Wol. Yes, surely. Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then Even of yourself, lord cardinal. Wol. How! of me? Cam. They will not stick to say, you envy'd 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. For he would needs be virtuous: That good fellow, K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen [Exit Gardiner. The most convenient place that I can think of, So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience,— [Exeunt. SCENE III. AN ANTECHAMBER IN THE QUEEN'S APARTMENTS. Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady. Anne. Not 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 Still growing in a majesty and pomp,-the which She ne'er had known pomp: though it be tem poral, Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce. It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging As soul and body's severing. I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Which, to say sooth, are blessings: and which gifts (Saving your mincing) the capacity Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, you might please to stretch it. If Anne. Nay, good troth,— 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 dutchess? have you limbs To bear that load of title? Anne. No, in truth. Old L. Then you are weakly made: Pluck off a little; I would not be a young count in your way, Ever to get a boy. Anne. How you do talk! I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world. Old L. In faith, for little England You'd venture an emballing: I myself Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? 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: Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming Anne. Now I pray God, amen! Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, Anne. I do not know, What kind of my obedience I should tender; 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. Cham. Lady, I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, [Aside. 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, 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,) nor could Come pat betwixt too early and too late, any suit of pounds: and you, (O fate!) fresh-fish here, (fye, fye upon For A very This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd up, Before you open it. Anne. This is strange to me. Old L. How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. |