I Come no more to make you laugh, Things now, That beare a Weighty, and a Serious Brow, Sad, high, and working, full of State and woe: Such Noble Scoenes, as draw the Eye to flow We now present. Those that can Pitty, heere May (if they thinke it well) let fall a Teare, The Subject will deserve it. Such as give Their Money out of hope they may beleeve, May heere finde Truth too. Those that come to see Onely a show or two, and so agree The Play may passe: If they be still, and willing, Ile undertake may see away their shilling Richly in two short houres. Onely they That come to heare a Merry, Bawdy Play, A noyse of Targets: Or to see a Fellow In a long Motley Coate, garded with Yellow, Will be deceyv'd. For gentle Hearers, know To ranke our chosen Truth with such a show As Foole, and Fight is, beside forfeyting Our owne Braines, and the Opinion that we bring To make that onely true, we now intend, Will leave us never an understanding Friend. Therefore, for Goodnesse sake, and as you are knowne The First and Happiest Hearers of the Towne, Be sad, as we would make ye. Thinke ye see The very Persons of our Noble Story, As they were Living: Thinke you see them Great, And follow'd with the generall throng, and sweat Of thousand Friends: Then, in a moment, see How soone this Mightinesse, meets Misery: And if you can be merry then, Ile Say, A Man may weepe upon his Wedding day. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done Since last we saw in France? I thanke your Grace: Healthfull, and ever since a fresh Admirer Of what I saw there. An untimely Ague Staid me a Prisoner in my Chamber, when Those Sunnes of Glory, those two Lights of Men Met in the vale of Andren. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde, I was then present, saw them salute on Horsebacke, Beheld them when they lighted, how they clung In their Embracement, as they grew together, Which had they, What foure Thron'd ones could have weigh'd Such a compounded one? All the whole time I was my Chambers Prisoner. Then you lost The view of earthly glory: Men might say Till this time Pompe was single, but now married To one above it selfe. Each following day Became the next dayes master, till the last Made former Wonders, it's. To day the French, All Clinquant all in Gold, like Heathen Gods Shown downe the English; and to morrow, they Made Britaine, India: Every man that flood, Shew'd like a Mine. Their Dwarfish Pages were As Cherubins, all gilt: the Madams too, Not us'd to toyle, did almost sweat to beare The Pride upon them, that their very labour Was to them, as a Painting. Now this Maske Was cry'de incompareable; and th' ensuing night Made it a Foole, and Begger. The two Kings Equall in lustre, were now best, now worst As presence did present them: Him in eye, Still him in praise, and being present both, 'Twas said they saw but one, and no Discerner Durst wagge his Tongue in censure, when these Sunnes (For so they phrase 'em) by their Heralds challeng'd The Noble Spirits to Armes, they did performe Beyond thoughts Compasse, that former fabulous Storie Being now seene, possible enough, got credit That Bevis was beleev'd. Oh you go farre. As I belong to worship, and affect In Honor, Honesty, the tract of ev'rything, Would by a good Discourser loose some life, Which Actions selfe, was tongue too. All was royall, To the disposing of it nought rebell'd, Order gave each thing view. The Office did Distinctly his full Function: who did guide, I meane who set the Body, and the Limbes Of this great Sport together? As you guesse: One certes, that promises no Element In such a businesse. I pray you, my Lord? All this was ordred by the good Discretion Of the right Reverend Cardinall of Yorke. The divell speed him: No mans Pye is freed From his Ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce Vanities? I wonder, That such a Keech can with his very bulke Take up the Rayes o' th' beneficiall Sun, And keepe it from the Earth. Surely Sir, There's in him stuffe, that put's him to these ends: For being not propt by Auncestry, whose grace Chalkes Successors their way; nor call'd upon For high feats done to' th' Crowne; neither Allied To eminent Assistants; but Spider-like Out of his Selfe-drawing Web. O gives us note, The force of his owne merit makes his way A guift that heaven gives for him, which buyes A place next to the King. I cannot tell What Heaven hath given him: let some Graver eye Pierce into that, but I can see his Pride Peepe through each part of him: whence ha's he that, If not from Hell? The Divell is a Niggard, Or ha's given all before, and he begins A new Hell in himselfe. Why the Divell, Upon this French going out, tooke he upon him (Without the privity o' th' King) t' appoint Who should attend on him: He makes up the File Of all the Gentry; for the most part such To whom as great a Charge, as little Honor He meant to lay upon: and his owne Letter The honourable Boord of Councell, out Must fetch him in, he Papers. I do know Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have By this, so sicken'd their Estates, that never They shall abound as formerly. O many Have broke their backes with laying Mannors on 'em For this great Journey. What did this vanity But minister communication of A most poore issue. Greevingly I thinke, The Peace betweene the French and us, not valewes The Cost that did conclude it. Every man, After the hideous storme that follow'd, was A thing Inspir'd, and not consulting, broke Into a generall Prophesie; That this Tempest Dashing the Garment of this peace, aboaded The sodaine breach on't. Which is budded out, For France hath flaw'd the League, and hath attach'd Our Merchants goods at Burdeux. Is it therefore Th' Ambassador is silenc'd? Marry is't. A proper Title of a Peace, and purchas'd At a superfluous rate. Why all this Businesse Our Reverend Cardinall carried. Like it your Grace, The State takes notice of the private difference Betwixt you, and the Cardinall. I advise you (And take it from a heart, that wishes towards you Honor, and plenteous safety) that you reade The Cardinals Malice, and his Potency Together; To consider futher, that What his high Hatred would effect, wants not A Minister in his Power. You know his Nature, That he's Revengefull; and I know his Sword Hath a sharpe edge: It's long, and't may be saide It reaches farre, and where 'twill not extend, Thither he darts it. Bosome up my counsell, You'l finde it wholesome. Loe, where comes that Rock That I advice your shunning. The Duke of Buckinghams Surveyor? Ha? Where's his Examination? Heere so please you. Is he in person, ready? I, please your Grace. Well, we shall then know more, & Buckingham Shall lessen this bigge looke. This Butchers Curre is venom'd-mouth'd, and I Have not the power to muzzle him, therefore best Not wake him in his slumber. A Beggers booke, Out-worths a Nobles blood. What are you chaff'd? Aske God for Temp'rance, that's th' appliance onely Which your disease requires. I read in's looks Matter against me, and his eye revil'd Me as his abject obiect, at this instant He bores me with some tricke; He's gone to' th' King: Ile follow, and out-stare him. Stay my Lord, And let your Reason with your Choller question What 'tis you go about: to climbe steepe hilles Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like A full hot Horse, who being allow'd his way Selfe-mettle tyres: Not a man in England Can adsive me like you: Be to your selfe, As you would to your Friend. Ile to the King, And from a mouth of Honor, quite cry downe This Ipswich fellowes insolences; or proclaime, There's difference in no persons. Be Advis'd; Heat not a Furnace for your foe so hot That it do sindge your selfe. We may out-runne By violent swiftness that which we run at; And lose by over-running: know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor til 't run ore, In seeming to augment it, wasts it: be advis'd; I say againe there is no English Soule More stronger to direct you then your selfe; If with the sap of reason you would quench, Or but allay the fire of passion. Sir, I am thankfull to you, and Ile goe along By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow, Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but From sincere motions, by Intelligence, And proofes as cleere as Founts in July, when Wee see each graine of gravell; I doe know To be corrupt and treasonous. Say not treasonous. To th' King Ile say 't, & make my vouch as strong As shore of Rocke: attend. This holy Foxe, Or Wolfe, or both (for he is equall rav'nous As he is subtile, and as prone to mischiefe, As able to perform 't) his minde, and place Infecting one another, yea reciprocally, Only to shew his pompe, as well in France, As here at home, suggests the King our Master To this last costly Treaty: Th' enterview That swallowed so much treasure, and like a glasse Did breake ith' wrenching. Faith, and so it did. Pray give me favour Sir: This cunning Cardinall The Articles o' th' Combination drew As himselfe pleas'd; and they were ratified As he cride thus let be, to as much end, As give a Crutch to th' dead. But our Count-Cardinall Has done this, and tis well: For worthy Wolsey (Who cannot erre) he did it. Now this followes, (Which as I take it is a kinde of Puppie To th' old dam Treason) Charles the Emperour, Under pretence to see the Queene his Aunt, (For twas indeed his colour, but he came To whisper Wolsey) here makes visitation, His feares were that the Interview betwixt England and France, might through their amity Breed him some prejudice; for from this League, Peep'd harmes that menac'd him. Privily Deales with our Cardinal, and as I troa Which I doe well; for I am sure the Emperour Paid ere he promis'd, whereby his Suit was granted Ere it was ask'd. But when the way was made and pav'd with gold: the Emperor thus desir'd, That he would please to alter the Kings course, And breake the foresaid peace. Let the King know (As soone he shall by me) that thus the Cardinall Does buy and sell his Honour as he pleases, And for his owne advantage. I am sorry To heare this of him; and could wish he were Somthing mistaken in 't. No, not a sillable: I doe pronounce him in that very shape He shall appeare in proofe. Your Office Sergeant: execute it. Sir My Lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earle Of Hertford, Stafford and Northampton, I Arrest thee of High Treason, in the name Of our most Soveraigne King. Lo you my Lord, The net has falne upon me, I shall perish Under Device, and practise: I am sorry, To see you tane from liberty, to looke on The busines present. Tis his Highnes pleasure You shall to th' Tower. It will helpe me nothing To plead mine Innocence; for that dye is on me Which makes my whit'st part, black. The will of Heav'n Be done in this and all things: I obey. O my Lord Aburgany: Fare you well. Nay he must beare you company. The King Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know How he determines further. As the Duke said, The will of Heaven be done, and the Kings pleasure By me obey'd. Here is a warrant from The King, t' attach Lord Mountacute, and the Bodies Of the Dukes Confessor, John de la Car, One Gilbert Pecke, his Councellour. So, so; These are the limbs o' th' Plot: no more I hope. A Monke o' th' Chartreux. O Michaell Hopkins? He. My Surveyor is falce: The ore-great Cardinall Hath shew'd him gold; my life is spand already: I am the shadow of poore Buckingham, Whose Figure even this instant Clowd puts on, By Darkning my cleere Sunne. My Lords farewell. My life it selfe, and the best heart of it, Thankes you for this great care: I stood i' th' levell Of a full-charg'd confederacie, and give thankes To you that choak'd it. Let be cald before us The Gentleman of Buckinghams, in person, Ile heare him his confessions justifie And point by point the Treasons of his Maister, He shall againe relate. Nay, we must longer kneele; I am a Suitor. Arise, and take place by us; halfe your Suit Never name to us; you have halfe our power: The other moity ere you aske is given, Repeat your will, and take it. Thanke your Majesty That you would lose your selfe, and in that love Not unconsidered leave your Honour, nor The dignity of your Office; is the poynt Of my Petition. Lady mine proceed. I am solicited not by a few, And those of true condition; That your Subjects Are in great grievance: There have beene Commissions Sent downe among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart Of all their Loyalties; wherein, although My good Lord Cardinall, they vent reproches Most bitterly on you, as putter on Of these exactions: yet the King, our Maister Whose Honor Heaven shield from soile; even he escapes not Language unmannerly; yea, such which breakes The sides of loyalty, and almost appeares In lowd Rebellion. Not almost appeares, It doth appeare; for, upon these Taxations, The Clothiers all not able to maintaine The many to them longing, have put off The Spinsters, Carders, Fullers, Weavers, who Unfit for other life, compeld by hunger And lack of other meanes; in desperate manner Daring th' event too th' teeth, are all in uprore, And danger serves among them. Taxation? Wherein? and what Taxation? My Lord Cardinall, You that are blam'd for it alike with us, Know you of this Taxation? Please you Sir, I know but of a single part in ought Pertaines to th' State: and front but in that File Where others tell steps with me. No, my Lord? You know no more then others? But you frame Things that are knowne alike, which are not wholsome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions (Where of my Soveraigne would have note) they are Most pestilent to th' hearing, and to beare 'em, The Backe is Sacrifice to th' load; They say They are devis'd by you, er else you suffer Too hard an exclamation. Still Exaction: The nature of it, in what kinde let's know, Is this Exaction? I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am boldned Under your promis'd pardon. The Subjects griefe Comes through Commissions, which compels from each The sixt part of his Substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is nam'd, your warres in France: this makes bold mouths, Tounges spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegeance in them; their curses now Live where their prayers did: and it's come to passe, This tractable obedience is a Slave To each incensed Will: I would you Highnesse Would give it quicke consideration; for There is no primer basenesse. By my life, This is against our pleasure. And for me, I have no further gone in this, then by A single voice, and that not past me, but By learned approbation of the Judges: If I am Traduc'd by ignorant Tongues,which neither know My faculties nor person, yet will be The Chronicles of my doing: Let me say, 'Tis but the fate of Place, and the rough Brake That Vertue must goe through: we must not stint Our necessary actions, in the feare To cope malicious Censurers, which ever, As rav'nous Fishes doe a Vessell follow That is new trim'd; but benefit no further Then vainly longing. What we oft doe best, By sicke Interpreters (once weake ones) is Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft Hitting a grosser quality, is cride up For our best Act: if we shall stand still, In feare our motion will be mock'd, or carp'd at, We should take roote here, where we sit; Or sit State Statues onely. Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from feare: Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a President Of this Commission? I beleeve, not any. We must not rend our Subjects from our Lawes, And sticke them in our Will. Sixt part of each? A trembling Contribution; why we take From every Tree, lop, barke, and part o' th' Timber: And though we leave it with a roote thus hackt, The Ayre will drinke the Sap. To every County Where this is question'd, send our Letters, with Free pardon to each man that has deny'de The force of this Commission: pray looke too 't; I put it to your care. A word with you. Let there be Letters writ to every Shire, Of the Kings grace and pardon: the greeved Commons Hardly conceive of me. Let it be nois'd, That through our Intercession, this Revokement And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you Further in the procedding. I am sorry, that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure. It grieves many: The Gentleman is Learn'd, and a most rare Speaker, To Nature none more bound; his trayning such, That he may furnish and instruct great Teachers, And never seeke for ayd out of himselfe: yet see, When these so Noble benefits shall prove Not well dispos'd, the minde growing once corrupt, They turne to vicious formes, ten times more ugly Then ever they were faire. This man so compleat, Who was enrold 'mongst wonders; and when we Almost with ravish'd listning, could not finde His houre of speech, a minute: He, (my Lady) Hath into monstrous habits put the Graces That once were his, and is become as blacke, As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by Us, you shall heare (This was his Gentleman in trust) of him Things to strike Honour sad. Bid him recount The fore-recited practises, whereof We cannot feele too little, heare too much. Stand forth, & with bold spirit relate what you Most like a carefull Subject have collected Out of the Duke of Buckingham. Speake freely. First, it was usuall with him; every day It would infect his Speech: That if the King Should without issue dye; hee'l carry it so To make the Scepter his. These very words I've heard him utter to his Sonne in Law, Lord Aburgany, to whom by oth he menac'd Revenge upon the Cardinall. Please your Highnesse note This dangerous conception in this point, Not frended by his wish to your High person; His will is most malignant, and it stretches Beyond you to your friends. My learn'd Lord Cardinall, Deliver all with Charity. Speake on; How grounded hee his Title to the Crowne Upon our faile; to this poynt hast thou heard him, At any time speake ought? He was brought to this, By a vaine Prophesie of Nicholas Henton. What was that Henton? Sir, a Chartreux Fryer, His Confessor, who fed him every minute With words of Soveraignty. How know'st thou this? Not long before your Highnesse sped to France, The Duke being at the Rose, within the Parish Saint Laurence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech among the Londoners, Concerning the French Journey. I replide, Men feare the French would prove persidious To the Kings danger: presently the Duke Said, 'twas the feare indeed, and that he doubted 'Twould prove the verity of certaine words Spoke by a holy Monke, that oft, sayes he Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Car, my Chaplaine, a choyce howre To heare from him a matter of some moment: Whom after under the Commissions Seale, He sollemnly had sworne, that what he spoke My Chaplaine to no Creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure Confidence, This pausingly ensu'de; neither the King, nor's Heyres (Tell you the Duke) shall prosper, bid him strive To the love o' th' Commonalty, the Duke Shall governe England. If I know you well, You were the Dukes Surveyor, and lost your Office On the Complaint o' th' Tenants; take good heed You charge not in you spleene a Noble person, And spoyle your nobler Soule; I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. Let him on: Goe forward. On my Soule, Ile speake but truth, I told my Lord the Duke, by th' Divels illusions The Monke might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous For this to ruminate on this so farre, untill It forg'd him some designe, which being beleev'd It was much like to doe: He answer'd, Tush, It can doe me no damage; adding futher, That the King in his last Sicknesse faild, The Cardinals and Sir Thomas Lovels heads Should have gone off. Ha? what, so rancke? Ah, ha, There's mischiefe in this man; canst thou say further? I can my Liedge. Proceed. Being at Greenwich, After your Highnesse had reprov'd the Duke About Sir William Blumer. I remember of such a time, being my sworn servant, The Duke retein'd him his. But on: what hence? If (quoth he) I for this had beene committed, As to the Tower, I thought; I would have plaid The Part my Father meant to act upon Th' Usurper Richard, who being at Salsbury, Made suit to come in's presence which if granted, (As he made semblance of his duty) would Have put his knife into him. A Gyant Traytor. Now Madam, may his Highnes live in freedome, And this man out of Prison. God mend all. Ther's something more would out of thee; what say'st? After the Duke his father, with the knife He stretch'd him, and with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes, He did discharge a horrible Oath, whose tenor Was, were he evill us'd, he would outgoe His Father, by as much as a performance Do's an irresolute purpose. There's his period, To sheath his knife in us: he is attach'd, Call him to present tryall: if he may Finde mercy in the Law, 'tis his; if none, Let him not seek't of us: By day and night Hee's Traytor to th' height. Is 't possible the spels of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? New customes, Though they be never so ridiculous, (Nay let 'em be unmanly) yet are follow'd. As farre as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late Voyage, is but meerely A fit or two o' th' face, (but they are shrewd ones) For when they hold 'em, you would sweare directly Their very noses had been Councellours To Pepin or Clotharius, they keepe State so. They have all new legs, And lame ones; one would take it, That never see 'em pace before, the Spaven > A Spring-halt rain'd among 'em. Ch. Death my Lord, Their cloathes are after such a Pagan cut too 't, That sure th' have worne out Christendome: how now? What newes, Sir Thomas Lowell? Faith my Lord, I heare of none but the new Proclamation, That's clapt upon the Court Gate. What is't for? The reformation of our travel'd Gallants, That fill the Court with quarrels, talke, and Taylors. I'm glad 'tis there; Now I would pray our Monsieurs To thinke an English Courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. They must either (For so run the Conditions) leave those remnants Of Foole and Feather, that they got in France, With all their honourable points of ignorance Pertaining thereunto; as Fights and Fire-workes, Abusing better men then they can be Out of a forreigne wisedome, renouncing cleane The faith they have in Tennis and tall Stockings, Short blistred Breeches, and those types of Travell; And understand againe like honest men, Or pack to their old Playfellowes; there, I take it, They may Cum Privilegio, wee away The lag end of their lewdnesse, and be laugh'd at. Tis time to give 'em Physicke, their diseases Are growne so catching. What a losse our Ladies Will have of these trim vanities? I marry, there wil be woe indeed Lords, the slye whorsons Have got a speeding tricke to lay downe Ladies. A French Song, and a Fiddle, ha's no Fellow. The Divell fiddle 'em, I am glad they are going, For sure there's no converting of 'em: now An honest Country Lord as I am, beaten A long time out of play, may bring his plaine song, And have an houre of hearing, and by'r Lady Held currant Musicke too. Well said Lord Sands, Your Colts tooth is not cast yet? No my Lord, Nor shall not while I have a stumpe. Sir Thomas, Whither were you a going? To the Cardinals; Your Lordship is a guest too. O, 'tis true; This night he makes a Supper, and a great one. To many Lords and Ladies; there will be The Beauty of this Kingdome Ile assure you. That Churchman Beares a bounteous minde indeed, A hand as fruitfull as the Land that feeds us, His dewes fall everywhere. No doubt hee's Noble; He had a blacke mouth that said other of him. He may my Lord, Ha's wherewithall in him; Sparing would shew a worse sinne, then ill Doctrine, Men of his way, should be most liberall, They are set heere for examples. True, they are so; But few give so great ones: My Barge stayes; Your Lordship shall along: Come, good Sir Thomas, We shall be late else, which I would not be, For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guilford This night to be Comptrollers. I am your Lordships. Ladyes, A generall welcome from his Grace Salutes ye all; This Night he dedicates To faire content, and you: None heere he hopes In all this Noble Bevy, has brought with her One care abroad: hee would have all as merry: As first, good Company, good wine, good welcome, Can make good people. O my Lord, y' are tardy; The very thought of this faire Company, Clapt wings to me. You are young Sir Harry Guilford. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinall But halfe my Lay-thoughts in him, some of these Should finde a running Banket, ere they rested, I thinke would better please 'em: by my life, They are a sweet society of faire ones. O that your Lordship were but now Confessor, To one or two of these. I would I were, They should finde easie pennance. Faith how easie? As easie as a downe bed would affoord it. Sweet Ladies will it please you sit; Sir Harry Place you that side, Ile take the charge of this: His Grace is entring. Nay, you must not freeze, Two women plac'd together, makes cold weather: My Lord Sands, you are one will keepe 'em waking: Pray sit betweene these Ladies. By my faith, And thanke your Lorship: by your leave sweet Ladies, If I chance to talke a little wilde, forgive me: I had it from my Father. Was he mad Sir? O very mad, exceeding mad, in love too; But he would bite none, just as I doe now, He would Kisse you Twenty with a breath. Well said my Lord: So now y' are fairely seated: Gentlemen, The pennance lyes on you; if these faire Ladies Passe away frowning. For my little Cure, Let me alone. Y' are welcome my faire Guests; that noble Lady Or Gentleman that is not freely merry Is not my Friend. This to confirme my welcome, And to you all good health. Your Grace is Noble, Let me have such a Bowle may hold my thankes. And save me so much talking. My Lord Sands, I am beholding to you: cheere your neighbours: Ladies you are not merry; Gentlemen, Whose fault is this? The red wine first must rise In their faire cheekes my Lord, then wee shall have 'em Talk us to silence. You are a merry Gamster My Lord Sands. Yes, if I make my play: Heer's to your Ladiship, and pledge it Madam: For tis to such a thing. You cannot shew me. I told your Grace, they would talke anon. What's that? Looke out there, some of ye. What warlike voyce, And to what end is this? Nay Ladies feare not; By all the lawes of Warre y' are priviledg'd. How now, what is 't? A noble troupe of Strangers, For so they seeme; th' have left their Barge and landed, And hither make, as great Embassadors From forraigne Princes. Good Lord Chamberlaine, Go, give 'em welcome; you can speake the French tongue And pray receive 'em Nobly, and conduct 'em Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. You have now a broken Banket, but wee'l mend it. A good digestion to you all; and once more I showre a welcome on yee: welcome all. A noble Company: what are their pleasures? Because they speak no English, thus they praid To tell your Grace: That having heard by fame Of this so Noble and so faire assembly, This night to meet heere they could doe no lesse, (Out of the great respect they beare to beauty) But leave their Flockes, and under your faire Conduct Crave leave to view these Ladies, and entreat An houre of Revels with 'em. Say, Lord Chamberlaine, They have done my poore house grace: For which I pay 'em a thousand thankes, And pray 'em take their pleasures. The fairest hand I ever touch'd: O Beauty, Till now I never knew thee. My Lord. Your Grace. Pray tell 'em thus much from me: There should be one amongst 'em by his person More worthy this place then myselfe, to whom (If I but knew him) with my love and duty I would surrender it. I will my Lord. What say they? Such a one, they all confesse There is indeed, which they would have your Grace Find out, and he will take it. Let me see them, By all your good leaves Gentlemen; heere Ile make My royall choyce. Ye have found him Cardinall, You hold a faire Assembly; you doe well Lord: You are a Churchman, or Ile tell you Cardinall, I should judge now unhappily. I am glad Your Grace is growne so pleasant. My Lord Chamberlaine, Prethee come hither, what faire Ladie's that? An 't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullens Daughter, the Viscount Rochford, One of her Highnesse women. By Heaven she is a dainty one. Sweetheart, I were unmannerly to take you out, And not to kisse you. A health Gentlemen, Let it goe round. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the Banket ready I' th' Privy Chamber? Yes, my Lord. Your Grace I feare, with dancing is a little heated. I feare too much. There's fresher ayre my Lord, In the next Chamber. Lead in your Ladies ev'ry one: Sweet Partner, I must not yet forsake you: Let's be merry, Good my Lord Cardinall: I have a dozen healths, To drinke to these faire Ladies, and a measure To lead 'em once againe, and then let's dreame Who's best in favour. Let the Musicke knock it. Whether away so fast? O, God save ye: Ev'n to the Hall, to heare what shall become Of the great Duke of Buckingham. Ile save you That labour Sir. All's now done but the Ceremony Of bringing backe the Prisoner. Were you there? Yes indeed was I. Pray speake what ha's happen'd. You may guesse quickly what. Is he found guilty? Yes truely is he, And condemn'd upon 't. I am sorry fort. So are a number more. But pray how past it? Ile tell you in a little. The great Duke Came to the Bar; where, to his accusations He pleaded still not guilty, and alleadged Many sharpe reasons to defeat the Law. The Kings Atturney on the Contrary, Urg'd on the Examinations, proofes, confessions Of divers witnesse, which the Duke desir'd To him brought viva voce to his face; At which appear'd against him, his Surveyor Sir Gilbert Pecke his Chancellour, and John Car, Confessor to him, with that Divell Monke, Hopkins, that make this mischiefe. That was hee That fed him with his Prophecies. The same, All these accus'd him strongly, which he faine Would have flung him from him; but indeed he couldnot; And so his Peeres upon this evidence, Have found him guilty of high Treason. Much He spoke, and learnedly for life: But all Was either pittied in him or forgotten. After all this, how did he beare himselfe? When he was brought agen to th' Bar, to heare His Knell rung out, his Judgement, he was stir'd With such an Agony, he sweat extreamly, And somthing spoke in choller, ill, and hasty: But he fell to himselfe againe, and sweetly, In all the rest shew'd a most Noble patience. I doe not thinke he feares death. Sure he does not, He never was so womanish, the cause He may a little grieve at. Certainly, The Cardinall is the end of this. Tis likely, By all conjectures: First Kildares Attendure; Then Deputy of Ireland, who remov'd Earle Surrey, was sent thither, and in hast too, Least he should helpe his Father. That tricke of State Was a deepe envious one, At his returne, No doubt he will requite it; this is noted (And generally) who ever the King favours, The Cardnall instantly will finde imployment, And farre enough from Court too. All the Commons Hate him perniciously, and o' my Conscience Wish him ten faddom deepe: This Duke as much They love and doate on: call him bounteous Buckingham, The Mirror of all courtesie. Stay there Sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speake of. Let's stand close and behold him. All good people, You that thus farre have come to pitty me: Heare what I say, and then goe home and lose me. I have this day receiv'd a Traitors judgement, And by that name must dye; yet Heaven beare witnes, And if I have a Conscience, let it sincke me, Even as the Axe falls, if I be not faithfull. The Law I beare no mallice for my death, T' has done upon the premises, but Justice: But those that sought it, I could wish more Christians: (Be what they will) I heartily forgive 'em; Yet let 'em looke they glory not in mischiefe; Nor build their evils on the graves of great men; For then, my guiltlesse blood must cry against 'em For further life in this world I ne're hope, Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies More then I dare make faults. You that lov'd me, And dare be bold to weepe for Buckingham, His Noble Friends and Fellowes; whom to leave Is only bitter to him, only dying: Goe with me like good Angels to my end, And as the long divorce of Steele fals on me, Make of your Prayers one sweet Sacrifice, And lift my Soule to Heaven. Lead on a Gods name. I doe beseech your Grace, for charity If ever any malice in your heart Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free to forgive you As I would be forgiven: I forgive all. There cannot be those numberlesse offences Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with: No blacke Envy shall make my Grave. Commend mee to his Grace: And if he speake of Buckingham; pray tell him, You met him halfe in Heaven: my vowes and prayers Yet are the Kings; and till my Soule forsake, Shall cry for blessings on him. May he live Longer then I have time to tell his years; Ever beloved and loving, may his Rule be; And when old Time shall lead him to his end, Goodnesse and he, fill up one one Monument. To th' water side I must conduct your Grace; Then give my Charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end. Prepare there, The Duke is comming: See the Barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suites The Greatnesse of his Person. Nay, Sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my State now will but mocke me. When I came hither, I was Lord High Constable, And Duke of Buckinghaam: now poore Edward Bohun; Yet I am richer then my base Accusers, That never knew what Truth meant: I now seale it; And with that bloud will make 'em one day groane for 't. My noble Father Henry of Buckingham, Who first rais'd head against Usurping Richard, Flying for succour to his Servant Banister, Being distrest; was by that wretch betraid, And without Tryall, fell; Gods peace be with him. Henry the Seaventh succeding, truly pittying My Fathers losse; like a most Royall Prince Restor'd me to my Honours: and out of ruines Made my Name once more Noble. Now his Sonne, Henry the Eight, Life, Honour, Name and all That made me happy; at one stroake ha's taken For ever from the World. I had my Tryall, And must needs say a Noble one; which makes me A little happier then my wretched Father: Yet thus farre we are one in Fortunes; both Fell by our Servants, by those Men we lov'd most: A most unnaturall and faithlesse Service. Heaven ha's an end in all: yet, you that heare me, This from a dying man receive as certaine: Where you are liberall of your loves and Councels, Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends, And give your hearts to; when they once perceive The least rub in your fortunes, fall away Like water from ye, never found againe But where they meane to sinke ye: all good people Pray for me, I must now forsake ye; the last houre Of my long weary life is come upon me: Farewell; and when you would say somthing that is sad, Speake how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me. O, this is full of pity; Sir, it cals I feare, too many curses on their heads That were the Authors. If the Duke be guiltlesse, 'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inckling Of an ensuing evill, if it fall, Greater then this. Good Angels keepe it from us: What may it be? you doe not doubt my faith Sir? This Secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceale it. Let me have it: I doe not talke much. I am confident; You shall Sir: Did you not of late dayes heare A buzzing of a Separation Betweene the King and Katherine? Yes, but it held not: For when the King once heard it out of anger He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight To stop the rumor; and allay those tongues That durst disperse it. But that slander Sir, Is found a truth now: for it growes agen Fresher then e're it was; and held for certaine The King will venture at it. Either the Cardinall, Or some about him neere, have out of malice To the good Queene, possest him with a scruple That will undoe her: To confirme this too, Cardinall Campeus is arriv'd, and lately, As all thinke for this busines. Tis the Cardinall; And meerely to revenge him on the Emperour, For not bestowing on him at his asking, The Archbishopricke of Toledo, this is purpos'd. I thinke You have hit the marke; but is't not cruell, That she should feele the smart of this: The Cardinall Will have his will, and she must fall. 'Tis wofull. Wee are too open heere to argue this : Let's thinke in private more. My Lord, the Horses your Lordship sent for, with the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the North. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my Lord Cardinalls, by Commission, and maine power tooke 'em from me, with this reason: his maister would bee serv'd be%fore a Subiect, if not before the King, which stop'd our mouthes Sir. I feare he will indeed; well, let him have them; hee will have all I thinke. Well met my Lord Chamberlaine. Good day to both your Graces. How is the King imployd? I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. What's the cause? It seemes the Marriage with his Brothers Wife Ha's crept too neere his Conscience. No, his Conscience Ha's crept too neere another Ladie. Tis so; This is the Cardinals doing: The King-Cardinall, That blinde Priest, like the eldest Sonne of Fortune, Turnes what he list. The King will know him one day. Pray God he doe, Hee'l never know himselfe else. How holily he workes in all his businesse, And with what zeale? For now he has crackt the League Between us & the Emperor (The Queens great Nephew) He dives into the Kings Soule, and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the Conscience, Feares, and Despaires, and all these for his Marriage. And out of all these, to restore the King, He counsels a Divorce, a losse of her That like a Jewell, ha's hung twenty yeares About his necke, yet never lost her lustre; Of her that loves him with that excellence, That Angels love good men with: Even of her That when the greatest stroake of Fortune falls Will blesse the King: and is not this course pious? Heaven keep me from such councel: tis most true These newes are every where every tongue speaks 'em, And every true heart weepes for 't. All that dare Looke into these affaires, see this maine end, The French Kings Sister. Heaven will one day open The Kings eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bad man. And free us from his slavery. We had need pray, And heartily, for our deliverance; Or this imperious man will worke us all From Princes into Pages: all mens honours Lie like one lumpe before him, to be fashion'd Into what pitch he please. For me, my Lords, I love him not, nor feare him, there's my Creede: As I am made without him, so Ile stand, If the King please: his Curses and his blessings Touch me alike: th' are breath I not beleeve in. I knew him and I know him: so I leave him To him that made him proud; the Pope. Let's in; And with some other busines, put the King From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him: My Lord, youle beare us company? Excuse me, The King ha's sent me otherwhere: Besides You'l finde a most unfit time to disturbe him: Health to your Lordships. Thankes my good Lord Chamberlaine. How sad he lookes; sure he is much afflicted. Who's there? Ha? Pray God he be not angry. Who's there I say? How dare you thrust yourselves Into my private Meditations? Who am I? Ha? A gracious King, that pardons all offences Malice ne're meant: Our breach of Duty this way. Is bussinesse of Estate; in which, we come To know your Royall pleasure. Ye are too bold: Go too; Ile make ye know your times of businesse: Is this an houre for temporall affaires? Ha? Who's there? my good Lord Cardinall? O my Wolsey, The quiet of my wounded Conscience; Thou art a cure fit for a King; you'r welcome Most learned Reverend Sir, into our Kingdome, Use us, and it: My good Lord, have great care, I be not found a Talker. Sir, you cannot; I would your Grace would give us but an houre Of private conference. We are busie; goe. This Priest ha's no pride in him? Not to speake of: I would not be so sicke though for his place: But this cannot continue. If it doe, Ile venture one; have at him. I another. Your Grace ha's given a President of wisedome Above all Princes, in committing freely Your scruple to the voyce of Christendome: Who can be angry now? What Envy reach you? The Spaniard tide by blood and favour to her, Must now confesse, if they have any goodnesse, The Tryall, just and Noble. All the Clerkes, (I meane the learned ones in Christian Kingdomes) Have their free voyces. Rome (the Nurse of Judgement) Invited by your Noble selfe, hath sent One generall Tongue unto us. This good man This just and learned Priest, Cardnall Campeius, Whom once more, I present unto your Highnesse. And once more in mine armes I bid him welcome, And thanke the holy Conclave for their loves, They have sent me such a Man, I would have wish'd for. Your Grace must needs deserve all strangers loves, You are so Noble: To your Highnesse hand I tender my Commision; by whose vertue, The Court of Rome commanding. You my Lord Cardinall of Yorke, are joyn'd with me their Servant, In the unpartiall judging of this Businesse. Two equall men: The Queene shall be acquainted Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner? I know your Majesty, ha's alwayes lov'd her So deare in heart, not to deny her that A Woman of lesse Place might aske by Law; Schollers allow'd freely to argue for her. I and the best she shalle have; and my favour To him that does best, God forbid els; Cardinall, Prethee call Gardiner to me, my new Secretary. I find him a fit fellow. Give me your hand: much joy & favour to you; You are the Kings now. But to be commanded For ever by your Grace, whose hand ha's rais'd me. Come hither Gardiner. My Lord of Yorke, was not one Doctor Pase In this mans place before him? Yes, he was. Was he not held a learned man? Yes surely. Beleeve me, there's an ill opinion spread then, Even of your selfe Lord Cardinall. How? of me? They will sticke to say, you envide him; And fearing he would rise (he was so vertuous) Kept him a forraigne man still, which so greev'd him, That he ran mad, and dide. Heav'ns peace be with him: That's Christian care enough: for living Murmurers, There's places of rebuke. He was a Foole; For he would needs be vertuous. That good Fellow, If I command him followes my appointment, I will have none so neere els. Learne this Brother, We live not to be grip'd dy meaner persons. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queene. The most convenient place, that I can thinke of For such receipt of Learning, is Black-Fryers: There ye shall meete about this waighty busines. My Wolsey, see it furnish'd, 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. Not for that neither; here's the pang that pinches. His Highnesse, having liv'd 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 harme-doing; Oh, now after So many courses of the Sun enthroaned, Still growing in a Majesty and pompe, the which To leave a thousand fold more bitter, then 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire After this Processe. To give her the avaunt, it is a pitty Would move a Monster. Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her. Oh Gods will, much better She ne're had knowne pompe; though 't be temporall, Yet if that quarrell. Fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging As soule and bodies severing. Alas poore Lady, Shee's a stranger now againe. So much the more Must pitty drop upon her; verily I sweare, tis better to be lowly borne, And range with humble livers in Content, Then to be perk'd up in a glistring griefe, And weare a golden sorrow. Our content Is our best having. By my troth, and Maidenhead, I would not be a Queene. Beshrew me, I would, And venture Maidenhead for 't, and so would you For all this spice of your Hipocrisie: You that have so faire parts of Woman on you, Have (too) a Womans heart, which ever yet Affected Eminence, Wealth, Soveraignty; Which to say sooth, are Blessings; and which guifts (Saving your mincing) the capacity Of your soft Chiverell Conscience, would receive, If you might please to strech it. Nay, good troth. Yes troth, & troth; you would not be a Queen? No, not for all the riches under Heaven. Tis strange; a threepence bow'd would hire me Old as I am, to Queene it: but I pray you, What thinke you of a Dutchesse? Have you limbs To beare that load of Title? No in truth. Then you are weakly made; plucke off a little, I would not be a young Count in your way, For more then blushing comes to: If your backe Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, tis too weake Ever to get a Boy. How you doe talke; I sweare againe, I would not be a Queene, For all the world: In faith, for little England You'ld venture an emballing: I my selfe Would for Carnarvanshire, although there long'd No more to th' Crowne but that: Lo, who comes here? Good morrow Ladies; what wer't worth to know The secret of your conference? My good Lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our Mistris Sorrowes we were pittying. It was a gentle businesse, and becomming The action of good women, there is hope All will be well. Now I pray God, Amen. You beare a gentle minde, & heav'nly blessings Follow such Creatures. That you may, faire Lady Perceive I speake sincerely, and high notes Tane of your many vertues; the Kings Majesty Commends his good opinion of you, to you; and Doe's purpose honour to you no lesse flowing, Then Marchionesse of Pembrooke; to which Title, A Thousand pound a yeare, Annuall support, Out of his Grace, he addes. I doe not know What kinde of my obedience, I should tender; More then my All, is Nothing: Nor my Prayers Are not words duely hallowed; not my Wishes More worth, then empty vanities: yet Prayers & Wishes Are all I can returne. 'Beseech your Lordship, Vouchsafe to speake my thankes, and my obedience, As from a blushing Handmaid, to his Highnesse; Whose health and Royalty I pray for. Lady; I shall not faile t' approve the faire conceit The King hath of you. I have perus'd her well, Beauty and Honour in her are so mingled, That they have caught the King: and who knowes yet But from this Lady, may proceed a Jemme, To lighten all this Ile. I'le to the King, And say I spoke with you. My honour'd Lord. Why this it is: See, see, I have beene begging sixteene yeares in Court (Am yet a Courtier beggerly) not could Come pat betwixt too early, and too late For any suit of pounds: and you, (oh fate) A very fresh Fish heere; fye, fye, fye upon This compel'd fortune: have your mouth fild up, Before you open it. This is strange to me. How tasts it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no: There was a Lady once (tis an old Story) That would not be a Queene, that would she not For all the mud in Egypt; have you heard it? Come you are pleasant. With your Theame, I could O're-mount the Larke: The Marchionesse of Pembrooke? A thousand pounds a yeare, for pure respect? No other obligation? By my Life, That promises mo thousands: Honours traine Is longer then his fore-skirt; by this time I know your backe will beare a Dutchesse. Say, Are you not stronger then you were? Good Lady, Make your selfe 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 thinke what followes. The Queene is comfortlesse, and wee forgetfull In our long absence: pray doe not deliver, What heere y' have heard to her. What doe you thinke me = Whil'st our Commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded. What's the need? It hath already publiquely bene read, And on all sides th' Authority allow'd, You may then spare that time. Bee 't so, proceed. Say, Henry K. of England, come into the Court. Henry King of England, &c. Heere. Say, Katherine Queene of England, Come into the Court. Katherine Queene of England, &c. Sir, I desire you do me Right and Justice, And to bestow your pitty on me; for I am a most poore Woman, and a Stranger, Borne out of your Dominions: having heere No Judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equall Friendship and Proceeding. Alas Sir: In what have I offended you? What cause Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceede to put me off, And take your good Grace from me? Heaven witnesse, I have bene to you, a true and humble Wife, At all times to your will conformable: Ever in feare to kindle your Dislike, Yea, subject to your Countenance: Glad, or sorry As I saw it inclin'd? When was the houre I ever contradicted your Desire? Or made it not mine too? Of which of your Friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine Eneny? 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 minde, That I have beene your Wife, in this Obedience, Upward of twenty yeares, and have bene blest With many Children by you. If in the course And processe of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine Honor, aught; My bond to Wedlocke, or my Love and Dutie Against your Sacred Person; in Gods name Turne me away: and let the fowl'st Contempt Shut doore upon me, and so give me up To the sharp'st kinde of Justice. Please you, Sir, The King your Father, was reputed for A Prince most Prudent; of an excellent And unmatch'd Wit, and Judgement. Ferdinand My Father, King of Spaine, was reckon'd one The wisest Prince, that there had reign'd, by many A yeare before. It is not to be question'd, That they had gather'd a wise Councell to them Of every Realme, that did debate this Businesse, Who deem'd our Marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly Beseech you Sir, to spare me, till I may Be by my Friends in Spaine, advis'd; whose Counsaile I will implore. If not, i' th' name of God Your pleasure be fulfill'd. You have heere Lady, (And of your choice) these Reverend Fathers, men Of singular Integrity, and Learning; Yea, the elect o' th' Land, who are assembled To pleade your Cause. It shall be therefore bootlesse, That longer you desire the Court, as well For your owne quiet, as to rectifie What is unsetled in the King. His Grace Hath spoken well, and justly: Therefore Madam, It's fit this Royall Session do proceed, And that (without delay) their Arguments Be now produc'd, and heard. Lord Cardinall, to you I speake. Your pleasure, Madam. Sir, I am about to weep; but thinking that We are a Queene (or long have dream'd so) certaine The daughter of a King, my drops of teares, Ile turne to sparkes of fire. Be patient yet. I will, when you are humble; Nay before, Or God will punish me. I do beleeve (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 blowne this Coale, betwixt my Lord, and me; (Which Gods dew quench) therefore, I say againe, I utterly abhorre; yea, from my Soule Refuse you for my Judge, whom yet once more I hold my most malicious Foe, and thinke not At all a Friend to truth. I do professe You speak not like your selfe: who ever yet Have stood to Charity, and displayd th' effects Of disposition gentle, and of wisedome, Ore-topping womans powre. Madam, you do me wrong I have no Spleene against you, no injustice For you, or any: How farre I have proceeded, Or how farre further (Shall) is warranted By a Commission from the Consistorie, Yea, the whole Consistorie of Rome. You charge me, That I have blowne this Coale: I do deny it, The King is present: If it be knowne 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 knowes 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 Highnesse shall speake in, I do beseech You (gracious Madam) to unthinke your speaking, And to say so no more. My Lord, my Lord, I am a simple woman, much too weake T' oppose your cunning. Y' are meek, & humble-mouth'd You signe your Place, and Calling, in full seeming, With Meekenesse and Humilitie: but your Heart Is cramm'd with Arrogancie, Spleene, and Pride. You have by Fortune, and his Highnesse favors, Gone slightly o're lowe steppes, and now are mounted Where Powres are your Retainers, and your words (Domestickes to you) serve your will, as 't please Your selfe pronounce their Office. I must tell you, You tender more your persons Honor, then Your high profession Spirituall. That agen I do refuse you for my Judge, and heere Before you all, Appeale unto the Pope, To bring my whole Cause 'fore his Holinesse, And to be judg'd by him. The Queene is obstinate, Stubborne to Justice, apt to accuse it, and Disdainfull to be tride by 't; tis not well. Shee's going away. Call her againe. Katherine Q of England, come into the Court. Madam, you are cald backe. What need you note it? pray you keep your way, When you are cald returne. Now the Lord helpe, They vexe me past my patience. pray you passe on; I will not tarry: no, nor ever more Upon this businesse my appearance make. In any of their Courts. Goe thy wayes Kate, That man i' th' world, who shall report ha's A better Wife, let him in naught be trusted, For speaking false in that; thou art alone (If thy rare qualities, sweet gentlenesse, Thy meeknesse Saint-like, Wife-like Government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Soveraigne and Pious els, could speake thee out) The Queene of earthly Queenes: Shee's Noble borne; And like her true Nobility, she ha's Carried her selfe towards me. Most gracious Sir, In humblest manner I require you Highnes, That it shall please you to declare in hearing Of all these eares (for where I am rob'd and bound, There must I be unloos'd, although not there At once, and fully satisfide) whether ever I Did broach this busines to your Highnes, or Laid any scruple in your way which might Induce you to the question on 't: or ever Have to you, but with thankes to God for such A Royall Lady, spake one, the least word that might Be to the prejudice of her present State, Or touch of her good Person? My Lord Cardinall, I doe excuse you; yea, upon mine Honour, I free you from 't: You are not to be taught That you have many enemies, that know not Why they are so; but like to Village Curres, Bark when their fellowes doe. By some of these The Queene is put in anger; y' are excus'd But will you be more justifi'de? You ever Have wish'd the sleeping of this busines, never desir'd It to be stir'd; but oft have hindred, oft The passages made toward it; on my Honour, I speake my good Lord Cardnall, to this point; And thus farre cleare him. Now, what mov'd me too 't, I will be bold with time and your attention: Then marke th' inducement. Thus it came; give heede too 't: My Conscience first receiv'd a tendernes, Scruple, and pricke, on certaine Speeches utter'd By th' Bishop of Bayon, then French Embassador, Who had beene hither sent on the debating And Marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleance, and Our Daughter Mary: I' th' Progresse of this busines, Ere a determinate resolution, hee (I meane the Bishop) did require a respite, Wherein he might the King his Lord advertise Whether our Daughter were legitimate, Respecting this our Marriage with the Dowager, Sometimes our Brothers Wife. This respite shooke The bosome of my Conscience, enter'd me; Yea, with a spitting power, and made to tremble The region of my Breast, which forc'd such way, That many maz'd considerings, did throng And prest in with this Caution. First, me thought I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had Commanded Nature, that my Ladies wombe If it conceiv'd a male-child by me, should Doe no more Offices of life too 't; then The Grave does to th' dead: For her Male Issue, Or di'de where they were made, or shortly after This world had ayr'd them. Hence I tooke a thought, This was a Judgement on me, that my Kingdome (Well worthy the best Heyre o' th' World) should not Be gladded in 't by me. Then followes, that I weigh'd the danger which my Realme stood in By this my Issues faile, and that gave to me Many a groaning throw: thus hulling in The wild Sea of my Conscience, I did steere Toward this remedy, whereupon we are Now present heere together: that's to say, I meant to rectifie my Conscience, which I then did feele full sicke, and yet not well, By all the reverend Fathers of the Land, And Doctors learn'd. First I began in private, With you my Lord of Lincolne; you remember How under my oppression I did reeke When I first mov'd you. Very well my Liedge. I have spoke long, be pleas'd your selfe to say How farre you satisfide me. So please your Highnes, The question did at first to stagger me, Bearing a State of mighty moment in 't, And consequence of dread, that I committed The daringst Counsaile which I had to doubt, And did entreate your Highnes to this course, Which you are running heere. I then mov'd you, My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave To make this present Summons unsolicited. I left no Reverend Person in this Court; But by particular consent proceeded Under your hands and Seales; therefore goe on, For no dislike i' th' world against the person Of the good Queene; but the sharpe thorny points Of my alleadged reasons, drives this forward: Prove but our Marriage lawfull, by my Life And Kingly Dignity, we are contented To weare our mortall State to come, with her, (Katherine our Queene) before the primest Creature That's Parragon' o' th' World. So please your Highnes, The Queene being absent, 'tis a needfull fitnesse, That we adjourne this Court till further day; Meane while, must be an earnest motion Made to the Queene to call backe her Appeale She intends unto his Holinesse. I may perceive These Cardinals trifle with me: I abhorre This dilatory sloth, and trickes of Rome. My learn'd and welbeloved Servant Cranmer, Prethee returne, with thy approch: I know, My comfort comes along: breake up the Court; I say, set on. Take thy Lute wench, My soule growes sad with troubles, Sing, and disperse 'em if thou canst: leave working: Orpheus with his Lute made Trees, And the Mountaine tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing. To his Musicke, Plants and Flowers Ever sprung; as Sunne and Showers, There had made a lasting Spring. Every thing that heard him play, Even the Billowes of the Sea, Hung their heads, & then lay by. In sweet Musicke is such Art, Killing care, & griefe of heart, Fall asleepe, or hearing dye. How now? And 't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals Wait in the presence. Would they speake with me? They wil'd me say so Madam. Pray their Graces To come neere: what can be their busines With me, a poore weake woman, falne from favour? I doe not like their comming; now I thinke on 't They should bee good men, their affaires as righteous: But all Hoods, make not Monkes. Peace to your Highnesse. Your Graces find me heere part of a Houswife, (I would be all) against the worst may happen: What are your pleasures with me, reverent Lords? May it please you Noble Madam, to withdraw Into your private Chamber; we shall give you The full cause of our comming. Speake it heere. There's nothing I have done yet o' my Conscience Deserves a Corner: would all other Women Could speake this with as free a Soule as I doe. My Lords, I care not (so much I am happy Above a number) if my actions Were tri'de by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em, Envy and base opinion set against 'em, I know my life so even. If your busines Seeke me out, and that way I am Wife in; Out with it boldly: Truth loves open dealing. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas Regina serenissima. O good my Lord, no Latin; I am not such a Truant since my comming, As not to know the Language I have liv'd in: A strange Tongue makes my cause more strange, suspitious: Pray speake in English; heere are some will thanke you, If you speake truth, for their poore Mistris sake; Beleeve me she ha's had much wrong. Lord Cardinall, The willing'st sinne I ever yet committed, May be absolv'd in English. Noble Lady, I am sorry my integrity shoul breed, (And service to his Majesty and you) So deepe suspition, where all faith was meant; We come not by the way of Accusation, To taint that honour every good Tongue blesses; Nor to betray you any way to sorrow; You have too much good Lady: But to know How you stand minded in the waighty difference Betweene the King and you, and to deliver (Like free and honest men) our just opinions, And comforts to our cause. Most honour'd Madam, My Lord of Yorke, out of his Noble nature, Zeale and obedience he still bore your Grace, Forgetting (like a good man) your late Censure Both of his truth and him (which was too farre) Offers, as I doe, in a signe of peace, His Service, and Counsell. To betray me. My Lords, I thanke you both for your good wills, Ye speake like honest men, (pray God ye prove so) But how to make ye sodainly an Answere In such a poynt of weight, so neere mine Honour, (More neere my Life I feare) with my weake wit; And to such men of gravity and learning; In truth I know not. I was set at worke, Among my Maids, full little (God knowes) looking Either for such men, or such businesse; For her sake that I have beene, for I feele The last fit of my Greatnesse; good your Graces Let me have time and Councell for my Cause: Alas, I am a Woman frendlesse, hopelesse. Madam, You wrong the Kings love with these feares, Your hopes and friends are infinite. In England, But little for my profit can you thinke Lords, That any English man dare give me Councell? Or be a knowne friend 'gainst his Highnes pleasure, (Though he be growne 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 heere, They are (as all my other comforts) far hence In mine owne Countrey Lords. I would your Grace Would leave your greefes, and take my Counsell. How Sir? Put your maine cause into the Kings protection, Hee's loving and most gracious. 'Twill be much, Both for your Honour better, and your Cause: For if the tryall of the Law o'retake ye, You'l part away disgrac'd. He tels you rightly. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruine: Is this your Christian Councell? Out upon ye. Heaven is above all yet; there sits a Judge. That no King can corrupt. Your rage mistakes us. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, Upon my Soule two reverend Cardinall Vertues: But Cardinall Sins, and hollow hearts I feare ye: Mend 'em for shame my Lords: Is this your comfort? The Cordiall that ye bring a wretched Lady? A woman lost among ye, laugh't at, scornd? I will not with ye halfe my miseries, I have more Charity. But say I warn'd ye; Take heed, for heavens sake take heed, least at once The burthen of my sorrowes, fall upon ye. Madam, this is a meere distraction, You turne the good we offer, into envy. Ye turne me into nothing. Woe upon ye, And all such false Professors. Would you have me (If you have any Justice, any Pitty, If ye be any thing but Churchmens habits) Put my sicke cause into his hands, that hates me? Alas, ha's banish'd me his Bed already, His Love, too long ago. I am old my Lords, And all the Fellowship I hold now with him Is onely my Obedience. What can happen To me, above this wretchednesse? All your Studies Make me a Curse, like this. Your feares are worse. Have I liv'd thus long (let me speake my selfe, Since Vertue findes no friends) a Wife, a true one? A Woman (I dare say without Vainglory) Never yet branded with Suspition? Have I, with all my full Affections Still met the King? Lov'd him next Heav'n? Obey'd him? Bin (out of fondnesse) superstitious to him? Almost forgot my Prayres to content him: And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well Lords. Bring me a constant woman to her Husband, One that ne're dream'd a Joy, beyond his pleasure; And to that Woman (when she has done most) Yet will I adde an Honor; a great Patience. Madam, you wander from the good We ayme at. My Lord, I dare not make my selfe so guiltie, To give up willingly that Noble Title Your master wed me to: nothing but death Shall e're divorce my Dignities. Pray heare me. Would I had never trod this English Earth, Or felt the Flatteries that grow upon it: Ye have Angels Faces; but Heaven knowes your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched Lady? I am the most unhappy Woman living. Alas (poore Wenches) where are now your Fortunes? Shipwrack'd upon a Kingdome, where no Pitty, No Friends, no Hope, no Kindred weepe for me? Almost no Grave allow'd me? Like the Lilly That once was Mistris of the Field, and flourish'd Ile hang my head, and perish. If your Grace Could but be brought to know, our Ends are honest, Youl'd feele more comfort. Why shold we (good Lady) Upon what cause wrong you? Alas, our Places, The way of our Professions is against it; We are to Cure such sorrowes, not sowe 'em. For Goodnesse sake, consider what you do, How you may hurt your selfe: I, utterly Grow from the Kings Acquaintance, by this Carriage. The hearts of Princes kisse Obedience, So much they love it. But to stubborne Spirits, They swell and grow, as terrible as stormes. I know you have a Gentle, Noble temper, A Soule as even as a Calme; Pray thinke us, Those we professe, Peace-makers, Friends, and Servants. Madam you'l finde it so: You wrong your Vertues With these weake Womens feares. A Noble Spirit As yours was, put into you, ever casts Such doubts as false Coine from it. The King loves you, Beware you loose it not: For us (if you please To trust us in your businesse) we are ready To use our utmost Studies, in your service. Do what ye will, my Lords: And pray forgive me; If I have us'd my selfe unmannerly, You know I am a Woman, lacking wit To make a seemely answer to such persons. Pray do my service to his Majestie, He ha's my heart yet, and shall have my Prayers While I shall have my life. Come reverend Fathers, Bestow your Councels on me. She now begges That little thought when she set footing heere, She should have bought her Dignities so deere. If you will now unite in your Complaints, And force them with a Constancy, the Cardinall Cannot stand under them. If you omit The offer of this time, I cannot promise, But that you shall sustaine moe new disgraces, With these you beare alreadie. I am joyfull To meete the least occasion, that may give me Remembrance of my Father-in-Law, the Duke, To be reveng'd on him. Which of the Peeres Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least Strangely neglected? When did he regard The stampe of Noblenesse in any person Out of himselfe? My Lords, you speake your pleasures: What he deserves of you and me, I know: What we can do to him (though now the time Gives way to us) I much feare. If you cannot Barre his accesse to' th' King, never attempt Any thing on him: for he hath a Witchcraft Over the King in's Tongue. O feare him not, His spell in that is out: the King hath found Matter against him, that for ever marres The Hony of his Language. No, he's setled (Not to come off) in his displeasure. Sir, I should be glad to heare such Newes as this Once every houre. Beleeve it, this is true. In the Divorce, his contrarie proceedings Are all unfolded: wherein he appeares, As I would wish mine Enemy. How came His practices to light? Most strangely. O how? how? The Cardinals Letters to the Pope miscarried, And came to th' eye o' th' King, wherein was read How that the Cardinall did intreat his Holinesse To stay the Judgement o' th' Divorce; for if It did take place, I do (quoth he) perceive My King is tangled in affection, to A Creature of the Queenes, Lady Anne Bullen. Ha's the King this? Beleeve it. Will this worke? The King in this perceives him, how he coasts And hedges his owne way. But in this point, All his trickes founder, and he brings his Physicke After his Patients death; the King already Hath married the faire Lady. Would he had. May you be happy in your wish my Lord, For I professe you have it. Now all my joy Trace the Conjunction. My Amen too 't. All mens. There's order given for her Coronation: Marry this is yet but yong, and may be left To some eares unrecounted. But my Lords She is a gallant Creature, and compleate In minde and feature. I perswade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this Land, which shall In it be memoriz'd. But will the King Digest this Letter of the Cardinals? The Lord forbid. Marry Amen. No, no: There be moe Waspes that buz about his Nose Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinall Campeius, Is stolne away to Rome, hath 'tane no leave, Ha's left the cause o' th' King unhandled, and Is posted as the Agent of our Cardinall, To second all his plot. I do assure you, The King cry'de Ha, at this. Now God incense him, And let him cry Ha, lowder. But my Lord When returnes Cranmer? He is return'd in his Opinions, which Have satisfied the King for his Divorce, Together with all famous Colledges Almost in Christendome: shortly (I beleeve) His second Marriage shall be publishd, and Her Coronation. Katherine no more Shall be call'd Queene, but Princesse Dowager, And Widdow to Prince Arthur. This same Cranmer's A worthy Fellow, and hath tane much paine In the Kings businesse. He ha's, and we shall see him For it and Arch-byshop. So I heare. 'Tis so. The Cardinall. Observe, observe, hee's moody. The Packet Cromwell, Gav't you the King? To his owne hand, in's Bed-chamber. Look'd he o' th' inside of the Paper? Presently He did unseale them, and the first he view'd He did it with a Serious minde: a heede Was in his countenance. You he bad Attend him heere this Morning. Is he ready to come abroad? I thinke by this he is. Leave me a while. It shall be to the Dutches of Alanson, The French Kings Sister; He shall marry her. Anne Bullen? No: Ile no Anne Bullens for him, There's more in 't then faire Visage. Bullen? No, wee'l no Bullens: Speedily I wish To heare from Rome. The Marchionesse of Penbroke? He's discontented. Maybe he heares the King Does whet his Anger to him. Sharpe enough, Lord for thy Justice. The late Queenes Gentlewoman? A Knights Daughter To be her Mistris Mistris? The Queenes, Queene? This Candle burnes not cleere, 'tis I must snuffe it, Then out it goes. What though I know her vertuous And well deserving? yet I know her for A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholsome to Our cause, that she should lye i' th' bosome of Our hard rul'd King. Againe, there is sprung up An Heretique, an Arch-one; Cranmer, one Hath crawl'd into the favour of the King, And is his Oracle. He is vex'd at something. I would 'twer somthing that would fret the string, The Master-cord on's heart. The King, the King. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated To his owne portion? And what expence by' th' houre Seemes to flow from him? How, i' th' name of Thrift Does he rake this together? Now my Lords, Saw you the Cardinall? My Lord, we have Stood heere observing him. Some strange Commotion Is in his braine: He bites his lip, and starts, Stops on a sodaine, lookes upon the ground, Then layes his finger on his Temple: straight Springs out into fast gate, then stops againe, Strikes his brest hard, and anon, he casts His eye against the Moone: in most strange Postures We have seene him set himselfe. It may well be, There is a mutiny in's minde. This morning, Papers of State he sent me, to peruse As I requir'd: and wot you what I found There (on my Conscience put unwittingly) Forsooth an Inventory, thus importing The severall parcels of his Plate, his Treasure, Rich Stuffes and Ornaments of Houshold, which I finde at such proud Rate, that it out-speakes Possession of a Subject. It's Heavens will, Some Spirit put this paper in the Packet, To blesse your eye withall. If we did thinke His Contemplation were above the earth, And fixt on Spirituall object, he should still Dwell in his Musings, but I am affraid His Thinkings are below the Moone, not worth His serious considering. Heaven forgive me, Ever God blesse your Highnesse. Good my Lord, You are full of Heavenly stuffe, and beare the Inventory Of your best Graces, in your minde; the which You were now running o're: you have scarse time To steale from Spirituall leysure, a briefe span To keep your earthly Audit, sure in that I deeme you an ill Husband, and am gald To have you therein my Companion. Sir, For Holy Offices I have a time; a time To thinke upon the part of business, which I beare i' th' State: and Nature does require Her times of preservation, which perforce I her fraile sonne, among'st my Brethren mortall, Must give my tendance to. You have said well. And ever may your Highnesse yoake together, (As I will lend you cause) my doing well, With my well saying. 'Tis well said agen, And 'tis a kinde of good deede to say well, And yet words are no deeds. My Father lov'd you, He said he did, and with his deed did Crowne His word upon you. Since I had my Office, I have kept you next my Heart, have not alone Imploy'd you where high Profits might come home, But par'd my present Havings, to bestow My Bounties upon you. What should this meane? The Lord increase this businesse. Have I not made you The prime man of the State? I pray you tell me, If what I now pronounce, you have found true: And if you may confesse it, say withall If you are bound to us, or no. What say you? My Soveraigne, I confesse your Royall graces Showr'd on me daily, have bene more then could My studied purposes requite, which went Beyond all mans endeavors. My endeavors, Have ever come too short of my Desires, Yet fill'd with my Abilities: Mine owne ends Have beene mine so, that evermore they pointed To' th' good of your most Sacred Person, and The profit of the State. For your great Graces Heap'd upon me (poore Undeserver) I Can nothing render but Allegiant thankes, My Prayres to heaven for you; my Loyaltie Which ever ha's, and ever shall be growing, Till death (that Winter) kill it. Fairely answer'd: A Loyall, and obedient Subject is Therein illustrated, the Honor of it Does pay the Act of it, as i' th' contrary The fowlenesse is the punishment. I presume, That as my hand ha's open'd Bounty to you, My heart drop'd Love, my powre rain'd Honor, more On you, then any: So your Hand, and Heart, Your Braine, and every Function of your power, Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty, As 'twer in Loves particular, be more To me your Friend, then any. I do professe, That for your Highnesse good, I ever labour'd More then mine owne: that am, have, and will be (Though all the world should cracke their duty to you, And throw it from their Soule, though perils did Abound, as thicke as thought could make 'em, and Appeare in formes more horrid) yet my Duty, As doth a Rocke against the chiding Flood, Should the approach of this wilde River breake, And stand unshaken yours. 'Tis Nobly spoken: Take notice Lords, he ha's a Loyall brest, For you have seene him open't. Read o're this, And after this, and then to Breakfast with What appetite you have. What should this meane? What sodaine Anger's this? How have I reap'd it? He parted Frowning from me, as if Ruine Leap'd from his Eyes. So lookes the chafed Lyon Upon the daring Huntsman that has gall'd him: Then makes him nothing. I must reade this paper: I feare the Story of his Anger. 'Tis so: This paper ha's undone me: 'Tis th' Accompt Of all that world of Wealth I have drawne together For mine owne ends, (Indeed to gaine the Popedome, And fee my Friends in Rome.) O Negligence! Fit for a Foole to fall by: What crosse Divell Made me put this maine Secret in the Packet I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this? No new device to beate this from his Braines? I know 'twill stirre him strongly; yet I know A way, if it take right, in spight of Fortune Will bring me off againe. What's this? To th' Pope? The Letter (as I live) with all the Businesse I writ too's Holinesse. Nay then, farewell: I have touch'd the highest point of all my Greatnesse, And from that full Meridian of my Glory, I haste now to my Setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the Evening, And no man see me more. Heare the Kings pleasure Cardinall, Who commands you To render up the Great Seale presently Into our hands, and to Confine your selfe To Asher-house, my Lord of Winchesters, Till you heare further from his Highnesse. Stay: Where's your Commission? Lords, words cannot carrie Authority so weighty. Who dare crosse 'em, Bearing the Kings will from his mouth expressely? Till I finde more then will, or words to do it, (I meane your malice) know, Officious Lords, I dare, and must deny it. Now I feele Of what course Mettle ye are molded, Envy, How eagerly ye follow my Disgraces As it fed ye, and how sleeke and wanton Ye appeare in every thing may bring my ruine? Follow your envious courses, men of Malice; You have Christian warrant for 'em, and no doubt In time will finde their fit Rewards. That Seale You aske with such a Violence, the King (Mine, and your Master) with his owne hand, gave me: Bad me enjoy it, with the Place, and Honors During my life; and to confirme his Goodnesse, Ti'de it by Letters Patents. Now, who'll take it? The King that gave it. It must be himselfe then. Thou are a proud Traitor, Priest. Proud Lord, thou lyest: Within these fortie houres, Surrey durst better Have burnt that Tongue, then saide so. Thy Ambition (Thou Scarlet sinne) robb'd this bewailing Land Of Noble Buckingham, my Father-in-Law, The heads of all thy Brother-Cardinals, (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together) Weigh'd not a haire of his. Plague of your policie, You sent me Deputie for Ireland, Farre from his succour; from the King, from all That might have mercie on the fault, thou gav'st him: Whil'st your great Goodnesse, out of holy pitty, Absolv'd him with an Axe. This, and all else This talking Lord can lay upon my credit, I answer, is most false. The Duke by Law Found his deserts. How innocent I was From any private malice in his end, His noble Jurie, and foule Cause can witnesse. If I lov'd many words, Lord, I should tell you, You have as little Honestie, as Honor, That in the way of Loyaltie, and Truth, Toward the King, my ever Roiall Master, Dare mate a sounder man then Surrie can be, And all that love his follies. By my Soule, Your long Coat (Priest) protects you, Thou should'st feele My Sword i' th' life blood of thee else. My Lords, Can ye endure to heare this Arrogance? And from this Fellow? If we live thus tamely, To be thus Jaded by a peece of Scarlet, Farewell Nobilitie: let his Grace go forward, And dare us with his Cap, like Larkes. All Goodnesse Is poyson to thy Stomacke. Yes, that goodnesse Of gleaning all the Lands wealth into one, Into your owne hands (Card'nall) by Extortion: The goodnesse of your intercepted Packets You writ to' th' Pope, against the King: your goodnesse Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. My Lord of Norfolke, as you are truly Noble, As you respect the common good, the State Of our despis'd Nobilitie, our Issues, (Whom if he live, will scarse be Gentlemen) Produce the grand summe of his sinnes, the Articles Collected from his life. Ile startle you Worse then the Sacring Bell, when the browne Wench Lay kissing in your Armes, Lord Cardinall. How much me thinkes, I could despise this man, But that I am bound in Charitie against it. Those Articles, my Lord, are in the Kings hand: But thus much, they are foule ones. So much fairer And spotlesse, shall mine Innocence arise, When the King knowes my Truth. This cannot save you: I thanke my Memorie, I yet remember Some of these Articles, and out they shall. Now, if you can blush, and crie guiltie Cardinall, You'l shew a little Honestie. Speake on Sir, I dare your worst Objections: If I blush, It is to see a Nobleman want manners. I had rather want those, then my head; Have at you; First, that without the Kings assent or knowledge, You wrought to be a Legate, by which power You maim'd the Jurisdiction of all Bishops. Then, That in all you writ to Rome, or else To Forraigne Princes, Ego & Rex meus Was still inscrib'd: in which you brought the King To be your Servant. Then, that without the knowledge Either of King or Councell, when you went Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold To carry into Flanders, the Great Seale. Item, You sent a large Commission To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude Without the Kings will, or the States allowance, A League betweene his Highnesse, and Ferrara. That out of meere Ambition, you have caus'd Your holy-Hat to be stampt on the Kings Coine. Then, That you have sent inumerable substance, (By what meanes got, I leave to your owne conscience) To furnish Rome, and to prepare the wayes You have for Dignities, to the meere undooing Of all the Kingdome. Many more there are, Which since they are of you, and odious, I will not taint my mouth with. O my Lord, Presse not a falling man too farre: 'tis Vertue: His faults lye open to the Lawes, let them (Not you) correct him. My heart weepes to see him So little, of his great Selfe. I forgive him. Lord Cardinall, the Kings further pleasure is, Because all those things you have done of late By your power Legative within this Kingdome, Fall into' th' compasse of a Premunire; That therefore such a Writ be sued against you, To forfeit all your Goods, Lands, Tenenents, Castles, and whatsoever, and to be Out of the Kings protection. This is my Charge. And so wee'l leave you to your Meditations How to live better. For your stubborne answer About the giving backe the Great Seale to us, The King shall know it, and (no doubt) shal thanke you. So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinall. So farewell, to the little good you beare me. Farewell? A long farewell to all my Greatnesse. This is the state of Man; to day he puts forth The tender Leaves of hopes, to morrow Blossomes, And beares his blushing Honors thicke upon him: The third day, comes a Frost; a killing Frost, And when he thinkes, good easie man, full surely His Greatnesse is a ripening, nippes his roote, And then he fals as I do. I have ventur'd Like little wanton Boyes that swim on bladders: This many Summers in a Sea of Glory, Buf farre beyond my depth: my high-blowne Pride At length broke under me, and now ha's left me Weary, and old with Service, to the mercy Of a rude streame, that must for ever hide me. Vaine pompe, and glory of this World, I hate ye, I feele my heart new open'd. Oh how wretched Is that poore man, that hangs on Princes favours? There is betwixt that smile we would aspire too, That sweet Aspect of Princes, and their ruine, More pangs, and feares then warres, or women have; And when he falles, he falles like Lucifer, Never to hope againe. Why how now Cromwell? I have no power to speake Sir. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? Can thy Spirit wonder A great man should decline. Nay, and you weep I am falne indeed. How does your Grace. Why well: Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell, I know my selfe now, and I feele within me, A peace above all earthly Dignities, A still, and quiet Conscience. The King ha's cur'd me, I humbly thanke his Grace: and from these Shoulders These ruin'd Pillers, out of pitty, taken A loade, would sinke a Navy, (too much Honor.) O 'tis a burden Cromwel, 'tis a burden Too heavy for a man, that hopes for Heaven. I am glad your Grace, Ha's made that right use of it. I hope I have: I am able now (me thinkes) (Out of a Fortitude of Soule, I feele) To endure more Miseries, and greater farre Then my Weake-hearted Enemies, dare offer. What Newes abroad? The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the King. God blesse him. The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is chosen Lord Chancellor, in your place. That's somewhat sodain. But he's a Learned man. May he continue Long in his Highnesse favour, and do Justice For Truths-sake, and his Conscience; that his bones, When he ha's run his course, and sleepes in Blessings, May have a Tombe of Orphants teares wept on him. What more? That Cranmer is return'd with welcome; Install'd Lord Arch-byshop of Canterbury. That's Newes indeed. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in secrecie long married, This day was view'd in open, as his Queene, Going to Chappell: and the voyce is now Onely about her Corronation. There was the waight that pull'd me downe. O Cromwell, The King ha's gone beyond me: All my Glories In that one woman, I have lost for ever. No Sun, shall ever usher forth mine Honors, Or gilde againe the Noble Troopes that waighted Upon my smiles. Go get thee from me Cromwel, I am a poore falne man, unworthy now To be thy Lord, and Master. Seeke the King (That Sun, I pray may never set) I have told him, What, and how thou art; he will advance thee: Some little memory of me, will stirre him (I know his Noble Nature) not to let Thy hopefull service perish too. Good Cromwell Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine owne future safety. O my Lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needes forgo So good, so Noble, and so true a Master? Beare witnesse, all that have not hearts of Iron, With what a sorrow Cromwel leaves his Lord. The King shall have my service; but my prayres For ever, and for ever shall be yours. Cromwel, I did not thinke to shed a teare 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 farre heare me Cromwel, And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleepe in dull cold Marble, where no mention Of me, more must be heard of: Say I taught thee; Say Wolsey, that once trod the wayes of Glory, And sounded all the Depths, and Shoales of Honor, Found thee a way (out of his wracke) to rise in: A sure, and safe one, though thy Master mist it. Marke but my Fall, and that that Ruin'd me: Cromwel, I charge thee, fling away Ambition, By that sinne fell the Angels: how can man then (The Image of his Maker) hope to win by it? Love thy selfe last, cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more then Honesty. Still in thy right hand, carry gentle Peace To silence envious Tongues. Be just, and feare not; Let all the ends thou aym'st at, be thy Countries, Thy Gods, and Truths. Then if thou fall'st (O Cromwell) Thou fall'st a blessed Martyr. Serve the King: And prythee leade me in: There take an Inventory of all I have, To the last peny, 'tis the Kings. My Robe, And my Integrity to Heaven, is all, I dare now call mine owne. O Cromwel, Cromwel, Had I but serv'd my God, with halfe the Zeale I serv'd my King: he would not in mine Age Have left me naked to mine Enemies. Good Sir, have patience. So I have. Farewell The Hopes of Court, my Hopes in Heaven do dwell. Y'are well met once againe. So are you. You come to take your stand heere, and behold The Lady Anne, passe from her Corronation. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter, The Duke of Buckingham came from his Triall. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd sorrow, This generall joy. 'Tis well: The Citizens I am sure have shewne at full their Royall minds, As let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward In Celebration of this day with Shewes, Pageants, and Sights of Honor. Never greater, Nor Ile assure you better taken Sir. May I be bold to aske what that containes, That Paper in your hand. Yes, 'tis the List Of those that claime their Offices this day, By custome of the Coronation. The Duke of Suffolke is the first, and claimes To be high Steward; Next the Duke of Norfolke, He to be Earle Marshall: you may reade the rest. I thanke you Sir: Had I not known those customs, I should have beene beholding to your Paper: But I beseech you, what's become of Katherine The Princesse Dowager? How goes her businesse? That I can tell you too. The Archbishop Of Canterbury, accompanied with other Learned, and Reverend Fathers of his Order, Held a late Court at Dunstable; sixe miles off From Ampthill, where the Princesse lay, to which She was often cyted by them, but appear'd not: And to be short, for not Appearance, and The Kings late Scruple, by the maine assent Of all these Learned men, she was divorc'd, And the late Marriage made of none effect: Since which, she was remov'd to Kymmalton, Where she remaines now sicke. Alas good Lady. The Trumpets sound: Stand close, The Queene is comming. A Royall Traine beleeve me: These I know: Who's that that beares the Scepter? Marquesse Dorset, And that the Earle of Surrey, with the Rod. A bold brave Gentleman. That should bee The Duke of Suffolke. 'Tis the same: high Steward. And that my Lord of Norfolke? Yes. Heaven blesse thee, Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. Sir, as I have a Soule, she is an Angell; Our King ha's all the Indies in his Armes, And more, and richer, when he straines that Lady, I cannot blame his Conscience. They that beare The Cloath of Honour over her, are foure Barons Of the Cinque-Ports. Those men are happy, And so are all, are neere her. I take it, she that carries up the Traine, Is that old Noble Lady, Dutchesse of Norfolke. It is, and all the rest are Countesses. Their Coronets say so. These are Starres indeed, And sometimes falling ones. No more of that. God save you Sir. Where have you bin broiling? Among the crow'd i' th' Abbey, where a finger Could not be wedg'd in more: I am stifled With the meere ranknesse of their joy. You saw the Ceremony? That I did. How was it? Well worth the seeing. Good Sir, speake it to us? As well as I am able. The rich streame Of Lords, and Ladies, having brought the Queene To a prepar'd place in the Quire, fell off A distance from her; while her Grace sate downe To rest a while, some halfe an houre, or so, In a rich Chaire of State, opposing freely The Beauty of her Person to the People. Beleeve me Sir, she is the goodliest Woman That ever lay by man: which when the people Had the full view of, such a noyse arose, As the shrowdes make at Sea, in a stiffe Tempest, As lowd, and to as many Tunes. Hats, Cloakes, (Doublets, I thinke) flew up, and had their Faces Bin loose, this day they had beene lost. Such joy I never saw before. Great belly'd women, That had not halfe a weeke to go, like Rammes In the old time of Warre, would shake the prease And make 'em reele before 'em. No man living Could say this is my wife there, all were woven So strangely in one peece. But what follow'd? At length, her Grace rose, and with modest paces Came to the Altar, where she kneel'd, and Saint-like Cast her faire eyes to Heaven, and pray'd devoutly. Then rose againe, and bow'd her to the people: When by the Arch-byshop of Canterbury, She had all the Royall makings of a Queene; As holy Oyle, Edward Confessors Crowne, The Rod, and Bird of Peace, and all such Emblemes Laid Nobly on her: which perform'd, the Quire With all the choysest Musicke of the Kingdome, Together sung Te Deum. So she parted, And with the same full State pac'd backe againe To Yorke-Place, where the Feast is held. Sir, You must no more call it Yorke-place, that's past: For since the Cardinall fell, that Titles lost, 'Tis now the Kings, and call'd White-Hall. I know it: But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name Is fresh about me. What two Reverend Byshops Were those that went on each side of the Queene? Stokely and Gardiner, the one of Winchester, Newly preferr'd from the Kings Secretary: The other London. He of Winchester Is held no great good lover the Archbishops, The vertuous Cranmer. All the Land knowes that: How ever, yet there is no great breach, when it comes Cranmer will finde a Friend will not shrinke from him. Who may that be, I pray you. Thomas Cromwell, A man in much esteeme with th' King, and truly A worthy Friend. The King ha's made him Master o' th' Jewell House, And one already of the Privy Councell. He will deserve more. Yes without all doubt. Come Gentlemen ye shall go my way, Which is to' th Court, and there ye shall be my Guests: Something I can command. As I walke thither, Ile tell ye more. You may command us Sir. How do's your Grace? O Griffith, sicke to death: My Legges like loaden Branches bow to' th' Earth, Willing to leave their burthen: Reach a Chaire, So now (me thinkes) I feele a little ease. Did'st thou not tell me Griffith, as thou lead'st mee, That the great Childe of Honor, Cardinall Wolsey Was dead: Yes Madam: but I thanke your Grace Out of the paine you suffer'd, gave no eare too 't. Pre'thee good Griffith, tell me how he dy'de. If well, he slept before me happily For my example. Well, the voyce goes Madam, For after the stout Earle Northumberland Arrested him at Yorke, and brought him forward As a man sorely tainted, to his Answer, He fell sicke sodainly, and grew so ill He could not sit his Mule. Alas poore man. At last, with easie Rodes, he came to Leicester, Lodg'd in the Abbey; where the reverend Abbot With all his Covent, honourably reciv'd him; To whom he gave these words. O Father Abbot, An old man, broken with the stormes 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 sicknesse Pursu'd him still, and three nights after this, About the houre of eight, which he himselfe Foretold should be his last, full of Repentance, Continuall Meditations, Teares, and Sorrowes, He gave his Honors to the world agen, His blessed part to Heaven, and slept in peace. So may he rest, His Faults lye gently on him: Yet thus farre Griffith, give me leave to speake him, And yet with Charity. He was a man Of an unbounded stomacke, ever ranking Himselfe with Princes. One that by suggestion Ty'de all the Kingdome. Symonie, was faire play, His owne Opinion was his Law. I' th' presence He would say untruths, and be ever double Both in his words, and meaning. He was never (But where he meant to Ruine) pittifull. His Promises, were as he then was, Mighty: But his performance, as he is now, Nothing: Of his owne body he was ill, and gave The Clergy ill example. Noble Madam: Mens evill manners, live in Brasse, their Vertues We write in Water. May it please your Highnesse To heare me speake his good now? Yes good Griffith, I were malicious else. This Cardinall, Though from an humble Stocke, undoubtedly Was fashion'd to much Honor. From his Cradle He was a Scholler, and a ripe, and good one: Exceeding wise, faire spoken, and perswading: Lofty, and sowre to them that lov'd him not: But, to those men that sought him, sweet as Summer. And thought he were unsatisfied in getting, (Which was a sinne) yet in bestowing, Madam, He was most Princely: Ever witnesse for him Those twinnes of Learning, that he rais'd in you, Ipswich and Oxford: one of which, fell with him, Unwilling to out-live the good that did it. The other (though unfinish'd) yet so Famous, So excellent in Art, and still so rising, That Christendome shall ever speake his Vertue. His Overthrow, heap'd Happinesse upon him: For then, and not till then, he felt himselfe, And found the Blessednesse of being little. And to adde greater Honors to his Age Then man could give him; he dy'de, fearing God. After my death, I wish no other Herald, No other speaker of my living Actions, To keepe mine Honor, from Corruption, But such an honest Chronicler as Griffith. Whom I most hated Living, thou hast made mee With thy Religious Truth, and Modestie, (Now in his Ashes) Honor: Peace be with him. Patience, be neere me still, and set me lower, I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith, Cause the Musitians play me that sad note I nam'd my Knell; whil'st I sit meditating On that Coelestiall Harmony I go too. She is asleep: Good wench, let's sit down quiet, For feare we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone? And leave me heere in wretchednesse, behinde ye? Madam, we are heere. It is not you I call for, Saw ye none enter since I slept? None Madam. No? Saw you not even now a blessed Troope Invite me to a Banquet, whose bright faces Cast thousand beames upon me like the Sun? They promis'd me eternall Happinesse, And brought me Garlands (Griffith) which I feele I am not worthy yet to weare: I shall assuredly. I am most joyfull Madam, such good dreames Possesse your Fancy. Bid the Musicke leave, They are harsh and heavy to me. Do you note How much her Grace is alter'd on the sodaine? How long her face is drawne? How pale she lookes, And of an earthy cold? Marke her eyes? She is going Wench. Pray, pray. Heaven comfort her. And 't like your Grace = You are a sawcy Fellow, Deserve we no more Reverence? You are too blame, Knowing she will not loose her wonted Greatnesse To use so rude behaviour. Go too, kneele. I humbly do entreat your Highnesse pardon, My hast made me unmannerly. There is staying A Gentleman sent from the King, to see you. Admit him entrance Griffith. But this Fellow Let me ne're see againe. If my sight faile not, You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor, My Royall Nephew, and your name Capuchius. Madam the same. Your Servant. O my Lord, The Times and Titles now are alter'd strangely With me, since first you knew me. But I pray you, What is your pleasure with me? Noble Lady, First mine owne service to your Grace, the next The Kings request, that I would visit you, Who greeves much for your weaknesse, and by me Sends you his Princely Commendations, And heartily entreats you take good comfort. O my good Lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a Pardon after Execution; That gentle Physicke given in time, had cur'd me: But now I am past all Comforts heere, but Prayers. How does his Highnesse: Madam, in good health. So may he ever do, and ever flourish, When I shall dwell with Wormes, and my poore name Banish'd the Kingdome. Patience, is that Letter I cause'd you write, yet sent away? No Madam. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver This to my Lord the King. Most willing Madam. In which I have commended to his goodnesse The Modell of our chaste loves: his yong daughter, The dewes of Heaven fall thicke in Blessings on her, Beseeching him to give her vertuous breeding. She is yong, and of a Noble modest Nature, I hope she will deserve well; and a little To love her for her Mothers sake, that lov'd him, Heaven knowes how deerely. My next poore Petition, Is that his Noble Grace would have some pittie Upon my wretched women, that so long Have follow'd both my Fortunes, faithfully, Of which there is not one, I dare avow (And now I should not lye) but will deserve For Vertue, and true Beautie of the Soule, For honestie, and decent Carriage A right good Husband (let him be a Noble) And sure those men are happy that shall have 'em. The last is for my men, they are the poorest, (But poverty could never draw 'em from me) That they may have their wages, duly paid 'em, And something over to remember me by. If Heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life And able meanes, we had not parted thus. These are the whole Contents, and good my Lord, By that you love the deerest in this world, As you with Christian peace to soules departed, Stand these poore peoples Friend, and urge the King To do me this last right. By Heaven I will, Or let me loose the fashion of a man. I thanke you honest Lord. Remember me In all humilitie unto his Highnesse: Say his long trouble now is passing Out of this world. Tell him in death I blest him (For so I will) mine eyes grow dimme. Farewell My Lord. Griffith farewell. Nay Patience, You must not leave me yet. I must to bed, Call in more women. When I am dead, good Wench, Let me be us'd with Honor; strew me over With Maiden Flowers, that all the world may know I was a chaste Wife, to my Grave: Embalme me, Then lay me forth (although unqueen'd) yet like A Queene, and a Daughter to a King enterre me. I can no more. It's one a clocke Boy, is 't not. It hath strooke. These should be houres for necessities, Not for delights: Times to repayre our Nature With comforting repose, and not for us To waste these times. Good houre of night Sir Thomas: Whether so late? Came you from the King, my Lord? I did Sir Thomas, and left him at Primero With the Duke of Suffolke. I must to him too Before he go to bed. Ile take my leave. Not yet Sir Thomas Lovell: what's the matter? It seemes you are in hast: and if there be No great offence belongs too 't, give your Friend Some touch of your late businesse: Affaires that walke (As they say Spirits do) at midnight, have In them a wilder Nature, then the businesse That seekes dispatch by day. My Lord, I love you; And durst commend a secret to your eare Much waightier then this worke. The Queens in Labor They say in great Extremity, and fear'd Shee'l with the Labour, end. The fruite she goes with I pray for heartily, that it may finde Good time, and live: but for the Stocke Sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd up now. Me thinkes I could Cry the Amen, and yet my Conscience sayes Shee's a good Creature, and sweet-Ladie do's Deserve our better wishes. But Sir, Sir, Heare me Sir Thomas, y' are a Gentleman Of mine owne way. I know you Wise, Religious, And let me tell you, it will ne're be well, 'T will not Sir Thomas Lovell, tak 't of me, Till Cranmer, Cromwel, her two hands, and shee Sleepe in their Graves. Now Sir, you speake of two The most remark'd i' th' Kingdome: as for Cromwell, Beside that of the Jewell-House, is made Master O' th' Rolles, and the Kings Secretary. Further Sir, Stands in the gap and Trade of moe Preferments, With which the Lime will loade him. Th' Archbyshop Is the Kings hand, and tongue, and who dare speak One syllable against him? Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, There are that Dare, and I my selfe have ventur'd To speake my minde of him: and indeed this day, Sir (I may tell it you) I thinke I have Incenst the Lords o' th' Councell, that he is (For so I know he is, they know he is) A most Arch-Heretique, a Pestilence That does infect the Land: with which, they moved Have broken with the King, who hath so farre Given eare to our Complaint, of his great Grace, And Princely Care, fore-seeing those fell Mischiefes, Our Reasons, layd before him, hath commanded To morrow Morning to the Councell Boord He be convented. He's a ranke weed Sir Thomas, And we must root him out. From your Affaires I hinder you too long: Good night, Sir Thomas. Many good nights, my Lord, I rest your servant. Charles, I will play no more to night, My mindes not on 't, you are too hard for me. Sir, I did never win of you before. But little Charles, Nor shall not when my Fancies on my play. Now Lovel, from the Queene what is the Newes. I could not personally deliver to her What you commanded me, but by her woman, I sent your Message, who return'd her thankes In the great'st humblenesse, and desir'd your Highnesse Most heartily to pray for her. Whay say'st thou? Ha? To pray for her? What, is she crying out? So said her woman, and that her suffrance made Almost each pang, a death. Alas good Lady. God safely quit her of her Burthen, and With gentle Travaile, to the gladding of Your Highnesse with an Heire. 'Tis midnight Charles, Prythee to bed, and in thy Prayres remember Th' estate of my poore Queene. Leave me alone, For I must thinke of that, which company Would not be friendly too. I wish your Highnesse A quiet night, and my good Mistris will Remember in my Prayers. Charles good night. Well Sir, what followes? Sir, I have brought the Lord the Arch-byshop, As you commanded me. Ha? Canterbury? I my good Lord. 'Tis true: where is he Denny? He attends your Highnesse pleasure. Bring him to Us. This is about that, which the Byshop spake, I am happily come hither. Avoyd the Gallery. Ha? I have said. Be gone. What? I am fearefull: Wherefore frownes he thus? 'Tis his Aspect of Terror. All's not well. How now my Lord? You do desire to know wherefore I sent for you. It is my dutie T' attend your Highnesse pleasure. Pray you arise My good and gracious Lord of Canterburie: Come, you and I must walke a turne together: I have Newes to tell you. Come, come, give me your hand. Ah my good Lord, I greeve at what I speake, And am right sorrie to repeat what followes. I have, and most unwillingly of late Heard many greevous, I do say my Lord Greevous complaints of you; which being consider'd, Have mov'd Us, and our Councell, that you shall This Morning come before us, where I know You cannot with such freedome purge your selfe, But that till further Triall, in those Charges Which will require your Answer, you must take Your patience to you, and be well contented To make your house our Towre: you, a Brother of us It fits we thus proceed, or else no witnesse Would come against you. I humbly thanke your Highnesse, And am right glad to catch this good occasion Most throughly to be winnowed, where my Chaffe And Corne shall flye asunder. For I know There's none stands under more calumnious tongues, Then I my selfe, poore man. Stand up, good Canterbury, Thy Truth, and thy Integrity is rooted In us thy Friend. Give me thy hand, stand up, Prythee let's walke. Now by my Holydame, What manner of man are you? My Lord, I look'd You would have given me your Petition, that I should have tane some paines, to bring together Your selfe, and your Accusers, and to have heard you Without indurance further. Most dread Liege, The good I stand on, is my Truth and Honestie: If they shall faile, I with mine Enemies Will triumph o're my person, which I waigh not, Being of those Vertues vacant. I feare nothing What can be said against me. Know you not How your state stands i' th' world, with the whole world? Your Enemies are many, and not small; their practises Must beare the same proportion, and not ever The Justice and the Truth o' th' question carries The dew o' th' Verdict with it; at what ease Might corrupt mindes procure, Knaves as corrupt To sweare against you: Such things have bene done. You are Potently oppos'd, and with a Malice Of as great Size. Weene you of better lucke, I meane in perjur'd witnesse, then your Master, Whose Minister you are, whiles heere he liv'd Upon this naughty Earth? Go too, go too, You take a Precepit for no leape of danger, And woe your owne destruction. God, and your Majesty Protect mine innocence, or I fall into The trap is laid for me. Be of good cheere, They shall no more prevaile, then we give way too: Keepe comfort to you, and this Morning see You do appeare before them. If they shall chance In charging you with matters, to commit you: The best perswasions to the contrary Faile not to use, and with what vehemencie Th' occasion shall instruct you. If intreaties Will render you no remedy, this Ring Deliver them, and your Appeale to us There make before them. Looke, the goodman weeps: He's honest on mine Honor. Gods blest Mother, I sweare he is true-hearted, and a soule None better in my Kingdome. Get you gone, And do as I have bid you. He ha's strangled his Language in his teares. Come backe: what meane you? Ile not come backe, the tydings that I bring Will make my boldnesse, manners. Now good Angels Fly o're thy Royall head, and shade thy person Under their blessed wings. Now by thy lookes I gesse thy Message. Is the Queene deliver'd? Say I, and of a boy. I, I my Liege, And of a lovely Boy: the God of heaven Both now, and ever blesse her: 'Tis a Gyrle Promises Boyes heerafter. Sir, your Queen Desires your Visitation, and to be Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you, As Cherry, is to Cherry. Lovell. Sir. Give her an hundred Markes. Ile to the Queene. An hundred Markes? By this light, Ile ha more. An ordinary Groome is for such payment. I will have more, or scold it out of him. Said I for this, the Gyrle was like to him? Ile Have more, or else unsay 't: and now, while 'tis hot, Ile put it to the issue. I hope I am not too late, and yet the Gentleman That was sent to me from the Councell, pray'd me To make great hast. All fast? What meanes this? Hoa? Who waites there? Sure you know me? Yes, my Lord: But yet I cannot helpe you. Why? Your Grace must waight till you be call'd for. So. This is a Peere of Malice: I am glad I came this way so happily. The King Shall understand it presently. 'Tis Buts. The Kings Physitian, as he past along How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me: Pray heaven he found not my disgrace: for certaine This is of purpose laid by some that hate me, (God turne their hearts, I never sought their malice) To quench mine Honor; they would shame to make me Wait else at doore: a fellow Councellor 'Mong Boyes, Groomes, and Lackeyes. But their pleasures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Ile shew your Grace the strangest sight. What's that Buts? I thinke your Highnesse saw this many a day. Body a me: where is it? There my Lord: The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury, Who holds his State at dore 'mongst Pursevants, Pages, and Foot-boyes. Ha? 'Tis he indeed. Is this the Honour they doe one another? 'Tis well there's one above 'em yet; I had thought They had parted so much honesty among 'em, At least good manners; as not thus to suffer A man of his Place, and so neere our favour To dance attendance on their Lordships pleasures. And at the dore too, like a Post with Packets: By holy Mary (Butts) there's knavery; Let 'em alone, and draw the Curtaine close: We shall heare more anon. Speake to the businesse, M. Secretary; Why are we met in Councell? Please your Honours, The chiefe cause concernes his Grace of Canterbury. Ha's he had knowledge of it? Yes. Who waits there? Without my Noble Lords? Yes. My Lord Archbishop: And ha's done halfe an houre to know your pleasures. Let him come in. Your Grace may enter now. My good Lord Archbishop, I'm very sorry To sit heere at this present, and behold That Chayre stand empty: But we all are men In our owne natures fraile, and capable Of our flesh, few are Angels; out of which frailty And want of wisedome, you that best should teach us, Have misdemean'd your selfe, and not a little: Toward the King first, then his Lawes, in filling The whole Realme, by your teaching & your Chaplaines (For so we are inform'd) with new opinions, Divers and dangerous; which are Heresies; And not reform'd, may prove pernicious. Which Reformation must be sodaine too My Noble Lords; for those that tame wild Horses, Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle; But stop their mouthes with stubborn Bits & spurre 'em, Till they obey the mannage. If we suffer Out of our easinesse and childish pitty To one mans Honour, this contagious sicknesse; Farewell all Physicke: and what followes then? Commotions, uprores, with a generall Taint Of the whole State; as of late dayes our neighbours, The upper Germany can deerely witnesse: Yet freshly pittied in our memories. My good Lords; Hitherto, in all the Progresse Both of my Life and Office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching And the strong course of my Authority, Might goe one way, and safely; and the end Was ever to doe well: nor is there living, (I speake it with a single heart, my Lords) A man that more detests, more stirres against, Both in his private Conscience, and his place, Defacers of a publique peace then I doe: Pray Heaven the King may never find a heart With lesse Allegeance in it. Men that make Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment; Dare bite the best. I doe beseech your Lordships, That in this case of Justice, my Accusers, Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, And freely urge against me. Nay, my Lord, That cannot be; you are a Counsellor, And by that vertue no man dare accuse you. My Lord, because we have busines of more moment We shall be short with you. 'Tis his Highnesse pleasure And our consent, for better tryall of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower, Where being but a private man againe, You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, More then (I feare) you are provided for. Ah my good Lord of Winchester: I thanke you, You are alwayes my good Friend, if your will passe, I shall both finde your Lordship, Judge and Juror, You are so mercifull. I see your end, 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekenesse, Lord Become a Churchman, better than Ambition: Win straying soules with modesty againe, Cast none away: That I shall cleere my selfe, Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, I make as little doubt as you doe conscience, In doing dayly wrongs. I could say more, But reverence to your calling, makes me modest. My Lord, my Lord, you are a Sectary, That's the plaine truth; your painted glosse discovers To men that understand you, words and weakness. My Lord of Winchester, y' are a little, By your good favour, too sharpe; Men so Noble, How ever faulty, yet should finde respect For what they have beene: 'tis a cruelty, To load a falling man. Good M. Secretary, I cry your Honour mercie; you may worst Of all this Table say so. Why my Lord? Doe not I know your for a Favourer Of this new Sect? ye are not sound. Not sound? Not sound I say. Would you were halfe so honest: Mens prayers then would seeke you, not their feares. I shall remember this bold Language. Doe. Remember your bold life too. This is too much; Forbeare for shame my Lords. I have done. And I. Then thus for you my Lord, it stands agreed I take it, by all voyces: That forthwith, You be convaid to th' Tower a Prisoner; There to remaine till the Kings further pleasure Be knowne unto us: are you all agreed Lords. We are. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to th' Tower my Lords? What other, Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome: Let some o' th' Guard be ready there. For me? Must I goe like a Traytor thither? Receive him, And see him safe i' th' Tower, Stay good my Lords, I have a little yet to say. Looke there my Lords, By vertue of that Ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruell men, and give it To a most Noble Judge, the King my Maister. This is the Kings Ring. 'Tis no counterfeit. 'Ts the right Ring, by Heav'n: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rowling, 'Twould fall upon our selves. Doe you thinke my Lords The King will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd? Tis now too ceraine; How much more is his Life in value with him? Would I were fairely out on 't. My mind gave me, In seeking tales and Information Against this man, whose honesty the Divell And his Disciples onely envy at, Ye blew the fire that burnes ye: now have at ye. Dread Soveraigne, How much are we bound to Heaven, In dayly thankes; that gave us such a Prince; Not onely good and wise, but most religious: One that in all obedience, makes the Church The cheefe ayme of his Honour, and to strengthen That holy duty out of deare respect, His Royalll selfe in Judgement comes to heare The cause betwixt her, and this great offender. You were ever good at sodaine Commendations, Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not To heare such flattery now, and in my presence They are too thin, and base to hide offences, To me you cannot reach. You play the Spaniell, And thinke with wagging of your tongue to win me: But whatfoere thou tak'st me for; I'm sure Thou hast a cruell Nature and a bloody. Good man sit downe: Now let me see the proudest Hee, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee. By all that's holy, he had better starve, Then but once thinke his place becomes thee not. May it please your Grace; = No Sir, it doe's not please me, I had thought, I had had men of some understanding, And wisedome of my Councell; but I finde none: Was it discretion Lords, to let this man, This good man (few of you deserve that Title) This honest man, wait like a lowsie Foot-boy At Chamber dore? and one, as great as you are? Why, what a shame was this? Did my Commission Bid ye so farre forget your selves? I gave ye Power, as he was a Counsellour to try him, Not as a Groome: There's some of ye, I see, More out of Malice then Integrity, Would trye him to the utmost, had ye meane, Which ye shall never have while I live. Thus farre My most dread Soveraigne, may it like your Grace, To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his Imprisonment, was rather (If there be faith in men) meant for his Tryall, And faire purgation to the world then malice, I'm sure in me. Well, well my Lords respect him, Take him, and use him well; hee's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him, if a Prince May be beholding to a Subject; I Am for his love and service, so to him. Make me no more adoe, but all embrace him; Be friends for shame my Lords: My Lord of Canterbury I have a Suite which you must not deny mee. That is, a faire young Maid that yet wants Baptisme, You must be Godfather, and answere for her. The greatest Monarch now alive may glory In such an honour: how may I deserve it, That am a poore and humble Subject to you? Come, come my Lord, you'd spare your spoones; You shall have two noble Partners with you: the old Duchesse of Norfolke, and Lady Marquesse Dorset? will these plese you? Once more my Lord of Winchester, I charge you Embrace, and love this man. With a true heart, And Brother; love I doe it. And let Heaven Witnesse how deare, I hold this Confirmation. Good Man, those joyfull teares shew thy true hearts, Thy common voyce I see is verified Of thee, which sayes thus: Doe my Lord of Canterbury A shrewd turne, and hee's your friend for ever: Come Lords, we trifle time away: I long To have this young one made a Christian. As I have made ye one Lords, one remaine: So I grow stronger, you more Honour gaine. You'l leave your noyse anon ye Rascals: doe you take the Court for Parish Garden: ye rude Slaves, leave your gaping. Good M. Porter I belong to th' Larder. Belong to th' Gallowes, and be hang'd ye Rogue: Is this a place to roare in? Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em: Ile scratch your heads; you must be seeing Christenings? Do you looke for Ale, and Cakes heere, you rude Raskalls? Pray Sir be patient; 'tis as much impossible, Unlesse wee sweepe 'em from the dore with Cannons, To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleepe On May-day Morning which will never be: We may as well push against Powles as stirre 'em. How got they in, and be hang'd? Alas I know not, how gets the Tide in? As much as one found Cudgell of foure foote, (You see the poore remainder) could distribute, I made no spare Sir. You did nothing Sir. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand, To mow 'em downe before me: but if I spar'd any That had a head to hit, either young or old, He or shee, Cuckold or Cuckold-maker: Let me ne're hope to see a Chine againe, And that I would not for a Cow, God save her. Do you heare M. Porter? I shall be with you presently, good M. Puppy, Keepe the dore close Sirha. What would you have me doe? What should you doe, But knock 'em downe by th' dozens? Is this More fields to muster in? Or have wee some strange Indian with the great Toole, come to Court, the women so besiege us? Blesse me, what a fry of Fornication is at dore? On my Christian Conscience this one Christening will beget a thousand, here will bee Father, God-father, and all to%gether. _ The Spoones will be the bigger Sir: There is a fellow somewhat neere the doore, he should be a Brasi%er er by his face, for o' my conscience twenty of the Dog-%dayes now reigne in 's Nose; all that stand about him are under the Line, they need no other pennance: that Fire-%Drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his Nose discharged against mee; hee stands there like a Morter-piece to blow us. There was a Habberda%shers Wife of small wit, neere him, that rail'd upon me, till her pinck'd porrenger fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the State. I mist the Meteor once, and hit that Woman, who cryed out Clubbes, when I might see from farre, some forty Truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strond where she was quartered; they fell on, I made good my place; at length they came to th' broome staffe to me, I defide 'em stil, when sodainly a File of Boyes behind 'em, loose shot, deliver'd such a showre of Pibbles, that I was faine to draw mine Honour in, and let 'em win the Worke, the Divell was amongst 'em I thinke surely. These are the youths that thunder at a Playhouse, and fight for bitten Apples, that no Audience but the tribulation of Tower Hill, or the Limbes of Limehouse, their deare Brothers are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three dayes; besides the running Banquet of two Beadles, that is to come. Mercy o' me: what a Multitude are heere? They grow still too; from all Parts they are comming, As if we kept a Faire heere? Where are these Porters? These lazy knaves? Y' have made a fine hand fellowes? Theres a trim rabble let in: are all these Your faithfull friends o' th' Suburbs? We shall have Great store of roome no doubt, left for the Ladies, When they passe backe from the Christening? And 't please your Honour, We are but men; and what so many may doe, Not being torne a pieces, we have done: An army cannot rule 'em. As I live, If the King blame me for 't; Ile lay ye all By th' heeles, and sodainly: and on your heads Clap round Fines for neglect: Y' are lazy knaves, And heere ye lye baiting of Bombards, when Ye should doe Service. Harke the Trumpets sound, Th' are come already from the Christening, Go breake among the preasse, and finde away out To let the Troope passe fairely; or Ile finde A Marshallsey, shall hold ye play these two Monthes. Make way there, for the Princesse. You great fellow, Stand close up, or Ile make your head ake. You i' th' Chamblet, get up o' th' raile, Ile pecke you o're the pales else. Heaven From thy endlesse goodnesse, send prosperous life, Long and ever happie, to the high and Mighty Princesse of England Elizabeth. And to your Royall Grace, & the good Queen, My Noble Partners, and my selfe thus pray All comfort, joy in this most gracious Lady, Heaven ever laid up to make Parents happy, May hourely fall upon ye. Thanke you good Lord Archbishop: What is her Name? Elizabeth. Stand up Lord, With this Kisse, take my Blessing: God protect thee, Into whose hand, I give thy Life. Amen. My Noble Gossips, y' have beene too Prodigall; I thanke ye heartily: So shall this Lady, When she ha's so much English. Let me speake Sir, For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter, Let none thinke Flattery; for they'l finde 'em Truth. This Royall Infant, Heaven stil move about her; Though in her Cradle; yet now promises Upon this Land a thousand thousand Blessings, Which Time shall bring to ripenesse: She shall be, (But few now living can behold that goodnesse) A Patterne to all Princes living with her, And all that shall succeed: Saba was never More covetous of Wisedome, and faire Vertue Then this pure Soule shall be. All Princely Graces That mould up such a mighty Piece as this is, With all the Vertues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shll Nurse her, Holy and Heavenly thoughts still Counsell her: She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her owne shall blesse her; Her Foes shake like a Field of beaten Corne, And hang their heads with sorrow: Good growes with her. In her dayes, Every Man shall eate in safety, Under his owne Vine what he plants; and sing The merry Songs of Peace to all his Neighbours. God shall be truely knowne, and those about her, From her shall read the perfect way of Honour, And by those claime their greatnesse; not by Blood. Nor shall this peace sleepe with her: But as when The Bird of Wonder dyes, the Mayden Phoenix, Her Ashes new create another Heyre, As great in admiration as her selfe. So shall she leave her Blessednesse to One, (When Heaven shal call her from this clowd of darknes) Who, from the sacred Ashes of her Honour Shall Star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd. Peace, Plenty, Love, Truth, Terror, That were the Servants to this chosen Infant, Shall then be his, and like a Vine grow to him; Where ever the bright Sunne of Heaven shall shine, His Honour, and the greatnesse of his Name, Shall be, and make new Nations. He shall flourish, And like a Mountaine Cedar, reach his branches, To all the Plaines about him: Our Childrens Children Shall see this, and blesse Heaven. Thou speakest wonders. She shall be to the happinesse of England, An aged Princesse; many dayes shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to Crowne it. Would I had knowne no more: But she must dye, She must, the Saints have her; yet a Virgin, A most unspotted Lilly shall she passe To th' ground, and all the World shall mourne her. O Lord Archbishop Thou hast made me now a man, never before This happy Child, did I get anything. This Oracle of comfort, ha's so pleas'd me, That when I am in Heaven, I shall desire To see what this Child does, and praise my Maker. I thanke ye all. To you my good Lord Maior, And you good Brethren, I am much beholding: I have receiv'd much Honour by your presence, And ye shall find me thankfull. Lead the way Lords, Ye must all see the Queene, and she must thanke ye, She will be sicke els. This day, no man thinke 'Has businesse at his house; for all shall stay: This Little-One shall make it Holy-day. Tis ten to one, this Play can never please All that are heere: Some come to take their ease, And sleepe an Act or two; but those we feare W' have frighted with our Trumpets: so 'tis cleare, They'l say tis naught. Others to heare the City Abus'd extreamly, and to cry that's witty, Which wee have not done neither; that I feare All the expected good w' are like to heare. For this Play at this time, is onely in The mercifull construction of good women, For such a one we shew'd 'em: If they smile, And say twill doe; I know within a while, All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap, If they hold, when their Ladies bid 'em clap.