ACT III.

SCENE I. Palace at Bridewell.

A Room in the Queen's Apartment.

The Queen, and some of her Women, at work. Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles;

Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave working.

SONG.

Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops, that freeze,

Bow themselves, when he did sing:
To his musick, plants, and flowers,
Ever sprung; as sun, and showers,
There had been a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet musick is such art;
Killing care, and grief of heart,
Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

Enter a Gentleman.

Q. Kath. How now?

Gent. An't please your grace, the two great

cardinals

Wait in the presence.

Q. Kath.

Would they speak with me?

Gent. They will'd me say so, madam.
Q. Kath.

Pray their graces To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their

business

With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour?

I do not like their coming, now I think on't. They should be good men; their affairs as righteous:

But all hoods make not monks.

Wol.

Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS.

Peace to your highness! Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a

housewife;

I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?

Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw

Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming.

Q. Kath.

There's nothing I have done science,

Speak it here; yet, o' my con

Deserves a corner: 'Would, all other women Could speak this with as free a soul as I do! My lords, I care not (so much I am happy Above a number), if my actions

Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them,
Envy and base opinion set against them,

I know my life so even: If your business
Seek me out, and that way am wife in,

Out with it boldly; Truth loves open dealing. Wol. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima,

Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latiu; I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have liv'd in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious;

Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you,

If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: Lord cardinal,

The willing'st sin I ever yet committed,
May be absolv'd in English.

Noble lady,

Wol. I am sorry, my integrity should breed (And service to his majesty and you)

So deep suspicion, 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 weighty difference
Between the king and you; and to deliver,
Like free and honest men, our just opinions,
And comforts to your cause.

Cam.

Most honour'd madam,

My lord of York,-out of his noble nature,
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace;
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure
Both of his truth aud him (which was too far),-
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,

His service and his counsel.

Q. Kath.

To betray me.

[Aside. My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so!)

But how to make you suddenly an answer,
In such a point of weight, so near mine honour
(More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit,
And to such men of gravity and learning,
In truth, I know not. I was set at work
Among my maids; full little, God knows, looking
Either for such men, or such business.
For her sake that I have been (for I feel
The last fit of my greatness), good your graces,
Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause;
Alas! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless.
Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with
these fears;

Your hopes and friends are infinite.

Q. Kath.
In England,
But little for my profit: Can you think, lords,
That any Englishman dare give me counsel?
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness'
pleasure

(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest),
And live a subject? Nay, forsooth my friends,
They that must weigh out my afflictions,
They that my trust must grow to, live not here;
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,
In mine own country, lords.

Cam.
I would, your grace
Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.
Q. Kath.
How, sir?
Cam. Put your main cause into the king's
protection;

He's loving, and most gracious; 'twill be much Both for your honour better, and your cause; For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you,

You'll part away disgrac'd.

Wol.

He tells you rightly.

Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin:

Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.

Cam.

Your rage mistakes us. Q. Kath. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,

Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues:
But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye;
Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your
comfort?

The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady?
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd?
I will not wish ye half my miseries,

I have more charity: But say, I warn'd ye;
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at

once

The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.
Wol. Madam, this is a mere distraction;
You turn the good we offer into envy.

Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing; Woe upon

ye,

And all such false professors! Would ye have me (If you have any justice, any pity;

If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits)
Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?
Alas! he has 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 only my obedience. What can happen
To me, above this wretchedness? all your studies
Make me a curse like this.

Cam.

Your fears are worse. Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long-(let me speak

myself,

Since virtue finds no friends),-a wife, a true

one?

A woman (I dare say, without vainglory),
Never yet branded with suspicion?

Have I, with all my full affections,

Still met the king? dov'd him next heaven? obey'd him?

Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? Almost forgot my prayers to content him? And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords.

Bring me a constant woman to her husband, One that ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his plea

sure;

And to that woman, when she has done most, Yet will I add an honour,-a great patience. Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.

Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,

To give up willingly that noble title

Your master wed me to: nothing but death
Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

Wol.

\'Pray, hear me. Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this English

earth,

Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!

Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts,

What will become of me now, wretched lady?
I am the most unhappy woman living.-
Alas! poor wenches, where are now your for-
tunes?
[To her Women.
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me,
Almost, no grave allow'd me:-Like the lily,
That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head, and perish.
If your grace
Could but be brought to know, our ends are

Wol.

honest,

You'd feel more comfort: why should we, good

lady,

Upon what cause, wrong you? alas! our places,
The way of our profession is against it;

We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow them.
For goodness' sake, consider what you do;
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this
carriage.

The hearts of princes kiss obedience,

So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits,
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
I know, you have a gentle, noble temper,
A soul, as even as a calm; Pray, think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and