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Henry The Eighth (Folio 1, 1623)

Author: William Shakespeare
Not Peer Reviewed
The Life of King Henry the Eight.
215
1225And range with humble liuers in Content,
Then to be perk'd vp in a glistring griefe,
And weare a golden sorrow.
Old L. Our content
Is our best hauing.
1230Anne. By my troth, and Maidenhead,
I would not be a Queene.
Old. L. Beshrew me, I would,
And venture Maidenhead for't, and so would you
For all this spice of your Hipocrisie:
1235You that haue so faire parts of Woman on you,
Haue (too) a Womans heart, which euer yet
Affected Eminence, Wealth, Soueraignty;
Which, to say sooth, are Blessings; and which guifts
(Sauing your mincing) the capacity
1240Of your soft Chiuerell Conscience, would receiue,
If you might please to stretch it.
Anne. Nay, good troth.
Old L. Yes troth, & troth; you would not be a Queen?
Anne. No, not for all the riches vnder Heauen.
1245Old. L. Tis strange; a threepence bow'd would hire me
Old as I am, to Queene it: but I pray you,
What thinke you of a Dutchesse? Haue you limbs
To beare that load of Title?
An. No in truth.
1250Old. L. Then you are weakly made; plucke off a little,
I would not be a young Count in your way,
For more then blushing comes to: If your backe
Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, tis too weake
Euer to get a Boy.
1255An. How you doe talke;
I sweare againe, I would not be a Queene,
For all the world.
Old. L. In faith, for little England
You'ld venture an emballing: I my selfe
1260Would for Carnaruanshire, although there long'd
No more to th'Crowne but that: Lo, who comes here?
Enter Lord Chamberlaine.
L. Cham. Good morrow Ladies; what wer't worth to
The secret of your conference?
1265An. My good Lord,
Not your demand; it values not your asking:
Our Mistris Sorrowes we were pittying.
Cham. It was a gentle businesse, and becomming
The action of good women, there is hope
1270All will be well.
An. Now I pray God, Amen.
Cham. You beare a gentle minde, & heau'nly blessings
Follow such Creatures. That you may, faire Lady
Perceiue I speake sincerely, and high notes
1275Tane of your many vertues; the Kings Maiesty
Commends his good opinion of you, to you; and
Doe's purpose honour to you no lesse flowing,
Then Marchionesse of Pembrooke; to which Title,
A Thousand pound a yeare, Annuall support,
1280Out of his Grace, he addes.
An. I doe not know
What kinde of my obedience, I should tender;
More then my All, is Nothing: Nor my Prayers
Are not words duely hallowed; nor my Wishes
1285More worth, then empty vanities: yet Prayers & Wishes
Are all I can returne. 'Beseech your Lordship,
Vouchsafe to speake my thankes, and my obedience,
As from a blushing Handmaid, to his Highnesse;
Whose health and Royalty I pray for.
1290Cham. Lady;
I shall not faile t'approue the faire conceit
The King hath of you. I haue perus'd her well,
Beauty and Honour in her are so mingled,
That they haue caught the King: and who knowes yet
1295But from this Lady, may proceed a Iemme,
To lighten all this Ile. I'le to the King,
And say I spoke with you.
Exit Lord Chamberlaine.
An. My honour'd Lord.
1300Old. L. Why this it is: See, see,
I haue beene begging sixteene yeares in Court
(Am yet a Courtier beggerly) nor could
Come pat betwixt too early, and too late
For any suit of pounds: and you, (oh fate)
1305A very fresh Fish heere; fye, fye, fye vpon
This compel'd fortune: haue your mouth fild vp,
Before you open it.
An. This is strange to me.
Old L. How tasts it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no:
1310There was a Lady once (tis an old Story)
That would not be a Queene, that would she not
For all the mud in Egypt; haue you heard it?
An. Come you are pleasant.
Old. L. With your Theame, I could
1315O're-mount the Larke: The Marchionesse of Pembrooke?
A thousand pounds a yeare, for pure respect?
No other obligation? by my Life,
That promises mo thousands: Honours traine
Is longer then his fore-skirt; by this time
1320I know your backe will beare a Dutchesse. Say,
Are you not stronger then you were?
An. Good Lady,
Make your selfe mirth with your particular fancy,
And leaue me out on't. Would I had no being
1325If this salute my blood a iot; it faints me
To thinke what followes.
The Queene is comfortlesse, and wee forgetfull
In our long absence: pray doe not deliuer,
What heere y'haue heard to her.
1330Old L. What doe you thinke me ---
Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.


Trumpets, Sennet, and Cornets.
Enter two Vergers, with short siluer wands; next them two
Scribes in the habite of Doctors; after them, the Bishop of
1335Canterbury alone; after him, the Bishops of Lincolne, Ely,
Rochester, and S. Asaph: Next them, with some small
distance, followes a Gentleman bearing the Purse, with the
great Seale, and a Cardinals Hat: Then two Priests, bea-
ringeach a Siluer Crosse: Then a Gentleman Vsher bare-
1340headed, accompanyed with a Sergeant at Armes, bearing a
Siluer Mace: Then two Gentlemen bearing two great
Siluer Pillers: After them, side by side, the two Cardinals,
two Noblemen, with the Sword and Mace. The King takes
place vnder the Cloth of State. The two Cardinalls sit
1345vnder him as Iudges. The Queene takes place some di-
stancefrom the King. The Bishops place themselues on
each side the Court in manner of a Consistory: Below them
the Scribes. The Lords sit next the Bishops. The rest of the
Attendants stand in conuenient order about the Stage.
v2
Card.