The quiet of my wounded conscience;

Thou art a cure fit for a king. [To CAMPEIUS.] You're welcome,

Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom:

Use us and it. [To WOLSEY.] 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. [To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK.]

busy; go.

We are

Nor. Aside to SUFFOLK. This priest has no pride in him?

Suf. [Aside to NORFOLK.] Not to speak of.

But this cannot continue.

Nor. [Aside to SUFFOLK.] If it do,

I'll venture one have-at-him.

Suf. [Aside to NORFOLK.] I another.

[Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFolk.

Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom. Above all princes, in committing freely

Your scruple to the voice of Christendom:
Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,
Must now confess, if they have any goodness,
The trial just and noble. All the clerks,

I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms Gave their free voices : Rome, the nurse of judgment,

Invited by your noble self, hath sent

One general tongue unto us, this good man,

This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius,Whom once more I present unto your highness. King. And once more in mine arms I bid him

welcome.

They've sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.

Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers'

loves,

You are so noble. To your highness' hand

I tender my commission; by whose virtue,
The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant
In the unpartial judging of this business.

King. Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted

Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner ?
Wol. I know your majesty has always lov'd her
So dear in heart, not to deny her that

A woman of less place might ask by law:
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.

King. Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour

To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,
Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary:
I find him a fit fellow.

[WOLSEY beckons at door.

Enter GARDINER.

Wol. [Aside to GARDINER.] Give me your hand much joy and favour to you;

You are the king's now.

Gard. [Aside to WOLSEY.] But to be commanded For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. King. Come hither, Gardiner.

They converse apart.

Cam. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace In this man's place before him?

Wol.

Cam. Was he not held a learned man?

Wol.

Yes, he was.

Yes, surely.

Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord Cardinal.

Wol.

How! of me?

C

Cam. They will not stick to say you envied him, And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,

Kept him a foreign man still; which so griev'd him, That he ran mad and died.

Wol. Heaven's peace be with him! That's Christian care enough. He was a fool, For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow, If I command him, follows my appointment:

I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, We live not to be gripp'd by meaner persons.

King. Deliver this with modesty to the queen.
[Exit GARDINER.

The most convenient place that I can think of
For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars;
There you shall meet about this weighty business.
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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 3.-A Garden of the Palace.

Enter ANNE BULLEN and an Old Lady.

Anne.

OT for that neither: here's the pang that pinches :

His highness having liv'd so long with her,
and she

So good a lady that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonour of her,-O, now, after
So many courses of the sun enthron'd,

Still growing in majesty and pomp,—the which
To leaves a thousand fold more bitter than

'Tis sweet at first t' acquire,—after this process
To give her the avaunt!-Verily

I swear 'tis better to be lowly born,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief,

And wear a golden sorrow.

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

Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven.
Old L. 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would

hire me,

Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you,

What think you of a duchess? have you limbs
To bear that load of title?

Anne.

How you do talk!

I swear again, I would not be a queen

For all the world.

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN.

Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth

to know

The secret of your conference?

Anne.

My good lord,

Not your demand; it values not your asking:
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.

Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women: there is hope

All will be well.

Anne.

Now, I pray God, amen!

Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly

blessings

Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's

Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty
Commends his good opinion of you, and

Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which title
A thousand pounds a year, annual support,
Out of his grace he adds.

Anne.

I do not know

What kind of my obedience I should tender ;
More than my all is nothing.

Beseech your lordship,

Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; Whose health and royalty I pray for.

Cham.

Lady,

I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit

The king hath of you.

Anne. My honour'd lord.

[Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN.

Old L. Why, this it is; see, see!

I have been begging sixteen years in court,

Am yet a courtier beggarly,—and you, O fate!
A very fresh-fish here—fie, fie upon

This compell'd fortune !-have your mouth fill'd up
Before you open't.

Anne. This is strange to me!

Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty-pence, no. There was a lady once, 'tis an old story,

That would not be a queen, that would she not,
For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it?
Anne. Come, you are pleasant.

Old L.

With your theme, I could

O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke !

A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!

No other obligation! By my life,

That promises more thousands.

Anne.

Good lady,

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,