mumchance, and then after to dance with them, and so to have of them acquaintance. And, sir, they furthermore require of your grace licence to accomplish the cause of their repair.' To whom the cardinal answered that he was very well contented they should do so. Then the maskers went first and saluted all the dames as they sat, and then returned to the most worthiest, and there opened a cup full of gold, with crowns and other pieces of coin, to whom they set divers pieces to cast at. Thus in this manner perusing all the ladies and gentlewomen, and to some they lost, and of some they won. And thus done, they returned unto the cardinal, with great reverence, pouring down all the crowns in the cup, which was about two hundred crowns. 'At all,' quoth the cardinal, and so cast the dice, and won them all at a cast; whereat was great joy made. Then quoth the cardinal to my lord chamberlain, I pray you,' quoth he, 'show them that it seemeth me that there should be among them some noble man, whom I suppose to be much more worthy of honour to sit and occupy this room and place than I; to whom I would most gladly, if I knew him, surrender my place, according to my duty.' Then spake my lord chamberlain unto them in French, declaring my lord cardinal's mind, and they rounding him again in the ear, my lord chamberlain said to my lord cardinal, 'Sir, they confess,' quoth he, that among them there is such a noble personage, whom, if your grace can appoint him from the other, he is contented to disclose himself, and to accept your place most worthily.' With that the cardinal, taking a good advisement among them, at the last quoth he, 'Me seemeth the gentleman with the black beard should be even he.' And with that he arose out of his chair, and offered the same to the gen

tleman in the black beard, with his cap in his hand. The person to whom he offered then his chair was Sir Edward Neville, a comely knight, of a goodly personage, that much more resembled the king's person in that mask than any other. The king, hearing and perceiving the cardinal so deceived in his estimation and choice, could not forbear laughing; but plucked down his visor, and Master Neville's also, and dashed out with such a pleasant countenance and cheer, that all noble estates there assembled, seeing the king to be there amongst them, rejoiced very much. The cardinal eftsoons desired his highness to take the place of estate; to whom the king answered that he would go first and shift his apparel; and so departed, and went straight into my lord's bedchamber, where was a great fire made and prepared for him, and there new apparelled him with rich and princely garments. And in the time of the king's absence the dishes of the banquet were clean taken up, and the tables spread again with new and sweet perfumed cloths; every man sitting still until the king and his maskers came in among them again, every man being newly apparelled. Then the king took his seat under the cloth of estate, commanding no man to remove, but sit still, as they did before. Then in came a new banquet before the king's majesty, and to all the rest through the tables, wherein, I suppose, were served two hundred dishes or above, of wondrous costly meats and devices subtilly devised. Thus passed they forth the whole night banqueting, dancing, and other triumphant devices, to the great comfort of the king, and pleasant regard of the nobility there assembled."

Shakspere, with great dramatic skill, has here first introduced Anne Bullen upon the scene.

2 Gent. I am sorry for 't. 1 Gent.

So are a number more.

2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it?

1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where to his accusations He pleaded still, not guilty, and alleg'd Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney, on the contrary, Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desir'd To have brought, vivá voce, to his face: At which appear'd against him, his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief.

All these accus'd him strongly: which he fain Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not:

And so his peers, upon this evidence,
Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all
Was either pitied in him, or forgotten.

2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself?

1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, to hear

His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd
With such an agony, he sweat extremely,
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty :
But he fell to himself again, and sweetly
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.
2 Gent. I do not think he fears death.
1 Gent.
Sure, he does not,
He never was so womanish; the cause
He may a little grieve at.

At his return,

1 Gent.
No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,
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 n; call him bounteous
Buckingham,

The mirror of all courtesy.

Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; Tipstaves before him; the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side; accompanied with 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

me.

I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die: Yet, heaven bear witness,

And if I have a conscience let it sink me,
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!
The law I bear no malice for my death,
It has done, upon the premises, but justice:
But those that sought it I could wish more
christians:

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, o' God's

name.

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 that I cannot take peace with:
No black envy shall mark 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 are the king's; and, till my soul forsake,
Shall cry for blessings on him: May he live

a These short lines are not introduced without a meaning. With those pauses in the delivery that properly belong to one speaking under such circumstances they add to the pathos. The three lines, beginning "'Gainst me," are ordinarily printed as two. The original has make my’grave, which Warburton altered to mark my grave.

"'Gainst me I can't take peace with: no black envy Shall make my grave. Commend me to his grace." b Rowe here stuck in me-" till my soul forsake me." It is not difficult to see that Shakspere had a different metaphysical notion from that of his editor: the me places the individuality in the body alone.

Longer than I have time to tell his years!
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be!
And, when old time shall lead him to his end,
Goodness and he fill up one monument !

Lov. To the water side I must conduct your
grace;

Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end.

Vaux. Prepare there, The duke is coming; see the barge be ready; And fit it with such furniture as suits

The greatness of his person.

Nay, sir Nicholas,

Buck. Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither I was lord high constable, And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:

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 coun-
sels,

Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends,

And give your hearts to, when they once per

ceive

The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to sink ye. All good
people,

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. "T is the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor, For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 2 Gent. I think you have hit the mark: But is 't not cruel

That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall. 1 Gent.

'Tis woeful.

a What may it be. Some modern editors read, "where may it be?"

SCENE II.-An Antechamber in the Palace.

Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter. Cham.

'My Lord,-The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. 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 cardinal's, by commission and main power, took 'em from me; with this reason,-His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king; which stopped our mouths, sir.'

I fear, he will, indeed: Well, let him have them:
He will have all, I think.

Enter the DUKES OF NORFOLK and SUFFOLK.
Nor. Well met, my lord chamberlain."
Cham. Good day to both your graces.
Suf. How is the king employ'd?
Cham

I left him private.
Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
Nor.
What's the cause?
Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's
wife

Has crept too near his conscience.

Suf.

No, his conscience Has crept too near another lady.

Nor. 'Tis so: This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal: That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune, Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.

Suf. Pray God he do! he'll never know him

self else.

Nor. How holily he works in all his business! And with what zeal! For now he has crack'd the league

Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew:

He dives into the king's soul; and there scatters Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience, Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage :

And out of all these to restore the king,

He counsels a divorce: a loss of her
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, 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 stroke of fortune falls
Will bless the king: And is not this course
pious?

a Good-"my good lord chamberlain "- was here thrust into the text.

Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel! "T is most true

These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks them,

And every true heart weeps for 't: All that dare
Look into these affairs see this main end,-
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day

open