Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level
Of a full charg'd confederacy, and give thanks
To you that chok'd it.-Let be call'd before us
That gentleman of Buckingham's: in person
I'll hear him his confessions justify;
And point by point the treasons of his master
He shall again relate.

The King takes his state. The Lords of the Council take their several places. The Cardinal places himself under the King's feet, on his right side.

A noise within, crying, Room for the Queen. Enter the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk: she kneels. The King riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses, and placeth her by him.

Q. Kath. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a

suitor.

K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us:-Half your suit

Never name to us; you have half our power:
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given;
Repeat your will, and take it.
Q. Kath.
Thank your majesty.
That you would love yourself; and, in that love,
Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor
The dignity of your office, is the point
Of my petition.

K. Hen.

Lady mine, proceed.

Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few, And those of true condition, that your subjects Are in great grievance: there have been com

missions

Sent down among them, which have flaw'd the heart

Of all their loyalties:wherein, although,
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter on

Of these exactions, yet the king our master
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil!) even
he escapes not

Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks "The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud rebellion.

Nor. Not almost appears, It doth appear; for upon these taxations, The clothiers all, not able to maintain The many to them 'longing, have put off The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who, Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger And lack of other means, in desperate manner

I

Wol.

By my life,

And for me,

have no farther gone in this, than by A single voice; and that not pass'd 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 virtue must go through. We must not stint
Our necessary actions, in the fear

To cope malicious censurers; which ever,
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow
That is new trimm'd; but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft,
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
For our best act. If we shall stand still,
In fear, our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
We should take root here where we sit, or sit
State statues only.

K. Hen.

Things done well, And with a care, exempt themselves from fear: Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent Of this commission ? I believe, not any. We must not rend our subjects from our laws, And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each? A trembling contribution! Why, we take, From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber;

K. Hen.

Taxation!

Please you, sir,

I know but of a single part, in aught
Pertains to the state; and front but in that file
Where others tell steps with me.

Q. Kath.
No, my lord,
You know no more than others: but you frame
Things, that are known alike; which are not
wholesome

To those which would not know them, and yet must

Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
Most pestilent to the hearing; and, to bear them,
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say,
They are devis'd by you; or else you suffer
Too hard an exclamation.

K. Hen.
Still exaction!
The nature of it? In what kind, let's know,
Is this exaction?
Q. Kath.

I am much too venturous
In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd
Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief
Comes through commissions, which compel from
each

I put it to your care. Wol.

A word with yon.

Q. Kath. I am
ingham

Is run in your displeasure.
K. Hen.

It grieves many: The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker,

To nature none more bound; his training such, That he may furnish and instruct grave teachers, And never seek for aid out of himself.

His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady,
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
That once were his, and is become as black
As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear
(This was his gentleman in trust) of him
Things to strike honour sad.-Bid him recount
The fore-recited practices; whereof
We cannot feel too little, hear too much.
Wol. Stand forth; and with bold spirit relate
what you,

Most like a careful subject, have collected
Out of the Duke of Buckingham.
K. Hen.

Speak freely.
Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day
It would infect his speech, That if the king
Should without issue die, he'd carry it so
To make the sceptre his: These very words
I have heard him utter to his son-in-law,
Lord Aberga'ny; to whom by oath he menac'd
Revenge upon the cardinal.

Wol

Please your highness, note This dangerous conception in this point. Not friended by his wish, to your high person His will is most malignant; and it stretches Beyond you, to your friends.

Q. Kath

My learn'd lord cardinal, Deliver all with charity. K. Hen.

Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail 7 to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Surv.

He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. K. Hen. What was that Hopkins? Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor; who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. K. Hen.

How know'st thou this? Surv. Not long before your highness sped to France,

The duke being at the Rose, within the parish
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
What was the speech amongst the Londoners
Concerning the French journey: I replied,
Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious,
To the king's danger. Presently the duke
Said, 'Twas the fear indeed; and that he doubted,
"Twould prove the verity of certain words
Spoke by a holy monk: That oft, says he,
Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a matter of some moment:
Whom after under the confession's seal
He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke,
My chaplain, to no creature living, but
To me, should utter, with demure confidence
This pausingly ensued,-Neither the king, nor
his heirs

(Tell you the duke,) shall prosper: bid him strive

To gain the love of the commonalty; the duke
Shall govern England.
Q. Kath.

If I know you well,

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office On the complaint o'the tenants: Take good heed, You charge not in your spleen a noble person, And spoil your nobler soul! I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you.

Let him on:

K. Hen. Go forward. Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dang'rous for him

To ruminate on this so far, until

It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd,
It was much like to do: He answer'd, Tush!
It can do me no damage: adding further,,
That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads
Should have gone off.
K. Hen.

Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha!

Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reprov'd the duke About Sir William Blomer,I remember,

K. Hen.

Of such a time :-Being my servant sworn, The duke retain'd him his.-But on; What hence?

Surv. If,quoth he, I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought,-I would have play'd

The part my father meant to act upon

The usurper Richard: who,being at Salisbury, Made suit to come in his presence; which if granted,

As he made semblance of his duty, would
Have put his knife into him.
K. Hen.

A giant traitor Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,

And this man out of prison?
Q. Kath.

God mend all! K. Hen. There's something more would out of thee; What say'st?

Surv. After-the duke his father, with the knife,[dagger, He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenour Was,-Were he evil us'd, he would outgo His father, by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. K. Hen.

There's his period, To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, Let him not seek't of us: By day and night, He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Room in the Palace. Enter the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should juggle

Men into such strange mysteries?
Sands.

New customs,

Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English
Have got by the late voyage, is but merely
A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones;
For when they hold them, you would swear

directly,

Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so.
Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones;
one would take it,

That never saw them pace before, the spavin,
A springhalt reign'd among them.
Cham.
Death! my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
That, sure, they have worn out christendom.
How now ?
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell ?

1 Gent. At his return, No doubt, he will requite it. This is neted, And generally: whoever the king favours, The cardinal instantly will find employment, And far enough from court too.

2 Gent.

All the commons Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience, Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much' They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,

The mirror of all courtesy ;1 Gent.

Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of Enter Buckingham from his arraignment; Tipstaves before him, the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: with him, Sir Thomas Lovell, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Sands, and common People. 2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. Buck. All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose

Be what they will, I heartily forgive them:
Yet let them look they glory not in mischief,
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;
For then my guiltless blood must cry against
them.

For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies
More than I dare make faults. You few that
lov'd me,

And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying,
Go with me, like good angels, to my end;
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me,
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to heaven.-Lead on, of God's

nanie.

Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart

Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you, As I would be forgiven: I forgive all; There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with no black envy

Shail make my grave.-Commend me to his grace;

And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaven: my vows and

prayers

Yet I am richer than my base accusers,

That never knew what truth meant: I now seal

it ;

And with that blood will make them one day groan for't.

My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant Banister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
And without trial fell; God's peace be with
him!

Henry the Seventh, succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins,
Made my name once more noble. Now his son,
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all
That made me happy, at one stroke has taken
For ever from the world. I had my trial,
And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes

me

A little happier than my wretched father:
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes,-Both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most;
A most unnatural and faithless service!
Heaven has an end in all: Yet, you that hear

me,

This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels,

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 again

But where they mean to sink ye. All good peo ple,

Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour

Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewell:

And when you would say something that is sad,
Speak how I fell.-I have done; and God forgive

me! [Exeunt Buckingham and Train. 1 Gent. O, this is full of pity!-Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their heads, That were the authors.

2 Gent.

If the duke be guiltless, 'Tis full of wo: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall, Greater than this. 1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us! Where may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir. 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it. 1 Gent. Let me have it.

I do not talk much.
2 Gent.
I am confident:
You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear
A buzzing, of a separation
Between the king and Katharine?
1 Gent.
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 rumour, and allay those tongues
That durst disperse it.

2 Gent. But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now; for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain, The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal. Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: To confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately; As all think, for this business. 1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor, For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 2 Gent. I think you have hit the mark. But is't not cruel,