The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

hard temper

Melt and lament for her.

ANNE. O, God’s will! much better

She ne’er had known pomp; though’t be temporal, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce It from the bearer, ‘tis a sufferance panging As soul and body’s severing.

OLD LADY. Alas, poor lady!

She’s a stranger now again.

ANNE. So much the more

Must pity drop upon her. Verily,

I swear ‘tis better to be lowly born

And range with humble livers in content Than to be perk’d up in a glist’ring grief And wear a golden sorrow.

OLD LADY. Our content

Is our best having.

ANNE. By my troth and maidenhead,

I would not be a queen.

OLD LADY. Beshrew me, I would,

And venture maidenhead for ‘t; and so would you, For all this spice of your hypocrisy.

You that have so fair parts of woman on you Have too a woman’s heart, which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, Saving your mincing, the capacity

Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive If you might please to stretch it.

ANNE. Nay, good troth.

OLD LADY. Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen!

ANNE. No, not for all the riches under heaven.

OLD LADY. ‘Tis strange: a threepence 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. No, in truth.

OLD LADY. Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way For more than blushing comes to. If your back Cannot vouchsafe this burden, ‘tis too weak Ever to get a boy.

ANNE. How you do talk!

I swear again I would not be a queen

For all the world.

OLD LADY. In faith, for little England

You’d venture an emballing. I myself

Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long’d No more to th’ crown but that. Lo, who comes here?

 

Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN

 

CHAMBERLAIN. 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.

CHAMBERLAIN. 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!

CHAMBERLAIN. You bear a gentle mind, and heav’nly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Perceive I speak sincerely and high notes Ta’en of your many virtues, the King’s Majesty Commends his good opinion of you to you, and Does purpose honour to you no less flowing Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which tide A thousand pound 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, nor my prayers Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes Are all I can return. 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.

CHAMBERLAIN. Lady,

I shall not fail t’ approve the fair conceit The King hath of you. [Aside] I have perus’d her well: Beauty and honour in her are so mingled That they have caught the King; and who knows yet But from this lady may proceed a gem

To lighten all this isle?-I’ll to the King And say I spoke with you.

ANNE. My honour’d lord! Exit LORD CHAMBERLAIN

OLD LADY. Why, this it is: see, see!

I have been begging sixteen years in court-Am yet a courtier beggarly-nor could

Come pat betwixt too early and too late For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!

A very fresh-fish here-fie, fie, fie upon This compell’d fortune!-have your mouth fill’d up Before you open it.

ANNE. This is strange to me.

OLD LADY. 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 LADY. 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 moe thousands: honour’s train Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time I know your back will bear a duchess. Say, Are you not stronger than you were?

ANNE. Good lady,

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, And leave me out on’t. Would I had no being, If this salute my blood a jot; it faints me To think what follows.

The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful In our long absence. Pray, do not deliver What here y’ have heard to her.

OLD LADY. What do you think me? Exeunt

ACT II. SCENE 4.

 

London. A hall in Blackfriars

 

Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two VERGERS, with short silver wands; next them, two SCRIBES, in the habit of doctors; after them, the ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY alone; after him, the BISHOPS OF LINCOLN, ELY, ROCHESTER, and SAINT ASAPH; next them, with some small distance, follows a GENTLEMAN bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a Cardinal’s hat; then two PRIESTS, bearing each silver cross; then a GENTLEMAN USHER bareheaded, accompanied with a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS

bearing a silver mace; then two GENTLEMEN bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two CARDINALS, WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS; two NOBLEMEN with the sword and mace. Then enter the KING and QUEEN

and their trains. The KING takes place under the cloth of state; the two CARDINALS sit under him as judges. The QUEEN takes place some distance from the KING. The BISHOPS place themselves on each side of the court, in manner of consistory; below them the SCRIBES.

The LORDS sit next the BISHOPS. The rest of the attendants stand in convenient order about the stage

 

WOLSEY. Whilst our commission from Rome is read, Let silence be commanded.

KING. What’s the need?

It hath already publicly been read,

And on all sides th’ authority allow’d; You may then spare that time.

WOLSEY. Be’t so; proceed.

SCRIBE. Say ‘Henry King of England, come into the court.’

CRIER. Henry King of England, &c.

KING. Here.

SCRIBE. Say ‘Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.’

CRIER. Katharine Queen of England, &c.

 

The QUEEN makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the KING, and kneels at his feet; then speaks

 

QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice, And to bestow your pity on me; for

I am a most poor woman and a stranger, Born out of your dominions, having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you? What cause Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure That thus you should proceed to put me of And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable, Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,

Yea, subject to your countenance-glad or sorry As I saw it inclin’d. When was the hour I ever contradicted your desire

Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy? What friend of mine That had to him deriv’d your anger did Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice He was from thence discharg’d? Sir, call to mind That I have been your wife in this obedience Upward of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you. If, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too against mine honour, aught, My bond to wedlock or my love and duty, Against your sacred person, in God’s name, Turn me away and let the foul’st contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up

To the sharp’st kind of justice. Please you, sir, The King, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatch’d wit and judgment; Ferdinand, My father, King of Spain, was reckon’d one The wisest prince that there had reign’d by many A year before. It is not to be question’d That they had gather’d a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deem’d our marriage lawful. Wherefore I humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me till I may Be by my friends in Spain advis’d, whose counsel I will implore. If not, i’ th’ name of God, Your pleasure be fulfill’d!

WOLSEY. You have here, lady,

And of your choice, these reverend fathers-men Of singular integrity and learning,

Yea, the elect o’ th’ land, who are assembled To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless That longer you desire the court, as well For your own quiet as to rectify

What is unsettled in the King.

CAMPEIUS. His Grace

Hath spoken well and justly; therefore, madam, It’s fit this royal session do proceed And that, without delay, their arguments Be now produc’d and heard.

QUEEN KATHARINE. Lord Cardinal,

To you I speak.

WOLSEY. Your pleasure, madam?

QUEEN KATHARINE. Sir,

I am about to weep; but, thinking that We are a queen, or long have dream’d so, certain The daughter of a king, my drops of tears I’ll turn to sparks of fire.

WOLSEY. Be patient yet.

QUEEN KATHARINE. I Will, when you are humble; nay, before Or God will punish me. I do believe,

Induc’d by potent circumstances, that You are mine enemy, and make my challenge You shall not be my judge; for it is you Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me-Which God’s dew quench! Therefore I say again, I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul

Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more I hold my most malicious foe and think not At all a friend to truth.

WOLSEY. I do profess

You speak not like yourself, who ever yet Have stood to charity and display’d th’ effects Of disposition gentle and of wisdom

O’ertopping woman’s pow’r. Madam, you do me wrong: I have no spleen against you, nor injustice For you or any; how far I have proceeded, Or how far further shall, is warranted By a commission from the Consistory,

Yea, the whole Consistory of Rome. You charge me That I have blown this coal: I do deny it.

The King is present; if it be known to him That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound, And worthily, my falsehood! Yea, as much As you have done my truth. If he know That I am free of your report, he knows I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him It lies to cure me, and the cure is to Remove these thoughts from you; the which before His Highness shall speak in, I do beseech You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking And to say so no more.

QUEEN KATHARINE. My lord, my lord,

I am a simple woman, much too weak

T’ oppose your cunning. Y’are meek and humble-mouth’d; You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, With meekness and humility; but your heart Is cramm’d with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.

You have, by fortune and his Highness’ favours, Gone slightly o’er low steps, and now are mounted Where pow’rs are your retainers, and your words, Domestics to you, serve your will as’t please Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you You tender more your person’s honour than Your high profession spiritual; that again I do refuse you for my judge and here, Before you all,