The French king's fifter. Heaven will one day open
The king's eyes, that fo long have flept upon
This bold bad man.

Suf. And free us from his flavery.
Nor. We had need pray,

And heartily, for our deliverance;
Or this imperious man will work us all
From princes into pages: all men's honours
Lie like one lump before him, to be fathion'd
Into what pitch he please.

Suf. For me, my lords,

I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed:
As I am made without him, fo I'll stand,

If the king pleafe; his curfes and his bleflings
Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in.
I knew him, and I know him; fo I leave him
To him, that made him proud, the pope.

Nor. Let's in;

And, with fome other bufinefs, put the king From these fad thoughts, that work too much upon My lord, you'll bear us company? [him :

Cham. Excufe me;

The king hath fent me other-where: befides,
You'll find a molt unfit time to disturb him:
Health to your lord hips.

Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.

[Exit Lord Chamberlain.

A Door opens, and difcovers the King fitting and reading penfively.

Suf. How fad he looks! fure, he is much afflicted. King. Whofe there? ha!

Nor. Pray God, he be not angry.

King. Whofe there, I fay? How dare you thrust

Lato my private meditations?

D

[yourfelves

Who

Who am I? ha!

Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences, Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty, this way, Is bufinefs of eftate; in which, we come

To know your royal pleasure.

King. You are too bold:

Go to I'll make ye know your times of business: Is this an hour for temporal affairs? ha!—

Enter WOLSEY, and CAMPEIUS with a Commiffion.

O my

[Wolfey,

Who's there? my good lord cardinal ?—
The quiet of my wounded confcience,
Thou art a cure fit for a king-You're welcome,
[To CAMPEIUS.
Moft learned reverend fir, into our kingdom;
Ufe us, and it :-My good lord, have great care
I be not found a talker.

Wol. Sir, you cannot.

1

[To WOLSEY.

I would your grace would give us but an hour Of private conference.

King. We are bufy; go. [To NORF. and SuF. Nor. This priest has no pride in him.

Suf. Not to fpeak of:

I would not be fo fick though, for his place:
But this cannot continue.

Nor. If it do,

I'll venture one heave at him.

Suf I another. [Exeunt NoR. and SʊF.,

> [Afide.

Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom Above all princes, in committing freely Your fcruple to the voice of Christendom : Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? The Spaniard ty'd by blood, and favour to her, Muft now confefs, if he have any goodnefs,

The

The trial juft and noble. All the clerks,

I mean, the learned ones, in chriftian kingdoms, Have their free voices: Rome, the nurfe of judgInvited by your noble felf, hath fent

[ment, One general tongue unto us, this good man, This juft and learned prieft, cardinal Campeius; Whom, once more, I prefent unto your highness.

King. And once more in mine arms I bid him welAnd thank the holy conclave for their loves; [come, They have fent me fuch a man I would have wifh'd for.

Cam. Your grace must needs deferve all ftrangers? You are fo noble: To your highnefs' hand [loves, I tender my commiffion; by whofe virtue

(The court of Rome commanding)—you, my lord Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their fervant, In the unpartial judging of this bufinefs.

King. Two equal men. The queen fhall be ac

quainted

Forthwith, for what you come :

-Where's Gardiner? Wol. I know, your majesty has always lov'd her So dear in heart, not to deny her that

A woman of lefs place might afk by law,
Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her.

King. Ay, and the beft, fhe fhall have; and my favour

To him, that does beft; God forbid elfe. Cardinal, Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new fecretary; I find him a fit fellow.

CARDINAL goes out, and re-enters with GARDINER.

Wol. Give me your hand : much joy and favour You are the king's now.

Gard. But to be commanded
D 2

[to you:

For

For ever by your grace, whofe hand has rais'd me.

King. Come hither, Gardiner.

[Afide.

[Walks, and whispers.

Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace

In this man's place before him?

WVol. Yes, he was.

Cam. Was he not held a learned man?

Wol. Yes, furely.

Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion fpread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal.

Wol. How! of me?

Cam. They will not flick to fay, you envy'd him; And, fearing he would rife, he was fo virtuous, Kept him a foreign man ftill: which fo griev'd him, That he ran mad, and dy’d.

Wol. Heaven'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: That good fellow,
If I command him, follows my appointment;
I will have none fo near elfe. Learn this, brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner perfons.
King. Deliver this with modefty to the queen.
[Exit GARDINER,

The most convenient place that I can think of,
For fuch receipt of learning, is Black-Friars;
There ye fhall meet about this weighty bufinefs:
My Wolfey, fee it furnish'd.-O my lord,
Would it not grieve an able man, to leave
So fweet a bedfellow? But confcience, confcience-
O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE III.

An Ante-Chamber of the Queen's Apartments.
Enter ANNE BULLEN, and an old Lady.

Anne. Not for that neither;-Here's the pang that
pinches :

His highness having liv'd fo long with her; and fhe
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever
Pronounce difhonour of her-by my life,
She never knew harm-doing ;-O now, after
So many courfes of the fun enthron'd,

Still growing in a majesty and pomp-the which
To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than
'Tis fweet at first to acquire-after this process,
To give her the avaunt! it is a pity

Would move a monster.

Old L. Hearts of moft hard temper Melt and lament for her.

Anne. O, God's will! much better,

She ne'er had known pomp: though it be temporal,
Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce
It from the bearer, 'tis a fufferance, panging
As foul and body fevering.

Old L. Alas, poor lady!
She's ftranger 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 perk'd up in a gliftering grief,
And wear a golden forrow.

Old L. Our content

Is our best having.

D 3

Anne