Every thing that heard him play, Hung their heads, and then lay by. Enter a Gentleman. Q. Kath. How now? Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car. dinals Wait in the presence*. Q. Kath. Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. Q. Kath. Would they speak with me? Pray their graces To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their bu siness With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour? I do not like their coming, now I think on't. They shouldbe good men; their affairst are right eous: But all hoods make not monks. Wol. Enter Wolsey and Campeius. Peace to your highness! Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a housewife; I would be all, against the worst may happen. Into your private chamber, we shall give you Q. Kath. *Presence-chamber. Speak it here; + Professions. There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them, 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, sus picious; 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 cardi. nal, The willing'st sin I ever yet committed, May be absolv'd in English. Wol. Noble lady, I am sorry, my integrity should breed So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. To taint that honour every good tongue blesses; Cam. Most honour'd madam, My lord of York,-out of his noble nature, Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace, His service and his counsel. Q. Kath. To betray me. [Aside. My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so!) But how to make you 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. 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; They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, In mine own country, lords. I would, your grace Cam. How, sir? Cam. Put your main cause into the king's pro tection; He's loving and most gracious; 'twill be much For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you, You'll part away disgrac❜d. Wol. He tells you rightly. • Outweigh. Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin : Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Cam. Your rage mistakes us. Q. Kath. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues: The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady? I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye; Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction; You turn the good we offer into envy. Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing: Woe upon ye, And all such false professsor! Would ye have me (If you have any justice, any pity; If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits), Cum. Your fears are worse. Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long-(let me speak myself, Since virtue finds no friends),-a wife, a true one? A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory), Never yet branded with suspicion ? Have I with all my full affections Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey'd him? 7 Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at. To give up willingly that noble title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Wol. 'Pray, hear me. Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched lady? I am the most unhappy woman living Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? If your grace Wol. Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest, You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good lady, Upon what cause, wrong you? alas! our places, The way of our profession, is against it; We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them. For goodness' sake, consider what you do; How you may hurt yourself, ay utterly Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. Served him with superstitious attention. |