I Come no more to make you laugh, Things now,
 That beare a Weighty, and a Serious Brow,
 Sad, high, and working, full of State and woe:
 Such Noble Scoenes, as draw the Eye to flow
 We now present.  Those that can Pitty, heere
 May (if they thinke it well) let fall a Teare,
 The Subject will deserve it.  Such as give
 Their Money out of hope they may beleeve,
 May heere finde Truth too.  Those that come to see
 Onely a show or two, and so agree
 The Play may passe:  If they be still, and willing,
 Ile undertake may see away their shilling
 Richly in two short houres.  Onely they
 That come to heare a Merry, Bawdy Play,
 A noyse of Targets:  Or to see a Fellow
 In a long Motley Coate, garded with Yellow,
 Will be deceyv'd. For gentle Hearers, know
 To ranke our chosen Truth with such a show
 As Foole, and Fight is, beside forfeyting
 Our owne Braines, and the Opinion that we bring
 To make that onely true, we now intend,
 Will leave us never an understanding Friend.
 Therefore, for Goodnesse sake, and as you are knowne
 The First and Happiest Hearers of the Towne,
 Be sad, as we would make ye.  Thinke ye see
 The very Persons of our Noble Story,
 As they were Living:  Thinke you see them Great,
 And follow'd with the generall throng, and sweat
 Of thousand Friends:  Then, in a moment, see
 How soone this Mightinesse, meets Misery:
 And if you can be merry then, Ile Say,
 A Man may weepe upon his Wedding day.





 Good morrow, and well met.  How have ye done
 Since last we saw in France?
  I thanke your Grace:
 Healthfull, and ever since a fresh Admirer
 Of what I saw there.
  An untimely Ague
 Staid me a Prisoner in my Chamber, when
 Those Sunnes of Glory, those two Lights of Men
 Met in the vale of Andren.
 'Twixt Guynes and Arde,
 I was then present, saw them salute on Horsebacke,
 Beheld them when they lighted, how they clung
 In their Embracement, as they grew together,
 Which had they,
 What foure Thron'd ones could have weigh'd
 Such a compounded one?
 All the whole time
 I was my Chambers Prisoner.
 Then you lost
 The view of earthly glory: Men might say
 Till this time Pompe was single, but now married
 To one above it selfe.  Each following day
 Became the next dayes master, till the last
 Made former Wonders, it's.  To day the French,
 All Clinquant all in Gold, like Heathen Gods
 Shown downe the English; and to morrow, they
 Made Britaine, India: Every man that flood,
 Shew'd like a Mine.  Their Dwarfish Pages were
 As Cherubins, all gilt: the Madams too,
 Not us'd to toyle, did almost sweat to beare
 The Pride upon them, that their very labour
 Was to them, as a Painting.  Now this Maske
 Was cry'de incompareable; and th' ensuing night
 Made it a Foole, and Begger.  The two Kings
 Equall in lustre, were now best, now worst
 As presence did present them: Him in eye,
 Still him in praise, and being present both,
 'Twas said they saw but one, and no Discerner
 Durst wagge his Tongue in censure, when these Sunnes
 (For so they phrase 'em) by their Heralds challeng'd
 The Noble Spirits to Armes, they did performe
 Beyond thoughts Compasse, that former fabulous Storie
 Being now seene, possible enough, got credit
 That Bevis was beleev'd.
 Oh you go farre.
 As I belong to worship, and affect
 In Honor, Honesty, the tract of ev'rything,
 Would by a good Discourser loose some life,
 Which Actions selfe, was tongue too.
 All was royall,
 To the disposing of it nought rebell'd,
 Order gave each thing view.  The Office did
 Distinctly his full Function: who did guide,
 I meane who set the Body, and the Limbes
 Of this great Sport together?
 As you guesse:
 One certes, that promises no Element
 In such a businesse.
 I pray you, my Lord?
 All this was ordred by the good Discretion
 Of the right Reverend Cardinall of Yorke.
 The divell speed him: No mans Pye is freed
 From his Ambitious finger.  What had he
 To do in these fierce Vanities?  I wonder,
 That such a Keech can with his very bulke
 Take up the Rayes o' th' beneficiall Sun,
 And keepe it from the Earth.
 Surely Sir,
 There's in him stuffe, that put's him to these ends:
 For being not propt by Auncestry, whose grace
 Chalkes Successors their way; nor call'd upon
 For high feats done to' th' Crowne; neither Allied
 To eminent Assistants; but Spider-like
 Out of his Selfe-drawing Web.  O gives us note,
 The force of his owne merit makes his way
 A guift that heaven gives for him, which buyes
 A place next to the King.
 I cannot tell
 What Heaven hath given him: let some Graver eye
 Pierce into that, but I can see his Pride
 Peepe through each part of him: whence ha's he that,
 If not from Hell? The Divell is a Niggard,
 Or ha's given all before, and he begins
 A new Hell in himselfe.
 Why the Divell,
 Upon this French going out, tooke he upon him
 (Without the privity o' th' King) t' appoint
 Who should attend on him: He makes up the File
 Of all the Gentry; for the most part such
 To whom as great a Charge, as little Honor
 He meant to lay upon: and his owne Letter
 The honourable Boord of Councell, out
 Must fetch him in, he Papers.
 I do know
 Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
 By this, so sicken'd their Estates, that never
 They shall abound as formerly.
 O many
 Have broke their backes with laying Mannors on 'em
 For this great Journey.  What did this vanity
 But minister communication of
 A most poore issue.
 Greevingly I thinke,
 The Peace betweene the French and us, not valewes
 The Cost that did conclude it.
 Every man,
 After the hideous storme that follow'd, was
 A thing Inspir'd, and not consulting, broke
 Into a generall Prophesie; That this Tempest
 Dashing the Garment of this peace, aboaded
 The sodaine breach on't.
 Which is budded out,
 For France hath flaw'd the League, and hath attach'd
 Our Merchants goods at Burdeux.
 Is it therefore
 Th' Ambassador is silenc'd?
 Marry is't.
 A proper Title of a Peace, and purchas'd
 At a superfluous rate.
 Why all this Businesse
 Our Reverend Cardinall carried.
 Like it your Grace,
 The State takes notice of the private difference
 Betwixt you, and the Cardinall.  I advise you
 (And take it from a heart, that wishes towards you
 Honor, and plenteous safety) that you reade
 The Cardinals Malice, and his Potency
 Together; To consider futher, that
 What his high Hatred would effect, wants not
 A Minister in his Power.  You know his Nature,
 That he's Revengefull; and I know his Sword
 Hath a sharpe edge: It's long, and't may be saide
 It reaches farre, and where 'twill not extend,
 Thither he darts it.  Bosome up my counsell,
 You'l finde it wholesome.  Loe, where comes that Rock
 That I advice your shunning.





 The Duke of Buckinghams Surveyor? Ha?
 Where's his Examination?
 Heere so please you.
 Is he in person, ready?
 I, please your Grace.
 Well, we shall then know more, & Buckingham
 Shall lessen this bigge looke.

 This Butchers Curre is venom'd-mouth'd, and I
 Have not the power to muzzle him, therefore best
 Not wake him in his slumber.  A Beggers booke,
 Out-worths a Nobles blood.
 What are you chaff'd?
 Aske God for Temp'rance, that's th' appliance onely
 Which your disease requires.
 I read in's looks
 Matter against me, and his eye revil'd
 Me as his abject obiect, at this instant
 He bores me with some tricke; He's gone to' th' King:
 Ile follow, and out-stare him.
 Stay my Lord,
 And let your Reason with your Choller question
 What 'tis you go about: to climbe steepe hilles
 Requires slow pace at first.  Anger is like
 A full hot Horse, who being allow'd his way
 Selfe-mettle tyres: Not a man in England
 Can adsive me like you: Be to your selfe,
 As you would to your Friend.
 Ile to the King,
 And from a mouth of Honor, quite cry downe
 This Ipswich fellowes insolences; or proclaime,
 There's difference in no persons.
 Be Advis'd;
 Heat not a Furnace for your foe so hot
 That it do sindge your selfe.  We may out-runne
 By violent swiftness that which we run at;
 And lose by over-running: know you not,
 The fire that mounts the liquor til 't run ore,
 In seeming to augment it, wasts it: be advis'd;
 I say againe there is no English Soule
 More stronger to direct you then your selfe;
 If with the sap of reason you would quench,
 Or but allay the fire of passion.
 Sir,
 I am thankfull to you, and Ile goe along
 By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow,
 Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but
 From sincere motions, by Intelligence,
 And proofes as cleere as Founts in July, when
 Wee see each graine of gravell; I doe know
 To be corrupt and treasonous.
 Say not treasonous.
 To th' King Ile say 't, & make my vouch as
 strong
 As shore of Rocke: attend.  This holy Foxe,
 Or Wolfe, or both (for he is equall rav'nous
 As he is subtile, and as prone to mischiefe,
 As able to perform 't) his minde, and place
 Infecting one another, yea reciprocally,
 Only to shew his pompe, as well in France,
 As here at home, suggests the King our Master
 To this last costly Treaty: Th' enterview
 That swallowed so much treasure, and like a glasse
 Did breake ith' wrenching.
 Faith, and so it did.
 Pray give me favour Sir: This cunning Cardinall
 The Articles o' th' Combination drew
 As himselfe pleas'd; and they were ratified
 As he cride thus let be, to as much end,
 As give a Crutch to th' dead.  But our Count-Cardinall
 Has done this, and tis well: For worthy Wolsey
 (Who cannot erre) he did it.  Now this followes,
 (Which as I take it is a kinde of Puppie
 To th' old dam Treason) Charles the Emperour,
 Under pretence to see the Queene his Aunt,
 (For twas indeed his colour, but he came
 To whisper Wolsey) here makes visitation,
 His feares were that the Interview betwixt
 England and France, might through their amity
 Breed him some prejudice; for from this League,
 Peep'd harmes that menac'd him.  Privily
 Deales with our Cardinal, and as I troa
 Which I doe well; for I am sure the Emperour
 Paid ere he promis'd, whereby his Suit was granted
 Ere it was ask'd.  But when the way was made
 and pav'd with gold: the Emperor thus desir'd,
 That he would please to alter the Kings course,
 And breake the foresaid peace.  Let the King know
 (As soone he shall by me) that thus the Cardinall
 Does buy and sell his Honour as he pleases,
 And for his owne advantage.
 I am sorry
 To heare this of him; and could wish he were
 Somthing mistaken in 't.
 No, not a sillable:
 I doe pronounce him in that very shape
 He shall appeare in proofe.


 Your Office Sergeant: execute it.
 Sir
 My Lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earle
 Of Hertford, Stafford and Northampton, I
 Arrest thee of High Treason, in the name
 Of our most Soveraigne King.
 Lo you my Lord,
 The net has falne upon me, I shall perish
 Under Device, and practise:
 I am sorry,
 To see you tane from liberty, to looke on
 The busines present.  Tis his Highnes pleasure
 You shall to th' Tower.
 It will helpe me nothing
 To plead mine Innocence; for that dye is on me
 Which makes my whit'st part, black.  The will of Heav'n
 Be done in this and all things: I obey.
 O my Lord Aburgany: Fare you well.
 Nay he must beare you company.  The King
 Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know
 How he determines further.
 As the Duke said,
 The will of Heaven be done, and the Kings pleasure
 By me obey'd.
 Here is a warrant from
 The King, t' attach Lord Mountacute, and the Bodies
 Of the Dukes Confessor, John de la Car,
 One Gilbert Pecke, his Councellour.
 So, so;
 These are the limbs o' th' Plot: no more I hope.
 A Monke o' th' Chartreux.
 O Michaell Hopkins?
 He.
 My Surveyor is falce: The ore-great Cardinall
 Hath shew'd him gold; my life is spand already:
 I am the shadow of poore Buckingham,
 Whose Figure even this instant Clowd puts on,
By Darkning my cleere Sunne.  My Lords farewell.





 My life it selfe, and the best heart of it,
 Thankes you for this great care: I stood i' th' levell
 Of a full-charg'd confederacie, and give thankes
 To you that choak'd it.  Let be cald before us
 The Gentleman of Buckinghams, in person,
 Ile heare him his confessions justifie
 And point by point the Treasons of his Maister,
 He shall againe relate.





 Nay, we must longer kneele; I am a Suitor.
 Arise, and take place by us; halfe your Suit
 Never name to us; you have halfe our power:
 The other moity ere you aske is given,
 Repeat your will, and take it.
 Thanke your Majesty
 That you would lose your selfe, and in that love
 Not unconsidered leave your Honour, nor
 The dignity of your Office; is the poynt
 Of my Petition.
 Lady mine proceed.
 I am solicited not by a few,
 And those of true condition; That your Subjects
 Are in great grievance: There have beene Commissions
 Sent downe among 'em, which hath flaw'd the heart
 Of all their Loyalties; wherein, although
 My good Lord Cardinall, they vent reproches
 Most bitterly on you, as putter on
 Of these exactions: yet the King, our Maister
 Whose Honor Heaven shield from soile; even he escapes not
 Language unmannerly; yea, such which breakes
 The sides of loyalty, and almost appeares
 In lowd Rebellion.
 Not almost appeares,
 It doth appeare; for, upon these Taxations,
 The Clothiers all not able to maintaine
 The many to them longing, have put off
 The Spinsters, Carders, Fullers, Weavers, who
 Unfit for other life, compeld by hunger
 And lack of other meanes; in desperate manner
 Daring th' event too th' teeth, are all in uprore,
 And danger serves among them.
 Taxation?
 Wherein? and what Taxation? My Lord Cardinall,
 You that are blam'd for it alike with us,
 Know you of this Taxation?
 Please you Sir,
 I know but of a single part in ought
 Pertaines to th' State: and front but in that File
 Where others tell steps with me.
 No, my Lord?
 You know no more then others? But you frame
 Things that are knowne alike, which are not wholsome
 To those which would not know them, and yet must
 Perforce be their acquaintance.  These exactions
 (Where of my Soveraigne would have note) they are
 Most pestilent to th' hearing, and to beare 'em,
 The Backe is Sacrifice to th' load; They say
 They are devis'd by you, er else you suffer
 Too hard an exclamation.
 Still Exaction:
 The nature of it, in what kinde let's know,
 Is this Exaction?
 I am much too venturous
 In tempting of your patience; but am boldned
 Under your promis'd pardon.  The Subjects griefe
 Comes through Commissions, which compels from each
 The sixt part of his Substance, to be levied
 Without delay; and the pretence for this
 Is nam'd, your warres in France: this makes bold mouths,
 Tounges spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
 Allegeance in them; their curses now
 Live where their prayers did: and it's come to passe,
 This tractable obedience is a Slave
 To each incensed Will: I would you Highnesse
 Would give it quicke consideration; for
 There is no primer basenesse.
 By my life,
 This is against our pleasure.
 And for me,
 I have no further gone in this, then by
 A single voice, and that not past me, but
 By learned approbation of the Judges: If I am
 Traduc'd by ignorant Tongues,which neither know
 My faculties nor person, yet will be
 The Chronicles of my doing: Let me say,
 'Tis but the fate of Place, and the rough Brake
 That Vertue must goe through: we must not stint
 Our necessary actions, in the feare
 To cope malicious Censurers, which ever,
 As rav'nous Fishes doe a Vessell follow
 That is new trim'd; but benefit no further
 Then vainly longing.  What we oft doe best,
 By sicke Interpreters (once weake ones) is
 Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft
 Hitting a grosser quality, is cride up
 For our best Act: if we shall stand still,
 In feare our motion will be mock'd, or carp'd at,
 We should take roote here, where we sit;
 Or sit State Statues onely.
 Things done well,
 And with a care, exempt themselves from feare:
 Things done without example, in their issue
 Are to be fear'd.  Have you a President
 Of this Commission? I beleeve, not any.
 We must not rend our Subjects from our Lawes,
 And sticke them in our Will.  Sixt part of each?
 A trembling Contribution; why we take
 From every Tree, lop, barke, and part o' th' Timber:
 And though we leave it with a roote thus hackt,
 The Ayre will drinke the Sap.  To every County
 Where this is question'd, send our Letters, with
 Free pardon to each man that has deny'de
 The force of this Commission: pray looke too 't;
 I put it to your care.
 A word with you.
 Let there be Letters writ to every Shire,
 Of the Kings grace and pardon: the greeved Commons
 Hardly conceive of me.  Let it be nois'd,
 That through our Intercession, this Revokement
 And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you
Further in the procedding.  

 I am sorry, that the Duke of Buckingham
 Is run in your displeasure.
 It grieves many:
 The Gentleman is Learn'd, and a most rare Speaker,
 To Nature none more bound; his trayning such,
 That he may furnish and instruct great Teachers,
 And never seeke for ayd out of himselfe: yet see,
 When these so Noble benefits shall prove
 Not well dispos'd, the minde growing once corrupt,
 They turne to vicious formes, ten times more ugly
 Then ever they were faire.  This man so compleat,
 Who was enrold 'mongst wonders; and when we
 Almost with ravish'd listning, could not finde
 His houre of speech, a minute: He, (my Lady)
 Hath into monstrous habits put the Graces
 That once were his, and is become as blacke,
 As if besmear'd in hell.  Sit by Us, you shall heare
 (This was his Gentleman in trust) of him
 Things to strike Honour sad.  Bid him recount
 The fore-recited practises, whereof
 We cannot feele too little, heare too much.
 Stand forth, & with bold spirit relate what you
 Most like a carefull Subject have collected
 Out of the Duke of Buckingham.
 Speake freely.
 First, it was usuall with him; every day
 It would infect his Speech: That if the King
 Should without issue dye; hee'l carry it so
 To make the Scepter his.  These very words
 I've heard him utter to his Sonne in Law,
 Lord Aburgany, to whom by oth he menac'd
 Revenge upon the Cardinall.
 Please your Highnesse note
 This dangerous conception in this point,
 Not frended by his wish to your High person;
 His will is most malignant, and it stretches
 Beyond you to your friends.
 My learn'd Lord Cardinall,
 Deliver all with Charity.
 Speake on;
 How grounded hee his Title to the Crowne
 Upon our faile; to this poynt hast thou heard him,
 At any time speake ought?
 He was brought to this,
 By a vaine Prophesie of Nicholas Henton.
 What was that Henton?
 Sir, a Chartreux Fryer,
 His Confessor, who fed him every minute
 With words of Soveraignty.
 How know'st thou this?
 Not long before your Highnesse sped to France,
 The Duke being at the Rose, within the Parish
 Saint Laurence Poultney, did of me demand
 What was the speech among the Londoners,
 Concerning the French Journey.  I replide,
 Men feare the French would prove persidious
 To the Kings danger: presently the Duke
 Said, 'twas the feare indeed, and that he doubted
 'Twould prove the verity of certaine words
 Spoke by a holy Monke, that oft, sayes he
 Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit
 John de la Car, my Chaplaine, a choyce howre
 To heare from him a matter of some moment:
 Whom after under the Commissions Seale,
 He sollemnly had sworne, that what he spoke
 My Chaplaine to no Creature living, but
 To me, should utter, with demure Confidence,
 This pausingly ensu'de; neither the King, nor's Heyres
 (Tell you the Duke) shall prosper, bid him strive
 To the love o' th' Commonalty, the Duke
 Shall governe England.
 If I know you well,
 You were the Dukes Surveyor, and lost your Office
 On the Complaint o' th' Tenants; take good heed
 You charge not in you spleene a Noble person,
 And spoyle your nobler Soule; I say, take heed;
 Yes, heartily beseech you.
 Let him on: Goe forward.
 On my Soule, Ile speake but truth,
 I told my Lord the Duke, by th' Divels illusions
 The Monke might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous
 For this to ruminate on this so farre, untill
 It forg'd him some designe, which being beleev'd
 It was much like to doe: He answer'd, Tush,
 It can doe me no damage; adding futher,
 That the King in his last Sicknesse faild,
 The Cardinals and Sir Thomas Lovels heads
 Should have gone off.
 Ha? what, so rancke? Ah, ha,
 There's mischiefe in this man; canst thou say further?
 I can my Liedge.
 Proceed.
 Being at Greenwich,
 After your Highnesse had reprov'd the Duke
 About Sir William Blumer.
 I remember of such a time, being my sworn
 servant,
 The Duke retein'd him his.  But on: what hence?
  If (quoth he) I for this had beene committed,
 As to the Tower, I thought; I would have plaid
 The Part my Father meant to act upon
 Th' Usurper Richard, who being at Salsbury,
 Made suit to come in's presence which if granted,
 (As he made semblance of his duty) would
 Have put his knife into him.
 A Gyant Traytor.
 Now Madam, may his Highnes live in freedome,
 And this man out of Prison.
 God mend all.
 Ther's something more would out of thee; what
 say'st?
 After the Duke his father, with the knife
 He stretch'd him, and with one hand on his dagger,
 Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes,
 He did discharge a horrible Oath, whose tenor
 Was, were he evill us'd, he would outgoe
 His Father, by as much as a performance
 Do's an irresolute purpose.
 There's his period,
 To sheath his knife in us: he is attach'd,
 Call him to present tryall: if he may
 Finde mercy in the Law, 'tis his; if none,
 Let him not seek't of us: By day and night
Hee's Traytor to th' height. 


 Is 't possible the spels of France should juggle
 Men into such strange mysteries?
 New customes,
 Though they be never so ridiculous,
 (Nay let 'em be unmanly) yet are follow'd.
  As farre as I see, all the good our English
 Have got by the late Voyage, is but meerely
 A fit or two o' th' face, (but they are shrewd ones)
 For when they hold 'em, you would sweare directly
 Their very noses had been Councellours
 To Pepin or Clotharius, they keepe State so.
 They have all new legs,
 And lame ones; one would take it,
 That never see 'em pace before, the Spaven
> A Spring-halt rain'd among 'em.
 Ch. Death my Lord,
 Their cloathes are after such a Pagan cut too 't,
 That sure th' have worne out Christendome: how now?
 What newes, Sir Thomas Lowell?

  Faith my Lord,
 I heare of none but the new Proclamation,
 That's clapt upon the Court Gate.
 What is't for?
 The reformation of our travel'd Gallants,
 That fill the Court with quarrels, talke, and Taylors.
 I'm glad 'tis there;
 Now I would pray our Monsieurs
 To thinke an English Courtier may be wise,
 And never see the Louvre.
 They must either
 (For so run the Conditions) leave those remnants
 Of Foole and Feather, that they got in France,
 With all their honourable points of ignorance
 Pertaining thereunto; as Fights and Fire-workes,
 Abusing better men then they can be
 Out of a forreigne wisedome, renouncing cleane
 The faith they have in Tennis and tall Stockings,
 Short blistred Breeches, and those types of Travell;
 And understand againe like honest men,
 Or pack to their old Playfellowes; there, I take it,
 They may Cum Privilegio, wee away
 The lag end of their lewdnesse, and be laugh'd at.
 Tis time to give 'em Physicke, their diseases
 Are growne so catching.
  What a losse our Ladies
 Will have of these trim vanities?
  I marry,
 there wil be woe indeed Lords, the slye whorsons
 Have got a speeding tricke to lay downe Ladies.
 A French Song, and a Fiddle, ha's no Fellow.
 The Divell fiddle 'em,
 I am glad they are going,
 For sure there's no converting of 'em: now
 An honest Country Lord as I am, beaten
 A long time out of play, may bring his plaine song,
 And have an houre of hearing, and by'r Lady
 Held currant Musicke too.
 Well said Lord Sands,
 Your Colts tooth is not cast yet?
 No my Lord,
 Nor shall not while I have a stumpe.
 Sir Thomas,
 Whither were you a going?
 To the Cardinals;
 Your Lordship is a guest too.
 O, 'tis true;
 This night he makes a Supper, and a great one.
 To many Lords and Ladies; there will be
 The Beauty of this Kingdome Ile assure you.
 That Churchman
 Beares a bounteous minde indeed,
 A hand as fruitfull as the Land that feeds us,
 His dewes fall everywhere.
 No doubt hee's Noble;
 He had a blacke mouth that said other of him.
 He may my Lord,
 Ha's wherewithall in him;
 Sparing would shew a worse sinne, then ill Doctrine,
 Men of his way, should be most liberall,
 They are set heere for examples.
 True, they are so;
 But few give so great ones:
 My Barge stayes;
 Your Lordship shall along: Come, good Sir Thomas,
 We shall be late else, which I would not be,
 For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guilford
 This night to be Comptrollers.
 I am your Lordships.   






 Ladyes,
 A generall welcome from his Grace
 Salutes ye all; This Night he dedicates
 To faire content, and you:  None heere he hopes
 In all this Noble Bevy, has brought with her
 One care abroad: hee would have all as merry:
 As first, good Company, good wine, good welcome,
 Can make good people.

 O my Lord, y' are tardy;
 The very thought of this faire Company,
 Clapt wings to me.
 You are young Sir Harry Guilford.
 Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinall
 But halfe my Lay-thoughts in him, some of these
 Should finde a running Banket, ere they rested,
 I thinke would better please 'em: by my life,
 They are a sweet society of faire ones.
 O that your Lordship were but now Confessor,
 To one or two of these.
 I would I were,
 They should finde easie pennance.
 Faith how easie?
 As easie as a downe bed would affoord it.
 Sweet Ladies will it please you sit; Sir Harry
 Place you that side, Ile take the charge of this:
 His Grace is entring.  Nay, you must not freeze,
 Two women plac'd together, makes cold weather:
 My Lord Sands, you are one will keepe 'em waking:
 Pray sit betweene these Ladies.
 By my faith,
 And thanke your Lorship: by your leave sweet Ladies,
 If I chance to talke a little wilde, forgive me:
 I had it from my Father.
 Was he mad Sir?
 O very mad, exceeding mad, in love too;
 But he would bite none, just as I doe now,
 He would Kisse you Twenty with a breath.
 Well said my Lord:
 So now y' are fairely seated: Gentlemen,
 The pennance lyes on you; if these faire Ladies
 Passe away frowning.
 For my little Cure,
 Let me alone.

 Y' are welcome my faire Guests; that noble Lady
 Or Gentleman that is not freely merry
 Is not my Friend.  This to confirme my welcome,
 And to you all good health.
 Your Grace is Noble,
 Let me have such a Bowle may hold my thankes.
 And save me so much talking.
 My Lord Sands,
 I am beholding to you: cheere your neighbours:
 Ladies you are not merry; Gentlemen,
 Whose fault is this?
 The red wine first must rise
 In their faire cheekes my Lord, then wee shall have 'em
 Talk us to silence.
 You are a merry Gamster
 My Lord Sands.
 Yes, if I make my play:
 Heer's to your Ladiship, and pledge it Madam:
 For tis to such a thing.
 You cannot shew me.

 I told your Grace, they would talke anon.
 What's that?
 Looke out there, some of ye.
  What warlike voyce,
 And to what end is this?  Nay Ladies feare not;
 By all the lawes of Warre y' are priviledg'd.

 How now, what is 't?
  A noble troupe of Strangers,
 For so they seeme; th' have left their Barge and landed,
 And hither make, as great Embassadors
 From forraigne Princes.
  Good Lord Chamberlaine,
 Go, give 'em welcome; you can speake the French tongue
 And pray receive 'em Nobly, and conduct 'em
 Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
 Shall shine at full upon them.  Some attend him.

 You have now a broken Banket, but wee'l mend it.
 A good digestion to you all; and once more
 I showre a welcome on yee: welcome all.




 A noble Company: what are their pleasures?
  Because they speak no English, thus they praid
 To tell your Grace: That having heard by fame
 Of this so Noble and so faire assembly,
 This night to meet heere they could doe no lesse,
 (Out of the great respect they beare to beauty)
 But leave their Flockes, and under your faire Conduct
 Crave leave to view these Ladies, and entreat
 An houre of Revels with 'em.
 Say, Lord Chamberlaine,
 They have done my poore house grace:
 For which I pay 'em a thousand thankes,
 And pray 'em take their pleasures.

  The fairest hand I ever touch'd: O Beauty,
 Till now I never knew thee.

 My Lord.
 Your Grace.
  Pray tell 'em thus much from me:
 There should be one amongst 'em by his person
 More worthy this place then myselfe, to whom
 (If I but knew him) with my love and duty
I would surrender it.         
 I will my Lord.
 What say they?
 Such a one, they all confesse
 There is indeed, which they would have your Grace
 Find out, and he will take it.
 Let me see them,
 By all your good leaves Gentlemen; heere Ile make
 My royall choyce.
 Ye have found him Cardinall,
 You hold a faire Assembly; you doe well Lord:
 You are a Churchman, or Ile tell you Cardinall,
 I should judge now unhappily.
 I am glad
 Your Grace is growne so pleasant.
 My Lord Chamberlaine,
 Prethee come hither, what faire Ladie's that?
 An 't please your Grace,
 Sir Thomas Bullens Daughter, the Viscount Rochford,
 One of her Highnesse women.
  By Heaven she is a dainty one.  Sweetheart,
 I were unmannerly to take you out,
 And not to kisse you.  A health Gentlemen,
 Let it goe round.
  Sir Thomas Lovell, is the Banket ready
 I' th' Privy Chamber?
 Yes, my Lord.
 Your Grace
 I feare, with dancing is a little heated.
 I feare too much.
 There's fresher ayre my Lord,
 In the next Chamber.
 Lead in your Ladies ev'ry one: Sweet Partner,
 I must not yet forsake you: Let's be merry,
 Good my Lord Cardinall: I have a dozen healths,
 To drinke to these faire Ladies, and a measure
 To lead 'em once againe, and then let's dreame
 Who's best in favour.  Let the Musicke knock it.



 Whether away so fast?
 O, God save ye:
 Ev'n to the Hall, to heare what shall become
 Of the great Duke of Buckingham.
 Ile save you
 That labour Sir.  All's now done but the Ceremony
 Of bringing backe the Prisoner.
 Were you there?
 Yes indeed was I.
 Pray speake what ha's happen'd.
 You may guesse quickly what.
 Is he found guilty?
 Yes truely is he,
 And condemn'd upon 't.
 I am sorry fort.
 So are a number more.
 But pray how past it?
 Ile tell you in a little.  The great Duke
 Came to the Bar; where, to his accusations
 He pleaded still not guilty, and alleadged
 Many sharpe reasons to defeat the Law.
 The Kings Atturney on the Contrary,
 Urg'd on the Examinations, proofes, confessions
 Of divers witnesse, which the Duke desir'd
 To him brought viva voce to his face;
 At which appear'd against him, his Surveyor
 Sir Gilbert Pecke his Chancellour, and John Car,
 Confessor to him, with that Divell Monke,
 Hopkins, that make this mischiefe.
 That was hee
 That fed him with his Prophecies.
 The same,
 All these accus'd him strongly, which he faine
 Would have flung him from him; but indeed he couldnot;
 And so his Peeres upon this evidence,
 Have found him guilty of high Treason.  Much
 He spoke, and learnedly for life: But all
 Was either pittied in him or forgotten.
 After all this, how did he beare himselfe?
 When he was brought agen to th' Bar, to heare
 His Knell rung out, his Judgement, he was stir'd
 With such an Agony, he sweat extreamly,
 And somthing spoke in choller, ill, and hasty:
 But he fell to himselfe againe, and sweetly,
 In all the rest shew'd a most Noble patience.
 I doe not thinke he feares death.
 Sure he does not,
 He never was so womanish, the cause
 He may a little grieve at.
 Certainly,
 The Cardinall is the end of this.
 Tis likely,
 By all conjectures: First Kildares Attendure;
 Then Deputy of Ireland, who remov'd
 Earle Surrey, was sent thither, and in hast too,
 Least he should helpe his Father.
 That tricke of State
 Was a deepe envious one,
 At his returne,
 No doubt he will requite it; this is noted
 (And generally) who ever the King favours,
 The Cardnall instantly will finde imployment,
 And farre enough from Court too.
 All the Commons
 Hate him perniciously, and o' my Conscience
 Wish him ten faddom deepe: This Duke as much
 They love and doate on: call him bounteous Buckingham,
 The Mirror of all courtesie.




 Stay there Sir,
 And see the noble ruin'd man you speake of.
 Let's stand close and behold him.
 All good people,
 You that thus farre have come to pitty me:
 Heare what I say, and then goe home and lose me.
 I have this day receiv'd a Traitors judgement,
 And by that name must dye; yet Heaven beare witnes,
 And if I have a Conscience, let it sincke me,
 Even as the Axe falls, if I be not faithfull.
 The Law I beare no mallice for my death,
 T' has done upon the premises, but Justice:
 But those that sought it, I could wish more Christians:
 (Be what they will) I heartily forgive 'em;
 Yet let 'em looke they glory not in mischiefe;
 Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;
 For then, my guiltlesse blood must cry against 'em
 For further life in this world I ne're hope,
 Nor will I sue, although the King have mercies
 More then I dare make faults.
 You that lov'd me,
 And dare be bold to weepe for Buckingham,
 His Noble Friends and Fellowes; whom to leave
 Is only bitter to him, only dying:
 Goe with me like good Angels to my end,
 And as the long divorce of Steele fals on me,
 Make of your Prayers one sweet Sacrifice,
 And lift my Soule to Heaven.
 Lead on a Gods name.
 I doe beseech your Grace, for charity
 If ever any malice in your heart
 Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.
 Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free to forgive you
 As I would be forgiven: I forgive all.
 There cannot be those numberlesse offences
 Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with:
 No blacke Envy shall make my Grave.
 Commend mee to his Grace:
 And if he speake of Buckingham; pray tell him,
 You met him halfe in Heaven: my vowes and prayers
 Yet are the Kings; and till my Soule forsake,
 Shall cry for blessings on him.  May he live
 Longer then I have time to tell his years;
 Ever beloved and loving, may his Rule be;
 And when old Time shall lead him to his end,
 Goodnesse and he, fill up one one Monument.
 To th' water side I must conduct your Grace;
 Then give my Charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,
 Who undertakes you to your end.
 Prepare there,
 The Duke is comming: See the Barge be ready;
 And fit it with such furniture as suites
 The Greatnesse of his Person.
 Nay, Sir Nicholas,
 Let it alone; my State now will but mocke me.
 When I came hither, I was Lord High Constable,
 And Duke of Buckinghaam: now poore Edward Bohun;
 Yet I am richer then my base Accusers,
 That never knew what Truth meant: I now seale it;
 And with that bloud will make 'em one day groane for 't.
 My noble Father Henry of Buckingham,
 Who first rais'd head against Usurping Richard,
 Flying for succour to his Servant Banister,
 Being distrest; was by that wretch betraid,
 And without Tryall, fell; Gods peace be with him.
 Henry the Seaventh succeding, truly pittying
 My Fathers losse; like a most Royall Prince
 Restor'd me to my Honours: and out of ruines
 Made my Name once more Noble.  Now his Sonne,
 Henry the Eight, Life, Honour, Name and all
 That made me happy; at one stroake ha's taken
 For ever from the World.  I had my Tryall,
 And must needs say a Noble one; which makes me
 A little happier then my wretched Father:
 Yet thus farre we are one in Fortunes; both
 Fell by our Servants, by those Men we lov'd most:
 A most unnaturall and faithlesse Service.
 Heaven ha's an end in all: yet, you that heare me,
 This from a dying man receive as certaine:
 Where you are liberall of your loves and Councels,
 Be sure you be not loose; for those you make friends,
 And give your hearts to; when they once perceive
 The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
 Like water from ye, never found againe
 But where they meane to sinke ye: all good people
 Pray for me, I must now forsake ye; the last houre
 Of my long weary life is come upon me:
 Farewell; and when you would say somthing that is sad,
 Speake how I fell.
 I have done; and God forgive me.

 O, this is full of pity; Sir, it cals
 I feare, too many curses on their heads
 That were the Authors.
 If the Duke be guiltlesse,
 'Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inckling
 Of an ensuing evill, if it fall,
 Greater then this.
 Good Angels keepe it from us:
 What may it be?  you doe not doubt my faith Sir?
 This Secret is so weighty, 'twill require
 A strong faith to conceale it.
 Let me have it:
 I doe not talke much.
 I am confident;
 You shall Sir: Did you not of late dayes heare
 A buzzing of a Separation
 Betweene the King and Katherine?
 Yes, but it held not:
 For when the King once heard it out of anger
 He sent command to the Lord Mayor straight
 To stop the rumor; and allay those tongues
 That durst disperse it.
 But that slander Sir,
 Is found a truth now: for it growes agen
 Fresher then e're it was; and held for certaine
 The King will venture at it.  Either the Cardinall,
 Or some about him neere, have out of malice
 To the good Queene, possest him with a scruple
 That will undoe her: To confirme this too,
 Cardinall Campeus is arriv'd, and lately,
 As all thinke for this busines.
 Tis the Cardinall;
 And meerely to revenge him on the Emperour,
 For not bestowing on him at his asking,
 The Archbishopricke of Toledo, this is purpos'd.
 I thinke
 You have hit the marke; but is't not cruell,
 That she should feele the smart of this: The Cardinall
 Will have his will, and she must fall.
 'Tis wofull.
 Wee are too open heere to argue this :
Let's thinke in private more.      


 My Lord, the Horses your Lordship sent for, with the
 care I 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 Cardinalls, by Commission, and maine power tooke
 'em from me, with this reason: his maister would bee serv'd be%fore
 a Subiect, if not before the King, which stop'd our mouthes
 Sir.
 I feare he will indeed; well, let him have them; hee
 will have all I thinke.


 Well met my Lord Chamberlaine.
 Good day to both your Graces.
 How is the King imployd?
 I left him private,
 Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
 What's the cause?
 It seemes the Marriage with his Brothers Wife
 Ha's crept too neere his Conscience.
 No, his Conscience
 Ha's crept too neere another Ladie.
 Tis so;
 This is the Cardinals doing: The King-Cardinall,
 That blinde Priest, like the eldest Sonne of Fortune,
 Turnes what he list.  The King will know him one day.
 Pray God he doe,
 Hee'l never know himselfe else.
 How holily he workes in all his businesse,
 And with what zeale?  For now he has crackt the League
 Between us & the Emperor (The Queens great Nephew)
 He dives into the Kings Soule, and there scatters
 Dangers, doubts, wringing of the Conscience,
 Feares, and Despaires, and all these for his Marriage.
 And out of all these, to restore the King,
 He counsels a Divorce, a losse of her
 That like a Jewell, ha's hung twenty yeares
 About his necke, 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 stroake of Fortune falls
 Will blesse the King: and is not this course pious?
 Heaven keep me from such councel: tis most true
 These newes are every where every tongue speaks 'em,
 And every true heart weepes for 't.  All that dare
 Looke into these affaires, see this maine end,
 The French Kings Sister.  Heaven will one day open
 The Kings eyes, that so long have slept upon
 This bold bad man.
 And free us from his slavery.
 We had need pray,
 And heartily, for our deliverance;
 Or this imperious man will worke us all
 From Princes into Pages: all mens honours
 Lie like one lumpe before him, to be fashion'd
 Into what pitch he please.
 For me, my Lords,
 I love him not, nor feare him, there's my Creede:
 As I am made without him, so Ile stand,
 If the King please: his Curses and his blessings
 Touch me alike: th' are breath I not beleeve in.
 I knew him and I know him: so I leave him
 To him that made him proud; the Pope.
 Let's in;
 And with some other busines, put the King
 From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him:
 My Lord, youle beare us company?
 Excuse me,
 The King ha's sent me otherwhere: Besides
 You'l finde a most unfit time to disturbe him:
 Health to your Lordships.
 Thankes my good Lord Chamberlaine.


 How sad he lookes; sure he is much afflicted.
 Who's there? Ha?
 Pray God he be not angry.
 Who's there I say?  How dare you thrust
 yourselves
 Into my private Meditations?
 Who am I?  Ha?
 A gracious King, that pardons all offences
 Malice ne're meant:  Our breach of Duty this way.
 Is bussinesse of Estate; in which, we come
 To know your Royall pleasure.
 Ye are too bold:
 Go too; Ile make ye know your times of businesse:
 Is this an houre for temporall affaires?  Ha?

 Who's there?  my good Lord Cardinall?  O my Wolsey,
 The quiet of my wounded Conscience;
 Thou art a cure fit for a King; you'r welcome
 Most learned Reverend Sir, into our Kingdome,
 Use us, and it:  My good Lord, have great care,
 I be not found a Talker.
 Sir, you cannot;
 I would your Grace would give us but an houre
 Of private conference.
 We are busie; goe.
 This Priest ha's no pride in him?
 Not to speake of:
 I would not be so sicke though for his place:
 But this cannot continue.
 If it doe, Ile venture one; have at him.
 I another.

 Your Grace ha's given a President of wisedome
 Above all Princes, in committing freely
 Your scruple to the voyce of Christendome:
 Who can be angry now?  What Envy reach you?
 The Spaniard tide by blood and favour to her,
 Must now confesse, if they have any goodnesse,
 The Tryall, just and Noble.  All the Clerkes,
 (I meane the learned ones in Christian Kingdomes)
 Have their free voyces.  Rome (the Nurse of Judgement)
 Invited by your Noble selfe, hath sent
 One generall Tongue unto us.  This good man
 This just and learned Priest, Cardnall Campeius,
 Whom once more, I present unto your Highnesse.
 And once more in mine armes I bid him welcome,
 And thanke the holy Conclave for their loves,
 They have sent me such a Man, I would have wish'd for.
 Your Grace must needs deserve all strangers
 loves,
 You are so Noble:  To your Highnesse hand
 I tender my Commision; by whose vertue,
 The Court of Rome commanding.  You my Lord
 Cardinall of Yorke, are joyn'd with me their Servant,
 In the unpartiall judging of this Businesse.
 Two equall men:  The Queene shall be acquainted
 Forthwith for what you come.  Where's Gardiner?
 I know your Majesty, ha's alwayes lov'd her
 So deare in heart, not to deny her that
 A Woman of lesse Place might aske by Law;
 Schollers allow'd freely to argue for her.
 I and the best she shalle have; and my favour
 To him that does best, God forbid els;  Cardinall,
 Prethee call Gardiner to me, my new Secretary.
 I find him a fit fellow.

 Give me your hand: much joy & favour to you;
 You are the Kings now.
 But to be commanded
 For ever by your Grace, whose hand ha's rais'd me.
 Come hither Gardiner.

 My Lord of Yorke, was not one Doctor Pase
 In this mans place before him?
 Yes, he was.
 Was he not held a learned man?
 Yes surely.
 Beleeve me, there's an ill opinion spread then,
 Even of your selfe Lord Cardinall.
 How? of me?
 They will sticke to say, you envide him;
 And fearing he would rise (he was so vertuous)
 Kept him a forraigne man still, which so greev'd him,
 That he ran mad, and dide.
 Heav'ns peace be with him:
 That's Christian care enough:  for living Murmurers,
 There's places of rebuke.  He was a Foole;
 For he would needs be vertuous.  That good Fellow,
 If I command him followes my appointment,
 I will have none so neere els.  Learne this Brother,
 We live not to be grip'd dy meaner persons.
 Deliver this with modesty to th' Queene.

 The most convenient place, that I can thinke of
 For such receipt of Learning, is Black-Fryers:
 There ye shall meete about this waighty busines.
 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.   


 Not for that neither; here's the pang that
 pinches.
 His Highnesse, having liv'd so long with her, and she
 So good a Lady, that no Tongue could ever
 Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life,
 She never knew harme-doing; Oh, now after
 So many courses of the Sun enthroaned,
 Still growing in a Majesty and pompe, the which
 To leave a thousand fold more bitter, then
 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire  After this Processe.
 To give her the avaunt, it is a pitty
 Would move a Monster.
 Hearts of most hard temper
 Melt and lament for her.
 Oh Gods will, much better
 She ne're had knowne pompe; though 't be temporall,
 Yet if that quarrell.  Fortune, do divorce
 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging
 As soule and bodies severing.
 Alas poore Lady,
 Shee's a stranger now againe.
 So much the more
 Must pitty drop upon her; verily
 I sweare, tis better to be lowly borne,
 And range with humble livers in Content,
 Then to be perk'd up in a glistring griefe,
 And weare a golden sorrow.
 Our content
 Is our best having.
 By my troth, and Maidenhead,
 I would not be a Queene.
 Beshrew me, I would,
 And venture Maidenhead for 't, and so would you
 For all this spice of your Hipocrisie:
 You that have so faire parts of Woman on you,
 Have (too) a Womans heart, which ever yet
 Affected Eminence, Wealth, Soveraignty;
 Which to say sooth, are Blessings; and which guifts
 (Saving your mincing) the capacity
 Of your soft Chiverell Conscience, would receive,
 If you might please to strech it.
 Nay, good troth.
 Yes troth, & troth; you would not be a Queen?
 No, not for all the riches under Heaven.
 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?  Have you limbs
 To beare that load of Title?
 No in truth.
 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
 Ever to get a Boy.
 How you doe talke;
 I sweare againe, I would not be a Queene,
 For all the world:
 In faith, for little England
 You'ld venture an emballing: I my selfe
 Would for Carnarvanshire, although there long'd
 No more to th' Crowne but that:  Lo, who comes here?

 Good morrow Ladies; what wer't worth to know
 The secret of your conference?
 My good Lord,
 Not your demand; it values not your asking:
 Our Mistris Sorrowes we were pittying.
 It was a gentle businesse, and becomming
 The action of good women, there is hope
 All will be well.
 Now I pray God, Amen.
 You beare a gentle minde, & heav'nly blessings
 Follow such Creatures.  That you may, faire Lady
 Perceive I speake sincerely, and high notes
 Tane of your many vertues; the Kings Majesty
 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,
 Out of his Grace, he addes.
 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; not my Wishes
 More 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.
 Lady;
 I shall not faile t' approve the faire conceit
 The King hath of you.  I have perus'd her well,
 Beauty and Honour in her are so mingled,
 That they have caught the King:  and who knowes yet
 But from this Lady, may proceed a Jemme,
 To lighten all this Ile. I'le to the King,
 And say I spoke with you.

 My honour'd Lord.
 Why this it is:  See, see,
 I have beene begging sixteene yeares in Court
 (Am yet a Courtier beggerly) not could
 Come pat betwixt too early, and too late
 For any suit of pounds:  and you, (oh fate)
 A very fresh Fish heere; fye, fye, fye upon
 This compel'd fortune:  have your mouth fild up,
 Before you open it.
 This is strange to me.
 How tasts it?  Is it bitter?  Forty pence,
 no:
 There was a Lady once (tis an old Story)
 That would not be a Queene, that would she not
 For all the mud in Egypt; have you heard it?
 Come you are pleasant.
 With your Theame, I could
 O'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
 I know your backe will beare a Dutchesse.  Say,
 Are you not stronger then you were?
 Good Lady,
 Make your selfe 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 thinke what followes.
 The Queene is comfortlesse, and wee forgetfull
 In our long absence:  pray doe not deliver,
 What heere y' have heard to her.
 What doe you thinke me =          



















 Whil'st our Commission from Rome is read,
 Let silence be commanded.
 What's the need?
 It hath already publiquely bene read,
 And on all sides th' Authority allow'd,
 You may then spare that time.
 Bee 't so, proceed.
 Say, Henry K. of England, come into the Court.
 Henry King of England, &c.
 Heere.
 Say, Katherine Queene of England,
 Come into the Court.
 Katherine Queene of England, &c.



 Sir, I desire you do me Right and Justice,
 And to bestow your pitty on me;  for
 I am a most poore Woman, and a Stranger,
 Borne out of your Dominions: having heere
 No Judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
 Of equall Friendship and Proceeding.  Alas Sir:
 In what have I offended you?  What cause
 Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure,
 That thus you should proceede to put me off,
 And take your good Grace from me? Heaven witnesse,
 I have bene to you, a true and humble Wife,
 At all times to your will conformable:
 Ever in feare to kindle your Dislike,
 Yea, subject to your Countenance:  Glad, or sorry
 As I saw it inclin'd?  When was the houre
 I ever contradicted your Desire?
 Or made it not mine too?  Of which of your Friends
 Have I not strove to love, although I knew
 He were mine Eneny?  What Friend of mine,
 That had to him deriv'd your Anger, did I
 Continue in my Liking?  Nay, gave notice
 He was from thence discharg'd?  Sir, call to minde,
 That I have beene your Wife, in this Obedience,
 Upward of twenty yeares, and have bene blest
 With many Children by you.  If in the course
 And processe of this time, you can report,
 And prove it too, against mine Honor, aught;
 My bond to Wedlocke, or my Love and Dutie
 Against your Sacred Person; in Gods name
 Turne me away: and let the fowl'st Contempt
 Shut doore upon me, and so give me up
 To the sharp'st kinde of Justice.  Please you, Sir,
 The King your Father, was reputed for
 A Prince most Prudent; of an excellent
 And unmatch'd Wit, and Judgement.  Ferdinand
 My Father, King of Spaine, was reckon'd one
 The wisest Prince, that there had reign'd, by many
 A yeare before.  It is not to be question'd,
 That they had gather'd a wise Councell to them
 Of every Realme, that did debate this Businesse,
 Who deem'd our Marriage lawful.  Wherefore I humbly
 Beseech you Sir, to spare me, till I may
 Be by my Friends in Spaine, advis'd;  whose Counsaile
 I will implore.  If not, i' th' name of God
 Your pleasure be fulfill'd.
 You have heere Lady,
 (And of your choice) these Reverend Fathers, men
 Of singular Integrity, and Learning;
 Yea, the elect o' th' Land, who are assembled
 To pleade your Cause.  It shall be therefore bootlesse,
 That longer you desire the Court, as well
 For your owne quiet, as to rectifie
 What is unsetled in the King.
 His Grace
 Hath spoken well, and justly:  Therefore Madam,
 It's fit this Royall Session do proceed,
 And that (without delay) their Arguments
 Be now produc'd, and heard.
 Lord Cardinall, to you I speake.
 Your pleasure, Madam.
 Sir, I am about to weep; but thinking that
 We are a Queene (or long have dream'd so) certaine
 The daughter of a King, my drops of teares,
 Ile turne to sparkes of fire.
 Be patient yet.
 I will, when you are humble; Nay before,
 Or God will punish me.  I do beleeve
 (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 blowne this Coale, betwixt my Lord, and me;
 (Which Gods dew quench) therefore, I say againe,
 I utterly abhorre; yea, from my Soule
 Refuse you for my Judge, whom yet once more
 I hold my most malicious Foe, and thinke not
 At all a Friend to truth.
 I do professe
 You speak not like your selfe: who ever yet
 Have stood to Charity, and displayd th' effects
 Of disposition gentle, and of wisedome,
 Ore-topping womans powre.  Madam, you do me wrong
 I have no Spleene against you, no injustice
 For you, or any: How farre I have proceeded,
 Or how farre further (Shall) is warranted
 By a Commission from the Consistorie,
 Yea, the whole Consistorie of Rome.  You charge me,
 That I have blowne this Coale: I do deny it,
 The King is present:  If it be knowne 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 knowes
 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 Highnesse shall speake in, I do beseech
 You (gracious Madam) to unthinke your speaking,
 And to say so no more.
 My Lord, my Lord,
 I am a simple woman, much too weake
 T' oppose your cunning.  Y' are meek, & humble-mouth'd
 You signe your Place, and Calling, in full seeming,
 With Meekenesse and Humilitie: but your Heart
 Is cramm'd with Arrogancie, Spleene, and Pride.
 You have by Fortune, and his Highnesse favors,
 Gone slightly o're lowe steppes, and now are mounted
 Where Powres are your Retainers, and your words
 (Domestickes to you) serve your will, as 't please
 Your selfe pronounce their Office.  I must tell you,
 You tender more your persons Honor, then
 Your high profession Spirituall.  That agen
 I do refuse you for my Judge, and heere
 Before you all, Appeale unto the Pope,
 To bring my whole Cause 'fore his Holinesse,
 And to be judg'd by him.

 The Queene is obstinate,
 Stubborne to Justice, apt to accuse it, and
 Disdainfull to be tride by 't; tis not well.
 Shee's going away.
 Call her againe.
 Katherine Q of England, come into the Court.
 Madam, you are cald backe.
 What need you note it? pray you keep your way,
 When you are cald returne.  Now the Lord helpe,
 They vexe me past my patience. pray you passe on;
 I will not tarry: no, nor ever more
 Upon this businesse my appearance make.
 In any of their Courts.

 Goe thy wayes Kate,
 That man i' th' world, who shall report ha's
 A better Wife, let him in naught be trusted,
 For speaking false in that; thou art alone
 (If thy rare qualities, sweet gentlenesse,
 Thy meeknesse Saint-like, Wife-like Government,
 Obeying in commanding, and thy parts
 Soveraigne and Pious els, could speake thee out)
 The Queene of earthly Queenes: Shee's Noble borne;
 And like her true Nobility, she ha's
 Carried her selfe towards me.
 Most gracious Sir,
 In humblest manner I require you Highnes,
 That it shall please you to declare in hearing
 Of all these eares (for where I am rob'd and bound,
 There must I be unloos'd, although not there
 At once, and fully satisfide) whether ever I
 Did broach this busines to your Highnes, or
 Laid any scruple in your way which might
 Induce you to the question on 't: or ever
 Have to you, but with thankes to God for such
 A Royall Lady, spake one, the least word that might
 Be to the prejudice of her present State,
 Or touch of her good Person?
 My Lord Cardinall,
 I doe excuse you; yea, upon mine Honour,
 I free you from 't: You are not to be taught
 That you have many enemies, that know not
 Why they are so; but like to Village Curres,
 Bark when their fellowes doe.  By some of these
 The Queene is put in anger; y' are excus'd
 But will you be more justifi'de? You ever
 Have wish'd the sleeping of this busines, never desir'd
 It to be stir'd; but oft have hindred, oft
 The passages made toward it; on my Honour,
 I speake my good Lord Cardnall, to this point;
 And thus farre cleare him.
 Now, what mov'd me too 't,
 I will be bold with time and your attention:
 Then marke th' inducement.  Thus it came; give heede too 't:
 My Conscience first receiv'd a tendernes,
 Scruple, and pricke, on certaine Speeches utter'd
 By th' Bishop of Bayon, then French Embassador,
 Who had beene hither sent on the debating
 And Marriage 'twixt the Duke of Orleance, and
 Our Daughter Mary:  I' th' Progresse of this busines,
 Ere a determinate resolution, hee
 (I meane the Bishop) did require a respite,
 Wherein he might the King his Lord advertise
 Whether our Daughter were legitimate,
 Respecting this our Marriage with the Dowager,
 Sometimes our Brothers Wife.  This respite shooke
 The bosome of my Conscience, enter'd me;
 Yea, with a spitting power, and made to tremble
 The region of my Breast, which forc'd such way,
 That many maz'd considerings, did throng
 And prest in with this Caution.  First, me thought
 I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had
 Commanded Nature, that my Ladies wombe
 If it conceiv'd a male-child by me, should
 Doe no more Offices of life too 't; then
 The Grave does to th' dead:  For her Male Issue,
 Or di'de where they were made, or shortly after
 This world had ayr'd them.  Hence I tooke a thought,
 This was a Judgement on me, that my Kingdome
 (Well worthy the best Heyre o' th' World) should not
 Be gladded in 't by me.  Then followes, that
 I weigh'd the danger which my Realme stood in
 By this my Issues faile, and that gave to me
 Many a groaning throw: thus hulling in
 The wild Sea of my Conscience, I did steere
 Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
 Now present heere together: that's to say,
 I meant to rectifie my Conscience, which
 I then did feele full sicke, and yet not well,
 By all the reverend Fathers of the Land,
 And Doctors learn'd.  First I began in private,
 With you my Lord of Lincolne; you remember
 How under my oppression I did reeke
 When I first mov'd you.
 Very well my Liedge.
 I have spoke long, be pleas'd your selfe to say
 How farre you satisfide me.
 So please your Highnes,
 The question did at first to stagger me,
 Bearing a State of mighty moment in 't,
 And consequence of dread, that I committed
 The daringst Counsaile which I had to doubt,
 And did entreate your Highnes to this course,
 Which you are running heere.
 I then mov'd you,
 My Lord of Canterbury, and got your leave
 To make this present Summons unsolicited.
 I left no Reverend Person in this Court;
 But by particular consent proceeded
 Under your hands and Seales; therefore goe on,
 For no dislike i' th' world against the person
 Of the good Queene; but the sharpe thorny points
 Of my alleadged reasons, drives this forward:
 Prove but our Marriage lawfull, by my Life
 And Kingly Dignity, we are contented
 To weare our mortall State to come, with her,
 (Katherine our Queene) before the primest Creature
 That's Parragon' o' th' World.
 So please your Highnes,
 The Queene being absent, 'tis a needfull fitnesse,
 That we adjourne this Court till further day;
 Meane while, must be an earnest motion
 Made to the Queene to call backe her Appeale
 She intends unto his Holinesse.
 I may perceive
 These Cardinals trifle with me:  I abhorre
 This dilatory sloth, and trickes of Rome.
 My learn'd and welbeloved Servant Cranmer,
 Prethee returne, with thy approch:  I know,
 My comfort comes along:  breake up the Court;
 I say, set on.



  Take thy Lute wench,
 My soule growes sad with troubles,
 Sing, and disperse 'em if thou canst: leave working:

 Orpheus with his Lute made Trees,
 And the Mountaine tops that freeze,
 Bow themselves when he did sing.
 To his Musicke, Plants and Flowers
 Ever sprung; as Sunne and Showers,
 There had made a lasting Spring.
 Every thing that heard him play,
 Even the Billowes of the Sea,
 Hung their heads, & then lay by.
 In sweet Musicke is such Art,
 Killing care, & griefe of heart,
 Fall asleepe, or hearing dye.

 How now?
 And 't please your Grace, the two great
 Cardinals
 Wait in the presence.
 Would they speake with me?
 They wil'd me say so Madam.
 Pray their Graces
 To come neere: what can be their busines
 With me, a poore weake woman, falne from favour?
 I doe not like their comming; now I thinke on 't
 They should bee good men, their affaires as righteous:
 But all Hoods, make not Monkes.

 Peace to your Highnesse.
 Your Graces find me heere part of a Houswife,
 (I would be all) against the worst may happen:
 What are your pleasures with me, reverent Lords?
 May it please you Noble Madam, to withdraw
 Into your private Chamber; we shall give you
 The full cause of our comming.
 Speake it heere.
 There's nothing I have done yet o' my Conscience
 Deserves a Corner: would all other Women
 Could speake this with as free a Soule as I doe.
 My Lords, I care not (so much I am happy
 Above a number) if my actions
 Were tri'de by ev'ry tongue, ev'ry eye saw 'em,
 Envy and base opinion set against 'em,
 I know my life so even.  If your busines
 Seeke me out, and that way I am Wife in;
 Out with it boldly: Truth loves open dealing.
 Tanta est erga te mentis integritas Regina
 serenissima.
 O good my Lord, no Latin;
 I am not such a Truant since my comming,
 As not to know the Language I have liv'd in:
 A strange Tongue makes my cause more strange, suspitious:
 Pray speake in English; heere are some will thanke you,
 If you speake truth, for their poore Mistris sake;
 Beleeve me she ha's had much wrong.  Lord Cardinall,
 The willing'st sinne I ever yet committed,
 May be absolv'd in English.
 Noble Lady,
 I am sorry my integrity shoul breed,
 (And service to his Majesty and you)
 So deepe suspition, where all faith was meant;
 We come not by the way of Accusation,
 To taint that honour every good Tongue blesses;
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow;
 You have too much good Lady:  But to know
 How you stand minded in the waighty difference
 Betweene the King and you, and to deliver
 (Like free and honest men) our just opinions,
 And comforts to our cause.
 Most honour'd Madam,
 My Lord of Yorke, out of his Noble nature,
 Zeale and obedience he still bore your Grace,
 Forgetting (like a good man) your late Censure
 Both of his truth and him (which was too farre)
 Offers, as I doe, in a signe of peace,
 His Service, and Counsell.
 To betray me.
 My Lords, I thanke you both for your good wills,
 Ye speake like honest men, (pray God ye prove so)
 But how to make ye sodainly an Answere
 In such a poynt of weight, so neere mine Honour,
 (More neere my Life I feare) with my weake wit;
 And to such men of gravity and learning;
 In truth I know not.  I was set at worke,
 Among my Maids, full little (God knowes) looking
 Either for such men, or such businesse;
 For her sake that I have beene, for I feele
 The last fit of my Greatnesse; good your Graces
 Let me have time and Councell for my Cause:
 Alas, I am a Woman frendlesse, hopelesse.
 Madam,
 You wrong the Kings love with these feares,
 Your hopes and friends are infinite.
 In England,
 But little for my profit can you thinke Lords,
 That any English man dare give me Councell?
 Or be a knowne friend 'gainst his Highnes pleasure,
 (Though he be growne so desperate to be honest)
 And live a Subject?  Nay forsooth, my Friends,
 They that must weigh out my afflictions,
 They that my trust must grow to, live not heere,
 They are (as all my other comforts) far hence
 In mine owne Countrey Lords.
 I would your Grace
 Would leave your greefes, and take my Counsell.
 How Sir?
 Put your maine cause into the Kings protection,
 Hee's loving and most gracious.  'Twill be much,
 Both for your Honour better, and your Cause:
 For if the tryall of the Law o'retake ye,
 You'l part away disgrac'd.
 He tels you rightly.
 Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruine:
 Is this your Christian Councell?  Out upon ye.
 Heaven is above all yet;  there sits a Judge.
 That no King can corrupt.
 Your rage mistakes us.
 The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,
 Upon my Soule two reverend Cardinall Vertues:
 But Cardinall Sins, and hollow hearts I feare ye:
 Mend 'em for shame my Lords:  Is this your comfort?
 The Cordiall that ye bring a wretched Lady?
 A woman lost among ye, laugh't at, scornd?
 I will not with ye halfe my miseries,
 I have more Charity.  But say I warn'd ye;
 Take heed, for heavens sake take heed, least at once
 The burthen of my sorrowes, fall upon ye.
 Madam, this is a meere distraction,
 You turne the good we offer, into envy.
  Ye turne me into nothing.  Woe upon ye,
 And all such false Professors.  Would you have me
 (If you have any Justice, any Pitty,
 If ye be any thing but Churchmens habits)
 Put my sicke cause into his hands, that hates me?
 Alas, ha's banish'd me his Bed already,
 His Love, too long ago.  I am old my Lords,
 And all the Fellowship I hold now with him
 Is onely my Obedience.  What can happen
 To me, above this wretchednesse?  All your Studies
 Make me a Curse, like this.
 Your feares are worse.
 Have I liv'd thus long (let me speake my selfe,
 Since Vertue findes no friends) a Wife, a true one?
 A Woman (I dare say without Vainglory)
 Never yet branded with Suspition?
 Have I, with all my full Affections
 Still met the King?  Lov'd him next Heav'n?  Obey'd him?
 Bin (out of fondnesse) superstitious to him?
 Almost forgot my Prayres to content him:
 And am I thus rewarded?  'Tis not well Lords.
 Bring me a constant woman to her Husband,
 One that ne're dream'd a Joy, beyond his pleasure;
 And to that Woman (when she has done most)
 Yet will I adde an Honor; a great Patience.
 Madam, you wander from the good
 We ayme at.
 My Lord,
 I dare not make my selfe so guiltie,
 To give up willingly that Noble Title
 Your master wed me to:  nothing but death
 Shall e're divorce my Dignities.
  Pray heare me.
 Would I had never trod this English Earth,
 Or felt the Flatteries that grow upon it:
 Ye have Angels Faces; but Heaven knowes your hearts.
 What will become of me now, wretched Lady?
 I am the most unhappy Woman living.
 Alas (poore Wenches) where are now your Fortunes?
 Shipwrack'd upon a Kingdome, where no Pitty,
 No Friends, no Hope, no Kindred weepe for me?
 Almost no Grave allow'd me? Like the Lilly
 That once was Mistris of the Field, and flourish'd
 Ile hang my head, and perish.
 If your Grace
 Could but be brought to know, our Ends are honest,
 Youl'd feele more comfort.  Why shold we (good Lady)
 Upon what cause wrong you?  Alas, our Places,
 The way of our Professions is against it;
 We are to Cure such sorrowes, not sowe 'em.
 For Goodnesse sake, consider what you do,
 How you may hurt your selfe:  I, utterly
 Grow from the Kings Acquaintance, by this Carriage.
 The hearts of Princes kisse Obedience,
 So much they love it.  But to stubborne Spirits,
 They swell and grow, as terrible as stormes.
 I know you have a Gentle, Noble temper,
 A Soule as even as a Calme; Pray thinke us,
 Those we professe, Peace-makers, Friends, and Servants.
  Madam you'l finde it so:
 You wrong your Vertues
 With these weake Womens feares.  A Noble Spirit
 As yours was, put into you, ever casts
 Such doubts as false Coine from it.  The King loves you,
 Beware you loose it not:  For us (if you please
 To trust us in your businesse) we are ready
 To use our utmost Studies, in your service.
 Do what ye will, my Lords:
 And pray forgive me;
 If I have us'd my selfe unmannerly,
 You know I am a Woman, lacking wit
 To make a seemely answer to such persons.
 Pray do my service to his Majestie,
 He ha's my heart yet, and shall have my Prayers
 While I shall have my life.  Come reverend Fathers,
 Bestow your Councels on me.  She now begges
 That little thought when she set footing heere,
She should have bought her Dignities so deere.  



 If you will now unite in your Complaints,
 And force them with a Constancy, the Cardinall
 Cannot stand under them.  If you omit
 The offer of this time, I cannot promise,
 But that you shall sustaine moe new disgraces,
 With these you beare alreadie.
 I am joyfull
 To meete the least occasion, that may give me
 Remembrance of my Father-in-Law, the Duke,
 To be reveng'd on him.
 Which of the Peeres
 Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
 Strangely neglected?  When did he regard
 The stampe of Noblenesse in any person
 Out of himselfe?
 My Lords, you speake your pleasures:
 What he deserves of you and me, I know:
 What we can do to him (though now the time
 Gives way to us) I much feare.  If you cannot
 Barre his accesse to' th' King, never attempt
 Any thing on him:  for he hath a Witchcraft
 Over the King in's Tongue.
 O feare him not,
 His spell in that is out:  the King hath found
 Matter against him, that for ever marres
 The Hony of his Language.  No, he's setled
 (Not to come off) in his displeasure.
 Sir,
 I should be glad to heare such Newes as this
 Once every houre.
 Beleeve it, this is true.
 In the Divorce, his contrarie proceedings
 Are all unfolded:  wherein he appeares,
 As I would wish mine Enemy.
 How came
 His practices to light?
 Most strangely.
 O how? how?
 The Cardinals Letters to the Pope miscarried,
 And came to th' eye o' th' King, wherein was read
 How that the Cardinall did intreat his Holinesse
 To stay the Judgement o' th' Divorce; for if
 It did take place, I do (quoth he) perceive
 My King is tangled in affection, to
 A Creature of the Queenes, Lady Anne Bullen.
 Ha's the King this?
 Beleeve it.
 Will this worke?
 The King in this perceives him, how he coasts
 And hedges his owne way.  But in this point,
 All his trickes founder, and he brings his Physicke
 After his Patients death; the King already
 Hath married the faire Lady.
 Would he had.
 May you be happy in your wish my Lord,
 For I professe you have it.
 Now all my joy
 Trace the Conjunction.
 My Amen too 't.
 All mens.
 There's order given for her Coronation:
 Marry this is yet but yong, and may be left
 To some eares unrecounted.  But my Lords
 She is a gallant Creature, and compleate
 In minde and feature.  I perswade me, from her
 Will fall some blessing to this Land, which shall
 In it be memoriz'd.
 But will the King
 Digest this Letter of the Cardinals?
 The Lord forbid.
 Marry Amen.
 No, no:
 There be moe Waspes that buz about his Nose
 Will make this sting the sooner.  Cardinall Campeius,
 Is stolne away to Rome, hath 'tane no leave,
 Ha's left the cause o' th' King unhandled, and
 Is posted as the Agent of our Cardinall,
 To second all his plot.  I do assure you,
 The King cry'de Ha, at this.
 Now God incense him,
 And let him cry Ha, lowder.
 But my Lord
 When returnes Cranmer?
 He is return'd in his Opinions, which
 Have satisfied the King for his Divorce,
 Together with all famous Colledges
 Almost in Christendome: shortly (I beleeve)
 His second Marriage shall be publishd, and
 Her Coronation.  Katherine no more
 Shall be call'd Queene, but Princesse Dowager,
 And Widdow to Prince Arthur.
 This same Cranmer's
 A worthy Fellow, and hath tane much paine
 In the Kings businesse.
 He ha's, and we shall see him
 For it and Arch-byshop.
 So I heare.
 'Tis so.

 The Cardinall.
 Observe, observe, hee's moody.
 The Packet Cromwell,
 Gav't you the King?
 To his owne hand, in's Bed-chamber.
 Look'd he o' th' inside of the Paper?
 Presently
 He did unseale them, and the first he view'd
 He did it with a Serious minde: a heede
 Was in his countenance.  You he bad
 Attend him heere this Morning.
 Is he ready to come abroad?
 I thinke by this he is.
 Leave me a while.  
 It shall be to the Dutches of Alanson,
 The French Kings Sister;  He shall marry her.
 Anne Bullen? No:  Ile no Anne Bullens for him,
 There's more in 't then faire Visage. Bullen?
 No, wee'l no Bullens:  Speedily I wish
 To heare from Rome.  The Marchionesse of Penbroke?
 He's discontented.
 Maybe he heares the King
 Does whet his Anger to him.
 Sharpe enough,
 Lord for thy Justice.
 The late Queenes Gentlewoman?
 A Knights Daughter
 To be her Mistris Mistris?  The Queenes, Queene?
 This Candle burnes not cleere, 'tis I must snuffe it,
 Then out it goes.  What though I know her vertuous
 And well deserving?  yet I know her for
 A spleeny Lutheran, and not wholsome to
 Our cause, that she should lye i' th' bosome of
 Our hard rul'd King.  Againe, there is sprung up
 An Heretique, an Arch-one; Cranmer, one
 Hath crawl'd into the favour of the King,
 And is his Oracle.
 He is vex'd at something.

 I would 'twer somthing that would fret the
 string,
 The Master-cord on's heart.
 The King, the King.
 What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
 To his owne portion? And what expence by' th' houre
 Seemes to flow from him?  How, i' th' name of Thrift
 Does he rake this together?  Now my Lords,
 Saw you the Cardinall?
 My Lord, we have
 Stood heere observing him.  Some strange Commotion
 Is in his braine:  He bites his lip, and starts,
 Stops on a sodaine, lookes upon the ground,
 Then layes his finger on his Temple:  straight
 Springs out into fast gate, then stops againe,
 Strikes his brest hard, and anon, he casts
 His eye against the Moone:  in most strange Postures
 We have seene him set himselfe.
 It may well be,
 There is a mutiny in's minde.  This morning,
 Papers of State he sent me, to peruse
 As I requir'd: and wot you what I found
 There (on my Conscience put unwittingly)
 Forsooth an Inventory, thus importing
 The severall parcels of his Plate, his Treasure,
 Rich Stuffes and Ornaments of Houshold, which
 I finde at such proud Rate, that it out-speakes
 Possession of a Subject.
 It's Heavens will,
 Some Spirit put this paper in the Packet,
 To blesse your eye withall.
  If we did thinke
 His Contemplation were above the earth,
 And fixt on Spirituall object, he should still
 Dwell in his Musings, but I am affraid
 His Thinkings are below the Moone, not worth
 His serious considering.


 Heaven forgive me,
 Ever God blesse your Highnesse.
 Good my Lord,
 You are full of Heavenly stuffe, and beare the Inventory
 Of your best Graces, in your minde; the which
 You were now running o're:  you have scarse time
 To steale from Spirituall leysure, a briefe span
 To keep your earthly Audit, sure in that
 I deeme you an ill Husband, and am gald
 To have you therein my Companion.
 Sir,
 For Holy Offices I have a time; a time
 To thinke upon the part of business, which
 I beare i' th' State:  and Nature does require
 Her times of preservation, which perforce
 I her fraile sonne, among'st my Brethren mortall,
 Must give my tendance to.
 You have said well.
 And ever may your Highnesse yoake together,
 (As I will lend you cause) my doing well,
 With my well saying.
 'Tis well said agen,
 And 'tis a kinde of good deede to say well,
 And yet words are no deeds.  My Father lov'd you,
 He said he did, and with his deed did Crowne
 His word upon you.  Since I had my Office,
 I have kept you next my Heart, have not alone
 Imploy'd you where high Profits might come home,
 But par'd my present Havings, to bestow
 My Bounties upon you.
 What should this meane?
 The Lord increase this businesse.
 Have I not made you
 The prime man of the State?  I pray you tell me,
 If what I now pronounce, you have found true:
 And if you may confesse it, say withall
 If you are bound to us, or no.  What say you?
 My Soveraigne, I confesse your Royall graces
 Showr'd on me daily, have bene more then could
 My studied purposes requite, which went
 Beyond all mans endeavors.  My endeavors,
 Have ever come too short of my Desires,
 Yet fill'd with my Abilities:  Mine owne ends
 Have beene mine so, that evermore they pointed
 To' th' good of your most Sacred Person, and
 The profit of the State.  For your great Graces
 Heap'd upon me (poore Undeserver) I
 Can nothing render but Allegiant thankes,
 My Prayres to heaven for you; my Loyaltie
 Which ever ha's, and ever shall be growing,
 Till death (that Winter) kill it.
 Fairely answer'd:
 A Loyall, and obedient Subject is
 Therein illustrated, the Honor of it
 Does pay the Act of it, as i' th' contrary
 The fowlenesse is the punishment.  I presume,
 That as my hand ha's open'd Bounty to you,
 My heart drop'd Love, my powre rain'd Honor, more
 On you, then any:  So your Hand, and Heart,
 Your Braine, and every Function of your power,
 Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
 As 'twer in Loves particular, be more
 To me your Friend, then any.
 I do professe,
 That for your Highnesse good, I ever labour'd
 More then mine owne:  that am, have, and will be
 (Though all the world should cracke their duty to you,
 And throw it from their Soule, though perils did
 Abound, as thicke as thought could make 'em, and
 Appeare in formes more horrid) yet my Duty,
 As doth a Rocke against the chiding Flood,
 Should the approach of this wilde River breake,
 And stand unshaken yours.
 'Tis Nobly spoken:
 Take notice Lords, he ha's a Loyall brest,
 For you have seene him open't.  Read o're this,
 And after this, and then to Breakfast with
 What appetite you have.


 What should this meane?
 What sodaine Anger's this?  How have I reap'd it?
 He parted Frowning from me, as if Ruine
 Leap'd from his Eyes.  So lookes the chafed Lyon
 Upon the daring Huntsman that has gall'd him:
 Then makes him nothing.  I must reade this paper:
 I feare the Story of his Anger.  'Tis so:
 This paper ha's undone me:  'Tis th' Accompt
 Of all that world of Wealth I have drawne together
 For mine owne ends, (Indeed to gaine the Popedome,
 And fee my Friends in Rome.)  O Negligence!
 Fit for a Foole to fall by:  What crosse Divell
 Made me put this maine Secret in the Packet
 I sent the King?  Is there no way to cure this?
 No new device to beate this from his Braines?
 I know 'twill stirre him strongly; yet I know
 A way, if it take right, in spight of Fortune
 Will bring me off againe.  What's this?  To th' Pope?
 The Letter (as I live) with all the Businesse
 I writ too's Holinesse.  Nay then, farewell:
 I have touch'd the highest point of all my Greatnesse,
 And from that full Meridian of my Glory,
 I haste now to my Setting.  I shall fall
 Like a bright exhalation in the Evening,
 And no man see me more.


 Heare the Kings pleasure Cardinall,
 Who commands you
 To render up the Great Seale presently
 Into our hands, and to Confine your selfe
 To Asher-house, my Lord of Winchesters,
 Till you heare further from his Highnesse.
 Stay:
 Where's your Commission?  Lords, words cannot carrie
 Authority so weighty.
 Who dare crosse 'em,
 Bearing the Kings will from his mouth expressely?
 Till I finde more then will, or words to do it,
 (I meane your malice) know, Officious Lords,
 I dare, and must deny it.  Now I feele
 Of what course Mettle ye are molded, Envy,
 How eagerly ye follow my Disgraces
 As it fed ye, and how sleeke and wanton
 Ye appeare in every thing may bring my ruine?
 Follow your envious courses, men of Malice;
 You have Christian warrant for 'em, and no doubt
 In time will finde their fit Rewards.  That Seale
 You aske with such a Violence, the King
 (Mine, and your Master) with his owne hand, gave me:
 Bad me enjoy it, with the Place, and Honors
 During my life; and to confirme his Goodnesse,
 Ti'de it by Letters Patents.  Now, who'll take it?
 The King that gave it.
 It must be himselfe then.
 Thou are a proud Traitor, Priest.
 Proud Lord, thou lyest:
 Within these fortie houres, Surrey durst better
 Have burnt that Tongue, then saide so.
 Thy Ambition
 (Thou Scarlet sinne) robb'd this bewailing Land
 Of Noble Buckingham, my Father-in-Law,
 The heads of all thy Brother-Cardinals,
 (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together)
 Weigh'd not a haire of his.  Plague of your policie,
 You sent me Deputie for Ireland,
 Farre from his succour; from the King, from all
 That might have mercie on the fault, thou gav'st him:
 Whil'st your great Goodnesse, out of holy pitty,
 Absolv'd him with an Axe.
 This, and all else
 This talking Lord can lay upon my credit,
 I answer, is most false.  The Duke by Law
 Found his deserts.  How innocent I was
 From any private malice in his end,
 His noble Jurie, and foule Cause can witnesse.
 If I lov'd many words, Lord, I should tell you,
 You have as little Honestie, as Honor,
 That in the way of Loyaltie, and Truth,
 Toward the King, my ever Roiall Master,
 Dare mate a sounder man then Surrie can be,
 And all that love his follies.
 By my Soule,
 Your long Coat (Priest) protects you,
 Thou should'st feele
 My Sword i' th' life blood of thee else.  My Lords,
 Can ye endure to heare this Arrogance?
 And from this Fellow?  If we live thus tamely,
 To be thus Jaded by a peece of Scarlet,
 Farewell Nobilitie:  let his Grace go forward,
 And dare us with his Cap, like Larkes.
 All Goodnesse
 Is poyson to thy Stomacke.
 Yes, that goodnesse
 Of gleaning all the Lands wealth into one,
 Into your owne hands (Card'nall) by Extortion:
 The goodnesse of your intercepted Packets
 You writ to' th' Pope, against the King:  your goodnesse
 Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.
 My Lord of Norfolke, as you are truly Noble,
 As you respect the common good, the State
 Of our despis'd Nobilitie, our Issues,
 (Whom if he live, will scarse be Gentlemen)
 Produce the grand summe of his sinnes, the Articles
 Collected from his life.  Ile startle you
 Worse then the Sacring Bell, when the browne Wench
 Lay kissing in your Armes, Lord Cardinall.
 How much me thinkes, I could despise this man,
 But that I am bound in Charitie against it.
 Those Articles, my Lord, are in the Kings hand:
 But thus much, they are foule ones.
 So much fairer
 And spotlesse, shall mine Innocence arise,
 When the King knowes my Truth.
 This cannot save you:
 I thanke my Memorie, I yet remember
 Some of these Articles, and out they shall.
 Now, if you can blush, and crie guiltie Cardinall,
 You'l shew a little Honestie.
 Speake on Sir,
 I dare your worst Objections:  If I blush,
 It is to see a Nobleman want manners.
  I had rather want those, then my head;
 Have at you;
 First, that without the Kings assent or knowledge,
 You wrought to be a Legate, by which power
 You maim'd the Jurisdiction of all Bishops.
 Then, That in all you writ to Rome, or else
 To Forraigne Princes, Ego & Rex meus
 Was still inscrib'd:  in which you brought the King
 To be your Servant.
 Then, that without the knowledge
 Either of King or Councell, when you went
 Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold
 To carry into Flanders, the Great Seale.
 Item, You sent a large Commission
 To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude
 Without the Kings will, or the States allowance,
 A League betweene his Highnesse, and Ferrara.
 That out of meere Ambition, you have caus'd
 Your holy-Hat to be stampt on the Kings Coine.
 Then, That you have sent inumerable substance,
 (By what meanes got, I leave to your owne conscience)
 To furnish Rome, and to prepare the wayes
 You have for Dignities, to the meere undooing
 Of all the Kingdome.  Many more there are,
 Which since they are of you, and odious,
 I will not taint my mouth with.
 O my Lord,
 Presse not a falling man too farre:  'tis Vertue:
 His faults lye open to the Lawes, let them
 (Not you) correct him.  My heart weepes to see him
 So little, of his great Selfe.
 I forgive him.
 Lord Cardinall, the Kings further pleasure is,
 Because all those things you have done of late
 By your power Legative within this Kingdome,
 Fall into' th' compasse of a Premunire;
 That therefore such a Writ be sued against you,
 To forfeit all your Goods, Lands, Tenenents,
 Castles, and whatsoever, and to be
 Out of the Kings protection.  This is my Charge.
 And so wee'l leave you to your Meditations
 How to live better.  For your stubborne answer
 About the giving backe the Great Seale to us,
 The King shall know it, and (no doubt) shal thanke you.
 So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinall.

 So farewell, to the little good you beare me.
 Farewell?  A long farewell to all my Greatnesse.
 This is the state of Man; to day he puts forth
 The tender Leaves of hopes, to morrow Blossomes,
 And beares his blushing Honors thicke upon him:
 The third day, comes a Frost; a killing Frost,
 And when he thinkes, good easie man, full surely
 His Greatnesse is a ripening, nippes his roote,
 And then he fals as I do.  I have ventur'd
 Like little wanton Boyes that swim on bladders:
 This many Summers in a Sea of Glory,
 Buf farre beyond my depth: my high-blowne Pride
 At length broke under me, and now ha's left me
 Weary, and old with Service, to the mercy
 Of a rude streame, that must for ever hide me.
 Vaine pompe, and glory of this World, I hate ye,
 I feele my heart new open'd.  Oh how wretched
 Is that poore man, that hangs on Princes favours?
 There is betwixt that smile we would aspire too,
 That sweet Aspect of Princes, and their ruine,
 More pangs, and feares then warres, or women have;
 And when he falles, he falles like Lucifer,
 Never to hope againe.

 Why how now Cromwell?
 I have no power to speake Sir.
 What, amaz'd
 At my misfortunes?  Can thy Spirit wonder
 A great man should decline.  Nay, and you weep
 I am falne indeed.
 How does your Grace.
 Why well:
 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell,
 I know my selfe now, and I feele within me,
 A peace above all earthly Dignities,
 A still, and quiet Conscience.  The King ha's cur'd me,
 I humbly thanke his Grace:  and from these Shoulders
 These ruin'd Pillers, out of pitty, taken
 A loade, would sinke a Navy, (too much Honor.)
 O 'tis a burden Cromwel, 'tis a burden
 Too heavy for a man, that hopes for Heaven.
 I am glad your Grace,
 Ha's made that right use of it.
 I hope I have:
 I am able now (me thinkes)
 (Out of a Fortitude of Soule, I feele)
 To endure more Miseries, and greater farre
 Then my Weake-hearted Enemies, dare offer.
 What Newes abroad?
 The heaviest, and the worst,
 Is your displeasure with the King.
 God blesse him.
 The next is, that Sir Thomas Moore is chosen
 Lord Chancellor, in your place.
 That's somewhat sodain.
 But he's a Learned man.  May he continue
 Long in his Highnesse favour, and do Justice
 For Truths-sake, and his Conscience; that his bones,
 When he ha's run his course, and sleepes in Blessings,
 May have a Tombe of Orphants teares wept on him.
 What more?
 That Cranmer is return'd with welcome;
 Install'd Lord Arch-byshop of Canterbury.
 That's Newes indeed.
 Last, that the Lady Anne,
 Whom the King hath in secrecie long married,
 This day was view'd in open, as his Queene,
 Going to Chappell:  and the voyce is now
 Onely about her Corronation.
 There was the waight that pull'd me downe.
 O Cromwell,
 The King ha's gone beyond me:  All my Glories
 In that one woman, I have lost for ever.
 No Sun, shall ever usher forth mine Honors,
 Or gilde againe the Noble Troopes that waighted
 Upon my smiles.  Go get thee from me Cromwel,
 I am a poore falne man, unworthy now
 To be thy Lord, and Master.  Seeke the King
 (That Sun, I pray may never set) I have told him,
 What, and how thou art; he will advance thee:
 Some little memory of me, will stirre him
 (I know his Noble Nature) not to let
 Thy hopefull service perish too.  Good Cromwell
 Neglect him not; make use now, and provide
 For thine owne future safety.
 O my Lord,
 Must I then leave you?  Must I needes forgo
 So good, so Noble, and so true a Master?
 Beare witnesse, all that have not hearts of Iron,
 With what a sorrow Cromwel leaves his Lord.
 The King shall have my service; but my prayres
 For ever, and for ever shall be yours.
  Cromwel, I did not thinke to shed a teare
 In all my Miseries:  But thou hast forc'd me
 (Out of thy honest truth) to play the Woman.
 Let's dry our eyes:  And thus farre heare me Cromwel,
 And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
 And sleepe in dull cold Marble, where no mention
 Of me, more must be heard of:  Say I taught thee;
 Say Wolsey, that once trod the wayes of Glory,
 And sounded all the Depths, and Shoales of Honor,
 Found thee a way (out of his wracke) to rise in:
 A sure, and safe one, though thy Master mist it.
 Marke but my Fall, and that that Ruin'd me:
 Cromwel, I charge thee, fling away Ambition,
 By that sinne fell the Angels:  how can man then
 (The Image of his Maker) hope to win by it?
 Love thy selfe last, cherish those hearts that hate thee;
 Corruption wins not more then Honesty.
 Still in thy right hand, carry gentle Peace
 To silence envious Tongues.  Be just, and feare not;
 Let all the ends thou aym'st at, be thy Countries,
 Thy Gods, and Truths.  Then if thou fall'st (O Cromwell)
 Thou fall'st a blessed Martyr.
 Serve the King:  And prythee leade me in:
 There take an Inventory of all I have,
 To the last peny, 'tis the Kings.  My Robe,
 And my Integrity to Heaven, is all,
 I dare now call mine owne.  O Cromwel, Cromwel,
 Had I but serv'd my God, with halfe the Zeale
 I serv'd my King:  he would not in mine Age
 Have left me naked to mine Enemies.
 Good Sir, have patience.
 So I have.  Farewell
 The Hopes of Court, my Hopes in Heaven do dwell.



 Y'are well met once againe.
 So are you.
 You come to take your stand heere, and behold
 The Lady Anne, passe from her Corronation.
 'Tis all my business.  At our last encounter,
 The Duke of Buckingham came from his Triall.
 'Tis very true.  But that time offer'd sorrow,
 This generall joy.
 'Tis well:  The Citizens
 I am sure have shewne at full their Royall minds,
 As let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward
 In Celebration of this day with Shewes,
 Pageants, and Sights of Honor.
 Never greater,
 Nor Ile assure you better taken Sir.
 May I be bold to aske what that containes,
 That Paper in your hand.
 Yes, 'tis the List
 Of those that claime their Offices this day,
 By custome of the Coronation.
 The Duke of Suffolke is the first, and claimes
 To be high Steward;  Next the Duke of Norfolke,
 He to be Earle Marshall:  you may reade the rest.
 I thanke you Sir:  Had I not known those customs,
 I should have beene beholding to your Paper:
 But I beseech you, what's become of Katherine
 The Princesse Dowager?  How goes her businesse?
 That I can tell you too.  The Archbishop
 Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
 Learned, and Reverend Fathers of his Order,
 Held a late Court at Dunstable; sixe miles off
 From Ampthill, where the Princesse lay, to which
 She was often cyted by them, but appear'd not:
 And to be short, for not Appearance, and
 The Kings late Scruple, by the maine assent
 Of all these Learned men, she was divorc'd,
 And the late Marriage made of none effect:
 Since which, she was remov'd to Kymmalton,
 Where she remaines now sicke.
  Alas good Lady.
 The Trumpets sound:  Stand close,
The Queene is comming.   


























 A Royall Traine beleeve me:  These I know:
 Who's that that beares the Scepter?
 Marquesse Dorset,
 And that the Earle of Surrey, with the Rod.
 A bold brave Gentleman.  That should bee
 The Duke of Suffolke.
 'Tis the same:  high Steward.
 And that my Lord of Norfolke?
 Yes.
 Heaven blesse thee,
 Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.
 Sir, as I have a Soule, she is an Angell;
 Our King ha's all the Indies in his Armes,
 And more, and richer, when he straines that Lady,
 I cannot blame his Cons