Act II, Scene ii
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| CHAMBERLAIN. 'My lord, | |
| 'The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care | |
| had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnish'd. 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 serv'd | |
| before a subject, if not before the King; which stopp'd | |
| our mouths, sir.' | |
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| I fear he will indeed. Well, let him have them. | |
| He will have all, I think. | |
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| Enter to the LORD CHAMBERLAIN the DUKES OF NORFOLK and | |
| | SUFFOLK | |
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| NORFOLK. Well met, my Lord Chamberlain. | |
| CHAMBERLAIN. Good day to both your Graces. | |
| SUFFOLK. How is the King employ'd? | |
| CHAMBERLAIN. I left him private, | |
| Full of sad thoughts and troubles. | |
| NORFOLK. What's the cause? | |
| CHAMBERLAIN. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife | |
| Has crept too near his conscience. | |
| SUFFOLK. No, his conscience | |
| Has crept too near another lady. | |
| NORFOLK. '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. | |
| SUFFOLK. Pray God he do! He'll never know himself else. | |
| NORFOLK. 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? | |
| CHAMBERLAIN. Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true | |
| These news are everywhere; every tongue speaks 'em, | |
| 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 | |
| The King's eyes, that so long have slept upon | |
| This bold bad man. | |
| SUFFOLK. And free us from his slavery. | |
| NORFOLK. We had need pray, and heartily, for our deliverance; | |
| Or this imperious man will work us all | |
| From princes into pages. All men's honours | |
| Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd | |
| Into what pitch he please. | |
| SUFFOLK. For me, my lords, | |
| I love him not, nor fear him—there's my creed; | |
| As I am made without him, so I'll stand, | |
| If the King please; his curses and his blessings | |
| Touch me alike; th' are breath I not believe in. | |
| I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him | |
| To him that made him proud—the Pope. | |
| NORFOLK. Let's in; | |
| And with some other business put the King | |
| From these sad thoughts that work too much upon him. | |
| My lord, you'll bear us company? | |
| CHAMBERLAIN. Excuse me, | |
| The King has sent me otherwhere; besides, | |
| You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him. | |
| Health to your lordships! | |
| NORFOLK. Thanks, my good Lord Chamberlain. | |
| Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN; and the KING | |
| | draws the curtain and sits reading pensively | |
| SUFFOLK. How sad he looks; sure, he is much afflicted. | |
| KING. Who's there, ha? | |
| NORFOLK. Pray God he be not angry. | |
| KING HENRY. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves | |
| Into my private meditations? | |
| Who am I, ha? | |
| NORFOLK. A gracious king that pardons all offences | |
| Malice ne'er meant. Our breach of duty this way | |
| Is business of estate, in which we come | |
| To know your royal pleasure. | |
| KING. Ye are too bold. | |
| Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business. | |
| Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha? | |
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| Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS with a commission | |
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| Who's there? My good Lord Cardinal? O my Wolsey, | |
| 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. | |
| WOLSEY. Sir, you cannot. | |
| I would your Grace would give us but an hour | |
| Of private conference. | |
| KING.[To NORFOLK and SUFFOLK]We are busy; go. | |
| NORFOLK.[Aside to SUFFOLK]This priest has no pride in him! | |
| SUFFOLK.[Aside to NORFOLK]Not to speak of! | |
| I would not be so sick though for his place. | |
| But this cannot continue. | |
| NORFOLK.[Aside to SUFFOLK]If it do, | |
| I'll venture one have-at-him. | |
| SUFFOLK.[Aside to NORFOLK]I another. | |
| Exeunt NORFOLK and SUFFOLK | |
| WOLSEY. 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 | |
| Have 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, | |
| And thank the holy conclave for their loves. | |
| They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for. | |
| CAMPEIUS. 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? | |
| WOLSEY. 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. Exit WOLSEY | |
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| Re-enter WOLSEY with GARDINER | |
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| WOLSEY.[Aside to GARDINER]Give me your hand: much | |
| joy and favour to you; | |
| You are the King's now. | |
| GARDINER.[Aside to WOLSEY]But to be commanded | |
| For ever by your Grace, whose hand has rais'd me. | |
| KING. Come hither, Gardiner.[Walks and whispers] | |
| CAMPEIUS. My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace | |
| In this man's place before him? | |
| WOLSEY. Yes, he was. | |
| CAMPEIUS. Was he not held a learned man? | |
| WOLSEY. Yes, surely. | |
| CAMPEIUS. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then, | |
| Even of yourself, Lord Cardinal. | |
| WOLSEY. How! Of me? | |
| CAMPEIUS. 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. | |
| WOLSEY. Heav'n's peace be with him! | |
| That's Christian care enough. For living murmurers | |
| 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 so near else. Learn this, brother, | |
| We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. | |
| KING. Deliver this with modesty to th' Queen. | |
| Exit | |
| | GARDINER | |
| The most convenient place that I can think of | |
| For such receipt of learning is Blackfriars; | |
| There ye 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 | |
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