Of your soft cheveril a conscience would receive,
If you might please to stretch it.

Anne.

Nay, good troth,

Old L. Yes, troth, and troth,-You would not be a queen? Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven.

Old L. 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd 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?

Old L. Then you are weakly made: Pluck off a little ; Þ I would not be a young count in your way,

For more than blushing comes to: if your back
Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, 't is 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 L.

In faith, for little England

You'd venture an emballing: I myself

Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd

No more to the crown but that.

Lo, who comes here?

Enter the Lord Chamberlain.

b

Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What wer '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.

Cham. 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!

a Cheveril-kid-skin. So in Romeo and Juliet, " O, here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad."

Pluck off a little-descend a little: You refuse to be a queen, a duchess, try

a count.

c Anne would not be a queen "for all the world ;"—but you would, says the old lady," for little England ;"-I" would for Carnarvonshire "—for one Welsh county.

a

Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly 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 to you, and b 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.

What kind of my obedience I should tender,
More than my all is nothing; nor my prayers
Are not words duly hallow'd, 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. 1

Cham.

Lady,

I shall not fail to improve the fair conceit

The king hath of you. I have perus'd her well;
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled,

[Aside.

That they have caught the king: and who knows yet,
But from this lady may proceed a gem

To lighten all this isle !—I'll to the king,

And say, I spoke with you.

Anne.

My honour'd lord.

[Exit Lord Chamberlain.

Old L. 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

High note's. In the original, high notes ;—we understand it "that high note is taken," &c.

b We print this line as in the original. The modern editors have silently dropped "of you." They hate the twelve-syllable verse,-one of the most marked peculiarities of our dramatic poetry when it threw off the shackles of the blank-verse which preceded Shakspere.

A very fresh-fish here, (fie, fie, fiea upon

This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd up,
Before you open it.

Anne.

This is strange to me.

Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no.b
There was a lady once, ('t is 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 L.

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 have heard, to her.

Old L.

What do you think me?

SCENE IV.—A Hall in Blackfriars.

[Exeunt.

Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter Two Vergers, with short silver wands; next them, Two Scribes, in the habits 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 the purse, with the great seal, and a cardinal's hat; then Two Priests, bearing each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-Usher bareheaded,

a The third fie has been rejected from the same love of monotony.

b The old lady, whose gossip is most characteristic, would lay a wager of forty pence.

accompanied with a Sergeant-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; Two Noblemen with the sword and mace. [Then enter the KING and QUEEN, and their Trains.] The KING takes place under the cloth of state; the Two CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place at some distance from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side the court, in manner of a consistory; below them, the Scribes. The Lords sit next the BISHOPS. The Crier and the rest of the Attendants stand in conveneint order about the stage.

Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded.

K. Hen.

What's the need?

It hath already publicly been read,
And on all sides the authority allow'd;
You may then spare that time.

Wol.

Be 't so:-Proceed.

Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into the court. Crier. Henry king of England, &c.

K. Hen. Here.

Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come into the

court.

Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c.

[The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair,

goes

about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels at his feet; then speaks.

Q. Kath. 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 inclin'd. When was the hour,

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 discharg'd? 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,a 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 prince, 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, i' the name of God,

Your pleasure be fulfill'd!

Wol.

You have here, lady,

a There is a licence of construction here-one of the many elliptical expressions with which the play abounds. Aught is required to be repeated—Aught “against your sacred person."