

A load would sink a navy too much honour.

O'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that right use of it. Wol. I hope I have; I am able now, methinks

(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel),

To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.

*

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited

Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now

To be thy lord and master. Seek the king;

That sun I pray may never set! I have told him
What and how true thou art: he will advance thee.
Some little memory of me will stir him

(I know his noble nature) not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use now,

For thine own future safety.

and provide

Crom.
O, my lord,
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.
The king shall have my service; but my prayers,
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.

;

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels, how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty;
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not:
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, Ŏ Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king;

And, -Pr'ythee, lead me in.

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny: 'tis the king's my robe,

And my integrity to heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in my age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

III.

CARDINAL WOLSEY'S DEATH.

At last, with easy roads1, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably received him;
To whom he gave these words,-" O father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!"
So went to bed where eagerly his sickness
Pursued him still; and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold should be his last), full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,

1 By short stages.