Suf. Pray God he do,

He'll never know himself elfe.

Nor. How holily he works in all his Bufinefs,

And with what zeal? For now he has crackt the League
Between us and the Emperor; the Queen's great Nephews
He dives into the King's Soul, and there scatters
Dangers, Doubts, wringing of the Confcience,
Fears, and Defpairs, and all thefe for his Marriage.
And out of all these, to restore the King,
He counfels a Divorce, a lofs of her,
That like a Jewel, has hung twenty Years
About his Neck, yet never loft her Luftre;
Of her that loves him with that excellence,
That Angels love good Men with; even of her,
That, when the greatest ftroke of Fortune falls,
Will blefs the King; and is not this courfe pious?

Cham. Heav'n keep me from fuch Counfel; 'tis möft true;
These News are every where, every Tongue fpeaks 'em,
And every true Heart weeps for't. All that dare
Look into thefe Affairs, fee his main end,

The French King's Sifter. Heav'n will one day open
The King's Eyes, that fo long have flept upon
This bold bad Man,

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

And heartily, for our deliverance;

Or this Imperious Man will work us all
From Princes into Pages; all Mens Honours
Lye like one lump before him, to be fafhion'd
Into what pitch he pleafe.

Suf. For me, my Lords,

I love him not, nor fear him, there's my Creed:
As I am made without him, fo I'll ftand,
If the King pleafe; his Curfes and his Bleffings
Touch me alike; th' are breath I not believe in
I knew him, and I know him; fo I leave him
To him that made him proud, the Pope,
Nor. Let's in;

And with fome other Bufinefs, put the King

From these fad Thoughts, that work too much upon him; My Lord; you'll bear us company?

Cham. Excufe me,

The King has fent me other-where: Befides
You'll find a moft' unfit time to difturb him:
Health to your Lordships. [Exit Lord Chamberlain.
Nor. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain.

The Scene draws, and difcovers the King futing and reading penfively.

Saf. How fad he looks; fure he is much afflicted.
King. Who's there? Ha?

Nor. Pray God, he be not angry.

King. Who's there, I fay? how dare you thruft your felve Into my private Meditations?

Who am I? ha?

Nor. A gracious King, that pardons all Offences Malice ne'er meant: Our breach of Duty this way, Is Bufinefs of Eftate; in which, we come

To know your Royal Pleasure.

King. Ye are too bold:

Go to; I'll make ye know your times of Bufinefs:
Is this an hour for temporal Affairs? ha?

Enter Wolfey,and Campeius the Pope's Legat, with a Commission.
Who's there? my good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolfey,
The quiet of my wounded Confcienc;

Thou art a cure fit for the King; you're welcome,

Moft learned reverend Sir, into our Kingdom,
Ufe us, and it; my good Lord, have great care,

I be not found a Talker.

Wol. Sir, you cannot:

I would your Grace would give us but an hour
Of private Conference.

King. We are bufie; go.

Ner. This Prieft has no Pride in him?

Suf. Not to speak of:

I would not be fo fick though, for his place:

But this cannot continue.

Nor. If it do, I'll venture one heave at him.

Suf. I another.

[Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk,

Wol. Your Grace has given a Precedent of Wisdom Above all Princes, in committing freely

Your fcruple to the Voice of Christendom:

Who

Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?
The Spaniard, ty'd by blood and favour to her,
Muft now confefs, if they have any goodness,
The Trial juft and noble. All the Clerks,

I mean the learned ones in Chriftian Kingdoms,
Have their free Voices. Rome, the Nurfe of Judgment,
Invited by your Noble felf, hath fent

One general Tongue unto us, this good Man,
This juft and learned Prieft, Cardinal Campeius,
Whom once more I prefent unto your Highnets.

King. And once more in mine Arms I bid him welcome,
And thank the holy Conclave for their Loves,
They have fent me fuch a Man I would have wifh'd for.
Cam. Your Grace muft needs deferve all Strangers loves,
You are fo Noble: To your Highneffes Hand

I tender my Commiffion; by whofe virtue,
The Court of Rome commanding, You, my Lord,
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me, their Servant,
In the impartial judging of this Bufinefs.

King. Two equal Men: The Queen fhall be acquainted
Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?
Wol. I know your Majefty has always lov'd her
So dear in Heart, not to deny her that,

A Woman of lefs Place might ask by Law,

Scholars allow'd, freely to argue for her,

King. Ay, and the beft the fhall have; and my favour To him that does beft, God forbid elfe; Cardinal, Prithee call Gardiner to me, my new Secretary,

I find him a fit Fellow.

Enter Gardiner.

Wol. Give me your Hand; much joy and favour to you;

You are the King's now.

Gard. But to be commanded

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

King. Come hither, Gardiner.

[Walks and whispers.

Cam. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace

In this Man's place before him?

Wol. Yes, he was.

Cam.. Was he not held a learned Man?

Wol. Yes, furely.

P 3

Cam

Cam. Believe me, there's an ill Opinion spread then Even of your felf, Lord Cardinal.

Wol. How? of me?

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

Wol. Heav'n's peace be with him;

That's Chriftian care enough; for living mumurers,
There's places of rebuke. He was a Fool,

For he would needs be virtuous. That good Fellow,
If I command him, follows my appointment;
I will have none fo near elfe. Learn this, Brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner Perfons.

King. Deliver this with modefty to th' Queen.

[Exit Gardiner.

The moft convenient place that I can think of,
For fuch receit of Learning, is Black-Fryars:
There ye fhall meet about this weighty Bufinefs.
My Wolfey, fee it furnish'd. O my Lord,
Would it not grieve an able Man to leave
So fweet a Bedfellow? But Confcience, Confcience
O'tis a tender Place, and I muft leave her.

SCENE III.

Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady.

Exeunt.

Anne. Not for that neither---here's the pang that pinches His Highnefs having liv'd fo long with her, and fhe So good a Lady, that no Tongue could ever Pronounce difhonour of her; by my Life, She never knew harm-doing: Oh, now after So many courfes of the Sun enthron'd, Still growing in a Majefty and Pomp, the which To leave, a thousand fold more bitter, than Tis fu eet at firft t'acquire. After this Procefs, To give her the Avaunt, it is a pity Would move a Monster.

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

Anne. O' God's Will, much better

She ne'er had known Pomp; though't be temporal,
Yet if that quarrel, Fortune, do divorce

It from the bearer, 'tis a fufferance, panging

As Soul and Body's fevering,

Old L. Alas, poor Lady,
She's Stranger now again.

Anne. So much the more
Muft pity drop upon her; verily
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in Content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glift'ring Grief,
And wear a golden Sorrow.

Old L. Our Content

Is our best having.

Anne. By my troth and Maidenhead, I would not be a Queen.

Old L. Befhrew me, I would,

And venture Maidenhead for't, and fo would you
For all this fpice of your Hypocrifie;

You that have fo fair parts of Woman on you,
Have, too, a Woman's Heart, which ever yet
Affected Eminence, Wealth, Sovereignty;

Which, to fay footh, are Bleffings; and which Gifts
(Saving your mincing) the Capacity

Of your foft Chiverel Confcience would receive,
If you might please to stretch it.

Anne. Nay, good troth

Old L. Yes, troth and troth; you would not be a Queen?

Anne. No, not for all the Riches under Heav'n.

Old L. 'Tis ftrange; a three-pence bow'd now would hire

Old as I am, to Queen it; but I pray you,

What think you of a Dutchefs? have you Limbs
To bear that load of Title?

Anne. No, in truth,

Old L. Then you are weakly made, pluck off a little,
I would not be a young Count in your way,
For more than blufhing comes to: If your Back
Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, 'tis too weak
Ever to get a Boy

P4

(m.e,

Anne.