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 ANNE. Not for that neither. Here's the pang that pinches: |
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| His Highness having liv'd so long with her, and she |
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| So good a lady that no tongue could ever |
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| Pronounce dishonour of her—by my life, |
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| She never knew harm-doing—O, now, after |
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| So many courses of the sun enthroned, |
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| Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which |
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| To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than |
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| 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire—after this process, |
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| To give her the avaunt, it is a pity |
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| Would move a monster. |
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| OLD LADY. Hearts of most hard temper |
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| Melt and lament for her. |
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| ANNE. O, God's will! much better |
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| She ne'er had known pomp; though't be temporal, |
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| Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce |
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| It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging |
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| As soul and body's severing. |
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| OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady! |
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| She's a stranger now again. |
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| ANNE. So much the more |
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| Must pity drop upon her. Verily, |
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| I swear 'tis better to be lowly born |
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| And range with humble livers in content |
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| Than to be perk'd up in a glist'ring grief |
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| And wear a golden sorrow. |
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| OLD LADY. Our content |
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| Is our best having. |
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| ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead, |
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| I would not be a queen. |
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| OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would, |
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| And venture maidenhead for 't; and so would you, |
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| For all this spice of your hypocrisy. |
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| You that have so fair parts of woman on you |
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| Have too a woman's heart, which ever yet |
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| Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; |
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| Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, |
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| Saving your mincing, the capacity |
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| Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive |
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| If you might please to stretch it. |
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| ANNE. Nay, good troth. |
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| OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen! |
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| ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven. |
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| OLD LADY. 'Tis strange: a threepence bow'd would hire me, |
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| Old as I am, to queen it. But, I pray you, |
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| What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs |
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| To bear that load of title? |
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| ANNE. No, in truth. |
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| OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little; |
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| I would not be a young count in your way |
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| For more than blushing comes to. If your back |
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| Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak |
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| Ever to get a boy. |
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| ANNE. How you do talk! |
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| I swear again I would not be a queen |
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| For all the world. |
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| OLD LADY. In faith, for little England |
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| You'd venture an emballing. I myself |
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| Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd |
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| No more to th' crown but that. Lo, who comes here? |
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| CHAMBERLAIN. Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know |
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| The secret of your conference? |
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| ANNE. My good lord, |
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| Not your demand; it values not your asking. |
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| Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. |
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| CHAMBERLAIN. It was a gentle business and becoming |
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| The action of good women; there is hope |
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| All will be well. |
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| ANNE. Now, I pray God, amen! |
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| CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav'nly blessings |
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| Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, |
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| Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes |
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| Ta'en of your many virtues, the King's Majesty |
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| Commends his good opinion of you to you, and |
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| Does purpose honour to you no less flowing |
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| Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide |
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| A thousand pound a year, annual support, |
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| Out of his grace he adds. |
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| ANNE. I do not know |
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| What kind of my obedience I should tender; |
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| More than my all is nothing, nor my prayers |
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| Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes |
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| More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes |
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| Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, |
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| Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, |
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| As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness; |
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| Whose health and royalty I pray for. |
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| CHAMBERLAIN. Lady, |
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| I shall not fail t' approve the fair conceit |
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| The King hath of you.[Aside]I have perus'd her well: |
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| Beauty and honour in her are so mingled |
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|
| That they have caught the King; and who knows yet |
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| But from this lady may proceed a gem |
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|
| To lighten all this isle?—I'll to the King |
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|
| And say I spoke with you. |
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| ANNE. My honour'd lord! |
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| Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN |
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| OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see! |
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| I have been begging sixteen years in court— |
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| Am yet a courtier beggarly—nor could |
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|
| Come pat betwixt too early and too late |
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|
| For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! |
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|
| A very fresh-fish here—fie, fie, fie upon |
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|
| This compell'd fortune!—have your mouth fill'd up |
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| Before you open it. |
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| ANNE. This is strange to me. |
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| OLD LADY. How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no. |
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|
| There was a lady once—'tis an old story— |
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|
| That would not be a queen, that would she not, |
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|
| For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it? |
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| ANNE. Come, you are pleasant. |
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| OLD LADY. With your theme I could |
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| O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! |
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|
| A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! |
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|
| No other obligation! By my life, |
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|
| That promises moe thousands: honour's train |
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|
| Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time |
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|
| I know your back will bear a duchess. Say, |
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| Are you not stronger than you were? |
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| ANNE. Good lady, |
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|
| Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, |
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|
| And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, |
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|
| If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me |
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|
| To think what follows. |
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|
| The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful |
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|
| In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver |
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| What here y' have heard to her. |
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| OLD LADY. What do you think me? |
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| Exeunt |
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|
