wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to


examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall


find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle toddle


nor pibble pabble in Pompeys camp; I warrant you,


you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the


cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety


of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise.


Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.


If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating


coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also,


look you, be an ass and a fool and a prating


I pray you and beseech you that you will.


Though it appear a little out of fashion,


There is much care and valour in this Welshman.


Enter three soldiers, JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT, and MICHAEL WILLIAMS


Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which


I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire


We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think


we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?


A good old commander and a most kind gentleman: I


Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be


He hath not told his thought to the king?


No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I


speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I


am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me: the


element shows to him as it doth to me; all his


senses have but human conditions: his ceremonies


laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and


though his affections are higher mounted than ours,


yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like


wing. Therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we


do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish


as ours are: yet, in reason, no man should possess


him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing


He may show what outward courage he will; but I


believe, as cold a night as tis, he could wish


himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he


were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.


By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king:


I think he would not wish himself any where but


Then I would he were here alone; so should he be


sure to be ransomed, and a many poor mens lives saved.


I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here


alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other mens


minds: methinks I could not die any where so


contented as in the kings company; his cause being


Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know


enough, if we know we are the kings subjects: if


his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes


But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath


a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and


arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join


together at the latter day and cry all We died at


such a place; some swearing, some crying for a


surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind


them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their


children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die


well that die in a battle; for how can they


charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their


argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it


will be a black matter for the king that led them to


it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of


So, if a son that is by his father sent about


merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the


imputation of his wickedness by your rule, should be


imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a


servant, under his masters command transporting a


sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in


many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the


business of the master the author of the servants


damnation: but this is not so: the king is not


bound to answer the particular endings of his


soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of


his servant; for they purpose not their death, when


they purpose their services. Besides, there is no


king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to


the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all


unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on them


the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder;


some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of


perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that


have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with


pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have


defeated the law and outrun native punishment,


though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to


fly from God: war is his beadle, war is vengeance;


so that here men are punished for before-breach of


the kings laws in now the kings quarrel: where


they feared the death, they have borne life away;


and where they would be safe, they perish: then if


they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of


their damnation than he was before guilty of those


impieties for the which they are now visited. Every


subjects duty is the kings; but every subjects


soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in


the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every


mote out of his conscience: and dying so, death


is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was


blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained:


and in him that escapes, it were not sin to think


that, making God so free an offer, He let him


outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach


Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon


his own head, the king is not to answer it.


But I do not desire he should answer for me; and


yet I determine to fight lustily for him.


I myself heard the king say he would not be ransomed.


Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but


when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we


If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.


You pay him then. Thats a perilous shot out of an


elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can


do against a monarch! you may as well go about to


turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a


peacocks feather. Youll never trust his word


Your reproof is something too round: I should be


angry with you, if the time were convenient.


Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.


Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my


bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I


Heres my glove: give me another of thine.


This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come


to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my glove,


by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.


If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.


Well. I will do it, though I take thee in the


Be friends, you English fools, be friends: we have


French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.


Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to


one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their


shoulders: but it is no English treason to cut


French crowns, and to-morrow the king himself will


Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,


Our children and our sins lay on the king!


Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath


Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel


But his own wringing! What infinite hearts-ease


Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!


And what have kings, that privates have not too,


What kind of god art thou, that sufferst more


Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?


What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?


Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,


What drinkst thou oft, instead of homage sweet,


But poisond flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,


Thinkst thou the fiery fever will go out


Will it give place to flexure and low bending?


Canst thou, when thou commandst the beggars knee,


Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,


That playst so subtly with a kings repose;


Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,


The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,


The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,


The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp


That beats upon the high shore of this world,


No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,


Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,


Gets him to rest, crammd with distressful bread;


Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,


But, like a lackey, from the rise to set


Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night


Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,


Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,


Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.


The slave, a member of the countrys peace,


Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots


What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,


Whose hours the peasant best advantages.


My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,


O God of battles! steel my soldiers hearts;


Possess them not with fear; take from them now


The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers


Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord,


And on it have bestowd more contrite tears


Than from it issued forced drops of blood:


Who twice a-day their witherd hands hold up


Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built


Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests


Sing still for Richards soul. More will I do;


Though all that I can do is nothing worth,


Since that my penitence comes after all,


The day, my friends and all things stay for me.


Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others


The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!


Montez A cheval! My horse! varlet! laquais! ha!


Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!


Mount them, and make incision in their hides,


That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,


And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!


What, will you have them weep our horses blood?


How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?


The English are embattled, you French peers.


To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!


Do but behold yon poor and starved band,


And your fair show shall suck away their souls,


Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.


There is not work enough for all our hands;


Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins


That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,


And sheathe for lack of sport: let us but blow on them,


The vapour of our valour will oerturn them.


Tis positive gainst all exceptions, lords,


That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,


To purge this field of such a hilding foe,


But that our honours must not. Whats to say?


And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound


The tucket sonance and the note to mount;


For our approach shall so much dare the field


That England shall couch down in fear and yield.


Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?


Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,


Ill-favouredly become the morning field:


Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,


And our air shakes them passing scornfully:


Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggard host


And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps:


The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,


With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades


Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,


The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes


And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit


Lies foul with chewd grass, still and motionless;


Fly oer them, all impatient for their hour.


To demonstrate the life of such a battle


They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.


Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits


And give their fasting horses provender,


And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!


The sun is high, and we outwear the day.


Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with all his host: SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND


The king himself is rode to view their battle.


Of fighting men they have full three score thousand.


Theres five to one; besides, they all are fresh.


Gods arm strike with us! tis a fearful odds.


God be wi you, princes all; Ill to my charge:


If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,


Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,


My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,


And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!


Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!


Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day:


And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,


For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.


But one ten thousand of those men in England


My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:


The fewer men, the greater share of honour.


Gods will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.


It yearns me not if men my garments wear;


Such outward things dwell not in my desires:


No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:


Gods peace! I would not lose so great an honour


As one man more, methinks, would share from me


For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!


Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,


That he which hath no stomach to this fight,


Let him depart; his passport shall be made


And crowns for convoy put into his purse:


That fears his fellowship to die with us.


This day is called the feast of Crispian:


He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,


Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,


He that shall live this day, and see old age,


Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,


Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.


And say These wounds I had on Crispins day.


Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,


What feats he did that day: then shall our names.


Familiar in his mouth as household words


Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,


Be in their flowing cups freshly rememberd.


This story shall the good man teach his son;


From this day to the ending of the world,


We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;


For he to-day that sheds his blood with me


Shall be my brother; be he neer so vile,


Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,


And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks


That fought with us upon Saint Crispins day.


My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:


The French are bravely in their battles set,


And will with all expedience charge on us.


All things are ready, if our minds be so.


Perish the man whose mind is backward now!


Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?


Gods will! my liege, would you and I alone,


Without more help, could fight this royal battle!


Why, now thou hast unwishd five thousand men;


Which likes me better than to wish us one.


You know your places: God be with you all!


Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,


If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,


For certainly thou art so near the gulf,


Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,


The constable desires thee thou wilt mind


Thy followers of repentance; that their souls


From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies


I pray thee, bear my former answer back:


Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones.


Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?


The man that once did sell the lions skin


While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him.


Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,


Shall witness live in brass of this days work:


And those that leave their valiant bones in France,


Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,


They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet them,


And draw their honours reeking up to heaven;


Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,


The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.


Mark then abounding valour in our English,


That being dead, like to the bullets grazing,


Break out into a second course of mischief,


Let me speak proudly: tell the constable


We are but warriors for the working-day;


Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirchd


With rainy marching in the painful field;


Theres not a piece of feather in our host--


Good argument, I hope, we will not fly--


But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;


And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night


Theyll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck


The gay new coats oer the French soldiers heads


And turn them out of service. If they do this,--


As, if God please, they shall,--my ransom then


Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;


Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald:


They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;


Which if they have as I will leave em them,


Shall yield them little, tell the constable.


I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:


I fear thoult once more come again for ransom.


Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away:


And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!


Alarum. Excursions. Enter PISTOL, French Soldier, and Boy


Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme de bonne qualite.


Qualtitie calmie custure me! Art thou a gentleman?


Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark;


O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,


O, prenez misericorde! ayez pitie de moi!


Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;


Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat


Est-il impossible dechapper la force de ton bras?


Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,


Sayst thou me so? is that a ton of moys?


Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French


Master Fer! Ill fer him, and firk him, and ferret


him: discuss the same in French unto him.


I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.


Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.


Il me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous


pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a cette


Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;


Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.


O, je vous supplie, pour lamour de Dieu, me


pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison:


gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.


He prays you to save his life: he is a gentleman of


a good house; and for his ransom he will give you


Tell him my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.


Encore quil est contre son jurement de pardonner


aucun prisonnier, neanmoins, pour les ecus que vous


lavez promis, il est content de vous donner la


Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et


je mestime heureux que je suis tombe entre les


mains dun chevalier, je pense, le plus brave,


vaillant, et tres distingue seigneur dAngleterre.


He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and


he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into


the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave,


valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.


As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.


I did never know so full a voice issue from so


empty a heart: but the saying is true The empty


vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph and Nym


had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i


the old play, that every one may pare his nails with


a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and so


would this be, if he durst steal any thing


adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with


the luggage of our camp: the French might have a


good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is


Enter Constable, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN, and RAMBURES


O seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!


Sits mocking in our plumes. O merchante fortune!


O perdurable shame! lets stab ourselves.


Be these the wretches that we playd at dice for?


Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?


Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame!


Let us die in honour: once more back again;


And he that will not follow Bourbon now,


Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand,


Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door


Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,


Disorder, that hath spoild us, friend us now!


To smother up the English in our throngs,


The devil take order now! Ill to the throng:


Let life be short; else shame will be too long.


Alarums. Enter KING HENRY and forces, EXETER, and others


Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen:


But alls not done; yet keep the French the field.


The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.


Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour


I saw him down; thrice up again and fighting;


From helmet to the spur all blood he was.


In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,


Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,


Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,


Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteepd,


And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes


And cries aloud Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!


My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;


Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,


As in this glorious and well-foughten field


Upon these words I came and cheerd him up:


He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,


And, with a feeble gripe, says Dear my lord,


He threw his wounded arm and kissd his lips;


And so espoused to death, with blood he seald


The pretty and sweet manner of it forced


Those waters from me which I would have stoppd;


For, hearing this, I must perforce compound


With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.


But, hark! what new alarum is this same?


The French have reinforced their scatterd men:


Kill the poys and the luggage! tis expressly


against the law of arms: tis as arrant a piece of


knavery, mark you now, as can be offert; in your


Tis certain theres not a boy left alive; and the


cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha done


this slaughter: besides, they have burned and


carried away all that was in the kings tent;


wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused every


soldier to cut his prisoners throat. O, tis a


Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What


call you the towns name where Alexander the Pig was born!


Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the pig, or the


great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the


magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase


I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon; his


father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.


I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I


tell you, captain, if you look in the maps of the


orld, I warrant you sall find, in the comparisons


between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations,


look you, is both alike. There is a river in


Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at


Monmouth: it is called Wye at Monmouth; but it is


out of my prains what is the name of the other


river; but tis all one, tis alike as my fingers is


to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you


mark Alexanders life well, Harry of Monmouths life


is come after it indifferent well; for there is


figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and


you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his


wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his


displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a


little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and


his angers, look you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.


Our king is not like him in that: he never killed


It is not well done, mark you now take the tales out


of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak


but in the figures and comparisons of it: as


Alexander killed his friend Cleitus, being in his


ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in


his right wits and his good judgments, turned away


the fat knight with the great belly-doublet: he


was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and


That is he: Ill tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.


Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, and forces; WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, EXETER, and others


Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;


Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:


If they will fight with us, bid them come down,


Or void the field; they do offend our sight:


If theyll do neither, we will come to them,


And make them skirr away, as swift as stones


Besides, well cut the throats of those we have,


And not a man of them that we shall take


Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.


Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.


His eyes are humbler than they used to be.


How now! what means this, herald? knowst thou not


That I have  fined these bones of mine for ransom?


That we may wander oer this bloody field


To look our dead, and then to bury them;


For many of our princes--woe the while!--


Lie drownd and soakd in mercenary blood;


So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs


In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds


Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage


Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,


Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king,


Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!


What is this castle calld that stands hard by?


Then call we this the field of Agincourt,


Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.


Your grandfather of famous memory, ant please your


majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack


Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles,


fought a most prave pattle here in France.


Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is


remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a


garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their


Monmouth caps; which, your majesty know, to this


hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do


believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek


For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.


All the water in Wye cannot wash your majestys


Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that:


God pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases


By Jeshu, I am your majestys countryman, I care not


who know it; I will confess it to all the orld: I


need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be


God, so long as your majesty is an honest man.


God keep me so! Our heralds go with him:


Bring me just notice of the numbers dead


On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.


Points to WILLIAMS. Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy


Soldier, why wearest thou that glove in thy cap?


Ant please your majesty, tis the gage of one that


Ant please your majesty, a rascal that swaggered


with me last night; who, if alive and ever dare to


challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box


o th ear: or if I can see my glove in his cap,


which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear


What think you, Captain Fluellen? is it fit this


He is a craven and a villain else, ant please your


It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,


Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as


Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look


your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath: if


he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as


arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black


shoe trod upon Gods ground and his earth, in my


Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meetest the fellow.


Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and


Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and


stick it in thy cap: when Alencon and myself were


down together, I plucked this glove from his helm:


if any man challenge this, he is a friend to


Alencon, and an enemy to our person; if thou


encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.


Your grace doos me as great honours as can be


desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain


see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find


himself aggrieved at this glove; that is all; but I


would fain see it once, an please God of his grace


Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.


My Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester,


The glove which I have given him for a favour


Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick:


If that the soldier strike him, as I judge


By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,


And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder,


Follow and see there be no harm between them.


SCENE VIII. Before KING HENRYS pavilion.


Gods will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you


now, come apace to the king: there is more good


toward you peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of.


Know the glove! I know the glove is glove.


Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the


universal world, or in France, or in England!


Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his


Thats a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his


majestys name, apprehend him: hes a friend of the


My Lord of Warwick, here is--praised be God for it!


--a most contagious treason come to light, look


you, as you shall desire in a summers day. Here is


My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that,


look your grace, has struck the glove which your


majesty is take out of the helmet of Alencon.


My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of


it; and he that I gave it to in change promised to


wear it in his cap: I promised to strike him, if he


did: I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I


Your majesty hear now, saving your majestys


manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy


knave it is: I hope your majesty is pear me


testimony and witness, and will avouchment, that


this is the glove of Alencon, that your majesty is


Give me thy glove, soldier: look, here is the


Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike;


And thou hast given me most bitter terms.


An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it,


if there is any martial law in the world.


All offences, my lord, come from the heart: never


came any from mine that might offend your majesty.


Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to


me but as a common man; witness the night, your


garments, your lowliness; and what your highness


suffered under that shape, I beseech you take it for


your own fault and not mine: for had you been as I


took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I


Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,


And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;


Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns:


And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.


By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle


enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelve pence


for you; and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you


out of prawls, and prabbles and quarrels, and


dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better for you.


It is with a good will; I can tell you, it will


serve you to mend your shoes: come, wherefore should


you be so pashful? your shoes is not so good: tis


a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.


Here is the number of the slaughterd French.


What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?


Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;


John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt:


Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,


Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.


This note doth tell me of ten thousand French


That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this number,


And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead


Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,


Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,


Five hundred were but yesterday dubbd knights:


So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,


There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;


The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,


The names of those their nobles that lie dead:


Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;


The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;


Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin,


John Duke of Alencon, Anthony Duke of Brabant,


Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix,


Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.


Where is the number of our English dead?


Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,


But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here;


Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,


But in plain shock and even play of battle,


On one part and on the other? Take it, God,


Come, go we in procession to the village.


And be it death proclaimed through our host


To boast of this or take the praise from God


Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell


Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgement,


Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.


Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum;


And then to Calais; and to England then:


Where neer from France arrived more happy men.


Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,


That I may prompt them: and of such as have,


Of time, of numbers and due course of things,


Which cannot in their huge and proper life


Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,


Heave him away upon your winged thoughts


Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach


Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,


Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep mouthd sea,


Which like a mighty whiffler fore the king


Seems to prepare his way: so let him land,


So swift a pace hath thought that even now


Where that his lords desire him to have borne


Before him through the city: he forbids it,


Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;


Quite from himself to God. But now behold,


In the quick forge and working-house of thought,


The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,


Like to the senators of the antique Rome,


With the plebeians swarming at their heels,


Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in:


Were now the general of our gracious empress,


As in good time he may, from Ireland coming,


Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,


To welcome him! much more, and much more cause,


Did they this Harry. Now in London place him;


Invites the King of Englands stay at home;


The emperors coming in behalf of France,


Till Harrys back-return again to France:


There must we bring him; and myself have playd


The interim, by remembering you tis past.


Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance,


After your thoughts, straight back again to France.


Nay, thats right; but why wear you your leek today?


There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in


all things: I will tell you, asse my friend,


Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, beggarly,


lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and


yourself and all the world know to be no petter


than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is


come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday,


look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in place


where I could not breed no contention with him; but


I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see


him once again, and then I will tell him a little


Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.


turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you


Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,


Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.


I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my


desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat,


look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not


love it, nor your affections and your appetites and


your digestions doos not agree with it, I would


Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it?


You say very true, scauld knave, when Gods will is:


I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat


your victuals: come, there is sauce for it.


You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will


make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you,


fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.


Enough, captain: you have astonished him.


I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or


I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it


is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.


Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question


By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat


Eat, I pray you: will you have some more sauce to


your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.


Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray


you, throw none away; the skin is good for your


broken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks


hereafter, I pray you, mock at em; that is all.


Ay, leeks is good: hold you, there is a groat to


Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I


have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.


If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels:


you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but


cudgels. God b wi you, and keep you, and heal your pate.


Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will


you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an


honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of


predeceased valour and dare not avouch in your deeds


any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and


galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You


thought, because he could not speak English in the


native garb, he could not therefore handle an


English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and


henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good


Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?


News have I, that my Nell is dead i the spital


And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.


Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd Ill turn,


And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.


To England will I steal, and there Ill steal:


And patches will I get unto these cudgelld scars,


And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.


Enter, at one door KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD,  GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other Lords;  at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL, the  PRINCESS KATHARINE, ALICE and other Ladies; the DUKE of BURGUNDY, and his train


Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!


Unto our brother France, and to our sister,


Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes


To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;


And, as a branch and member of this royalty,


By whom this great assembly is contrived,


And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!


Right joyous are we to behold your face,


Most worthy brother England; fairly met:


Of this good day and of this gracious meeting,


Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them


Against the French, that met them in their bent,


The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,


Have lost their quality, and that this day


Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.


You English princes all, I do salute you.


Great Kings of France and England! That I have labourd,


With all my wits, my pains and strong endeavours,


Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.


Since then my office hath so far prevaild


That, face to face and royal eye to eye,


You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me,


Why that the naked, poor and mangled Peace,


Should not in this best garden of the world


Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?


Alas, she hath from France too long been chased,


And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,


Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,


Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,


Put forth disorderd twigs; her fallow leas


Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts


The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth


The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover,


Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,


But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,


And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,


Defective in their natures, grow to wildness,


Even so our houses and ourselves and children


Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,


The sciences that should become our country;


But grow like savages,--as soldiers will


That nothing do but meditate on blood,--


To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire


You are assembled: and my speech entreats


That I may know the let, why gentle Peace


If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,


Whose want gives growth to the imperfections


Which you have cited, you must buy that peace


With full accord to all our just demands;


You have enscheduled briefly in your hands.


The king hath heard them; to the which as yet


Which you before so urged, lies in his answer.


Oerglanced the articles: pleaseth your grace


To appoint some of your council presently


To sit with us once more, with better heed


And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,


Warwick and Huntingdon, go with the king;


Shall see advantageable for our dignity,


And well consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,


Go with the princes, or stay here with us?


Our gracious brother, I will go with them:


When articles too nicely urged be stood on.


Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:


Exeunt all except HENRY, KATHARINE, and ALICE


Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms


And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?


Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak your England.


O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with


your French heart, I will be glad to hear you


confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do


Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is like me.


An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.


Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges?


Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.


I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to


O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de


What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men


Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of


The princess is the better Englishwoman. I faith,


Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am


glad thou canst speak no better English; for, if


thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king


that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my


crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but


directly to say I love you: then if you urge me


farther than to say do you in faith? I wear out


my suit. Give me your answer; i faith, do: and so


clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?


Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for


your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I


have neither words nor measure, and for the other, I


have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable


measure in strength. If I could win a lady at


leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my


armour on my back, under the correction of bragging


be it spoken. I should quickly leap into a wife.


Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse


for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and


sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God,


Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my


eloquence, nor I have no cunning in protestation;


only downright oaths, which I never use till urged,


nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a


fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth


sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love


of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy


cook. I speak to thee plain soldier: If thou canst


love me for this, take me: if not, to say to thee


that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the


Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou


livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and


uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee


right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other


places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that


can rhyme themselves into ladies favours, they do


always reason themselves out again. What! a


speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A


good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a


black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow


bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax


hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the


moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it


shines bright and never changes, but keeps his


course truly. If thou would have such a one, take


me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier,


take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love?


speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.


Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France?


No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of


France, Kate: but, in loving me, you should love


the friend of France; for I love France so well that


I will not part with a village of it; I will have it


all mine: and, Kate, when France is mine and I am


yours, then yours is France and you are mine.


No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am


sure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married


wife about her husbands neck, hardly to be shook


off. Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand


vous avez le possession de moi,--let me see, what


then? Saint Denis be my speed!--donc votre est


France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me,


Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much


more French: I shall never move thee in French,


Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que vous parlez, il


est meilleur que lAnglois lequel je parle.


No, faith, ist not, Kate: but thy speaking of my


tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely, must needs


be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou


understand thus much English, canst thou love me?


Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? Ill ask


them. Come, I know thou lovest me: and at night,


when you come into your closet, youll question this


gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to


her dispraise those parts in me that you love with


your heart: but, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the


rather, gentle princess, because I love thee


cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a


saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I get


thee with scambling, and thou must therefore needs


prove a good soldier-breeder: shall not thou and I,


between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a


boy, half French, half English, that shall go to


Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard?


No; tis hereafter to know, but now to promise: do


but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your


French part of such a boy; and for my English moiety


take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer


you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon tres cher


Your majestee ave fausse French enough to deceive de


Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in


true English, I love thee, Kate: by which honour I


dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to


flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor


and untempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew


my fathers ambition! he was thinking of civil wars


when he got me: therefore was I created with a


stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when


I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith,


Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear:


my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of


beauty, can do no more, spoil upon my face: thou


hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou


shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better:


and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you


have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the


thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress;


take me by the hand, and say Harry of England I am


thine: which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine


ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud England is


thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Harry


Plantagenet is thine; who though I speak it before


his face, if he be not fellow with the best king,


thou shalt find the best king of good fellows.


Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is


music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of


all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken


Dat is as it sall please de roi mon pere.


Nay, it will please him well, Kate it shall please


Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.


Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez: ma foi, je


ne veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur en


baisant la main dune de votre seigeurie indigne


serviteur; excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon


Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant


leur noces, il nest pas la coutume de France.


Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of


France,--I cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish.


It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss


O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear


Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak


list of a countrys fashion: we are the makers of


manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our


places stops the mouth of all find-faults; as I will


do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your


country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently


You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is


more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the


tongues of the French council; and they should


sooner persuade Harry of England than a general


petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.


Re-enter the FRENCH KING and his QUEEN, BURGUNDY, and other Lords


God save your majesty! my royal cousin, teach you


I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how


perfectly I love her; and that is good English.


Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not


smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the


heart of flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up


the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in


Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you


for that. If you would conjure in her, you must


make a circle; if conjure up love in her in his true


likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you


blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over with the


virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the


appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing


self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid


Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces.


They are then excused, my lord, when they see not


Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking.


I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will


teach her to know my meaning: for maids, well


summered and warm kept, are like flies at


Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their


eyes; and then they will endure handling, which


This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer;


and so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the


It is so: and you may, some of you, thank love for


my blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city


for one fair French maid that stands in my way.


Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities


turned into a maid; for they are all girdled with


maiden walls that war hath never entered.


I am content; so the maiden cities you talk of may


wait on her: so the maid that stood in the way for


my wish shall show me the way to my will.


We have consented to all terms of reason.


His daughter first, and then in sequel all,


According to their firm proposed natures.


Where your majesty demands, that the King of France,


having any occasion to write for matter of grant,


shall name your highness in this form and with this


addition in French, Notre trescher fils Henri, Roi


dAngleterre, Heritier de France; and thus in


Latin, Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus, Rex


Nor this I have not, brother, so denied,


But your request shall make me let it pass.


I pray you then, in love and dear alliance,


Let that one article rank with the rest;


Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up


Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms


Of France and England, whose very shores look pale


May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunction


Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord


In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance


His bleeding sword twixt England and fair France.


Now, welcome, Kate: and bear me witness all,


That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.


Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!


As man and wife, being two, are one in love,


So be there twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,


That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,


Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,


Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,


To make divorce of their incorporate league;


That English may as French, French Englishmen,


Receive each other. God speak this Amen!


Prepare we for our marriage--on which day,


My Lord of Burgundy, well take your oath,


And all the peers, for surety of our leagues.


Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;


And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!


Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen,


Our bending author hath pursued the story,


Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.


Small time, but in that small most greatly lived


This star of England: Fortune made his sword;


By which the worlds best garden be achieved,


Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crownd King


Of France and England, did this king succeed;


That they lost France and made his England bleed:


Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake,


In your fair minds let this acceptance take.


I come no more to make you laugh: things now,


Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,


Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,


We now present. Those that can pity, here


May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;


The subject will deserve it. Such as give


Their money out of hope they may believe,


May here find truth too. Those that come to see


The play may pass, if they be still and willing,


Ill undertake may see away their shilling


In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,


Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,


To rank our chosen truth with such a show


Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,


Will leave us never an understanding friend.


Therefore, for goodness sake, and as you are known


The first and happiest hearers of the town,


Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see


As they were living; think you see them great,


And followd with the general throng and sweat


Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see


SCENE I. London. An ante-chamber in the palace.


Enter NORFOLK at one door; at the other, BUCKINGHAM and ABERGAVENNY


Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done


Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer


Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,


I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;


Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung


In their embracement, as they grew together;


Which had they, what four throned ones could have weighd


The view of earthly glory: men might say,


Till this time pomp was single, but now married


Became the next days master, till the last


Made former wonders its. To-day the French,


All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,


Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they


Made Britain India: every man that stood


Showd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were


As cherubins, all guilt: the madams too,


Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear


The pride upon them, that their very labour


Was to them as a painting: now this masque


Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night


Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,


Equal 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 wag his tongue in censure. When these suns--


For so they phrase em--by their heralds challenged


The noble spirits to arms, they did perform


Beyond thoughts compass; that former fabulous story,


Being now seen possible enough, got credit,


In honour honesty, the tract of every thing


Would by a good discourser lose some life,


Which actions self was tongue to. All was royal;


Order gave each thing view; the office did


Of this great sport together, as you guess?


All this was orderd by the good discretion


The devil speed him! no mans pie is freed


To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder


That such a keech can with his very bulk


Theres in him stuff that puts him to these ends;


For, being not proppd by ancestry, whose grace


Chalks successors their way, nor calld upon


For high feats done to the crown; neither allied


For eminent assistants; but, spider-like,


Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,


The force of his own merit makes his way


A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys


What heaven hath given him,--let some graver eye


Pierce into that; but I can see his pride


Peep through each part of him: whence has he that,


If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,


Upon this French going out, took he upon him,


Without the privity o the king, to 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 honour


He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,


Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have


By this so sickened their estates, that never


Have broke their backs with laying manors on em


For this great journey. What did this vanity


The peace between the French and us not values


After the hideous storm that followd, was


A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke


Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,


Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded


For France hath flawd the league, and hath attachd


A proper title of a peace; and purchased


The state takes notice of the private difference


Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you--


And take it from a heart that wishes towards you


Honour and plenteous safety--that you read


What his high hatred would effect wants not


A minister in his power. You know his nature,


That hes revengeful, and I know his sword


Hath a sharp edge: its long and, t may be said,


It reaches far, and where twill not extend,


Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,


Youll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock


Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before him,  certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with  papers. CARDINAL WOLSEY in his passage fixeth his  eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain


Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham


This butchers cur is venom-mouthd, and I


Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best


Not wake him in his slumber. A beggars book


Ask God for temperance; thats the appliance only


Me, as his abject object: at this instant


He bores me with some trick: hes gone to the king;


And let your reason with your choler question


What tis you go about: to climb steep hills


Requires slow pace at first: anger is like


A full-hot horse, who being allowd his way,


Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England


And from a mouth of honour quite cry down


This Ipswich fellows insolence; or proclaim


That it do singe yourself: we may outrun,


By violent swiftness, that which we run at,


The fire that mounts the liquor til run oer,


In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised:


More stronger to direct you than yourself,


If with the sap of reason you would quench,


By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow,


Whom from the flow of gall I name not but


And proofs as clear as founts in July when


To the king Ill sayt; and make my vouch as strong


As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox,


Or wolf, or both,--for he is equal ravenous


As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief


Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally--


As here at home, suggests the king our master


To this last costly treaty, the interview,


That swallowd so much treasure, and like a glass


Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal


As himself pleased; and they were ratified


As give a crutch to the dead: but our count-cardinal


Has done this, and tis well; for worthy Wolsey,


Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,--


To the old dam, treason,--Charles the emperor,


Under pretence to see the queen his aunt--


To whisper Wolsey,--here makes visitation:


His fears were, that the interview betwixt


England and France might, through their amity,


Breed him some prejudice; for from this league


Peepd harms that menaced him: he privily


Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,--


Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor


Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted


Ere it was askd; but when the way was made,


And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired,


That he would please to alter the kings course,


And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know,


As soon he shall by me, that thus the cardinal


Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,


To hear this of him; and could wish he were


Enter BRANDON, a Sergeant-at-arms before him, and two or three of the Guard


My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl


Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I


Arrest thee of high treason, in the name


The net has falln upon me! I shall perish


To see you taen from liberty, to look on


The business present: tis his highness pleasure


To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me


Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven


Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know


The will of heaven be done, and the kings pleasure


The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies


These are the limbs o the plot: no more, I hope.


My surveyor is false; the oer-great cardinal


Hath showd him gold; my life is spannd already:


Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on,


By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell.


SCENE II. The same. The council-chamber.


Cornets. Enter KING HENRY VIII, leaning on  CARDINAL WOLSEYs shoulder, the Nobles, and LOVELL;  CARDINAL WOLSEY places himself under KING HENRY VIIIs feet on his right side


My life itself, and the best heart of it,


Thanks you for this great care: I stood i the level


Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks


To you that choked it. Let be calld before us


That gentleman of Buckinghams; in person


And point by point the treasons of his master


A noise within, crying Room for the Queen! Enter  QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by NORFOLK, and SUFFOLK:  she kneels. KING HENRY VIII riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him


Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor.


Arise, and take place by us: half your suit


Never name to us; you have half our power:


The other moiety, ere you ask, is given;


That you would love yourself, and in that love


The dignity of your office, is the point


And those of true condition, that your subjects


Are in great grievance: there have been commissions


Sent down among em, which hath flawd the heart


Of all their loyalties: wherein, although,


My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches


Of these exactions, yet the king our master--


Whose honour heaven shield from soil!--even he


Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks


The sides of loyalty, and almost appears


It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,


The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,


Unfit for other life, compelld by hunger


And lack of other means, in desperate manner


Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar,


Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal,


You that are blamed for it alike with us,


Pertains to the state; and front but in that file


You know no more than others; but you frame


Things that are known alike; which are not wholesome


To those which would not know them, and yet must


Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,


Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are


Most pestilent to the bearing; and, to bear em,


The back is sacrifice to the load. They say


They are devised by you; or else you suffer


The nature of it? in what kind, lets know,


In tempting of your patience; but am boldend


Under your promised pardon. The subjects grief


Comes through commissions, which compel from each


The sixth part of his substance, to be levied


Without delay; and the pretence for this


Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths:


Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze


Live where their prayers did: and its come to pass,


To each incensed will. I would your highness


A single voice; and that not passd me but


By learned approbation of the judges. If I am


Traduced by ignorant tongues, which neither know


Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake


That virtue must go through. We must not stint


To cope malicious censurers; which ever,


That is new-trimmd, but benefit no further


Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,


By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is


Not ours, or not allowd; what worst, as oft,


For our best act. If we shall stand still,


In fear our motion will be mockd or carpd at,


We should take root here where we sit, or sit


And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;


Things done without example, in their issue


We must not rend our subjects from our laws,


And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?


From every tree lop, bark, and part o the timber;


And, though we leave it with a root, thus hackd,


The air will drink the sap. To every county


Where this is questiond send our letters, with


The force of this commission: pray, look tot;


Let there be letters writ to every shire,


Of the kings grace and pardon. The grieved commons


That through our intercession this revokement


And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you


The gentleman is learnd, and a most rare speaker;


To nature none more bound; his training such,


That he may furnish and instruct great teachers,


And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,


When these so noble benefits shall prove


Not well disposed, the mind growing once corrupt,


They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly


Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,


Who was enrolld mongst wonders, and when we,


Almost with ravishd listening, could not find


His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady,


Hath into monstrous habits put the graces


That once were his, and is become as black


As if besmeard in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear--


Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount


We cannot feel too little, hear too much.


Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,


Most like a careful subject, have collected


It would infect his speech, that if the king


Should without issue die, hell carry it so


To make the sceptre his: these very words


Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced


This dangerous conception in this point.


Not friended by by his wish, to your high person


His will is most malignant; and it stretches


Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him


Not long before your highness sped to France,


The duke being at the Rose, within the parish


Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand


Concerning the French journey: I replied,


Men feard the French would prove perfidious,


Said, twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted


Twould prove the verity of certain words


Spoke by a holy monk; that oft, says he,


John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour


To hear from him a matter of some moment:


He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke


To me, should utter, with demure confidence


This pausingly ensued: neither the king nors heirs,


Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive


To gain the love o the commonalty: the duke


You were the dukes surveyor, and lost your office


On the complaint o the tenants: take good heed


You charge not in your spleen a noble person


And spoil your nobler soul: I say, take heed;


I told my lord the duke, by the devils illusions


The monk might be deceived; and that twas dangerous for him


It forged him some design, which, being believed,


It was much like to do: he answerd, Tush,


That, had the king in his last sickness faild,


The cardinals and Sir Thomas Lovells heads


Theres mischief in this man: canst thou say further?


After your highness had reproved the duke


The duke retaind him his. But on; what hence?


If, quoth he, I for this had been committed,


As, to the Tower, I thought, I would have playd


The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,


Made suit to come ins presence; which if granted,


Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,


Theres something more would out of thee; what sayst?


After the duke his father, with the knife,


He stretchd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,


Another spread ons breast, mounting his eyes


He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenor


To sheathe his knife in us. He is attachd;


Find mercy in the law, tis his: if none,


Let him not seek t of us: by day and night,


SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace.


Ist possible the spells of France should juggle


Nay, let em be unmanly, yet are followd.


As far as I see, all the good our English


Have got by the late voyage is but merely


A fit or two o the face; but they are shrewd ones;


For when they hold em, you would swear directly


To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.


They have all new legs, and lame ones: one would take it,


That never saw em pace before, the spavin


Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,


That, sure, theyve worn out Christendom.


I hear of none, but the new proclamation


The reformation of our travelld gallants,


That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.


Im glad tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs


To think an English courtier may be wise,


For so run the conditions, leave those remnants


Of fool and feather that they got in France,


With all their honourable point of ignorance


Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks,


Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean


The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,


Short blisterd breeches, and those types of travel,


Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it,


The lag end of their lewdness and be laughd at.


Tis time to give em physic, their diseases


There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons


Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies;


A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.


The devil fiddle em! I am glad they are going,


For, sure, theres no converting of em: now


A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong


And have an hour of hearing; and, byr lady,


This night he makes a supper, and a great one,


The beauty of this kingdom, Ill assure you.


That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,


A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;


He had a black mouth that said other of him.


He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him


Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:


But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;


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 Guildford


Hautboys. A small table under a state for CARDINAL  WOLSEY, a longer table for the guests. Then enter  ANNE and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as  guests, at one door; at another door, enter GUILDFORD


Ladies, a general welcome from his grace


To fair content and you: none here, he hopes,


In all this noble bevy, has brought with her


One care abroad; he would have all as merry


As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,


Can make good people. O, my lord, youre tardy:


But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these


Should find a running banquet ere they rested,


I think would better please em: by my life,


O, that your lordship were but now confessor


Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,


Place you that side; Ill take the charge of this:


His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze;


Two women placed together makes cold weather:


My Lord Sands, you are one will keep em waking;


And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies:


If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;


O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:


But he would bite none; just as I do now,


The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies


Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state


Youre welcome, my fair guests: that noble lady,


Is not my friend: this, to confirm my welcome;


Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,


I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours.


In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have em


Heres to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam,


And to what end is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;


By all the laws of war youre privileged.


For so they seem: theyve left their barge and landed;


Go, give em welcome; you can speak 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.


Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed


You have now a broken banquet; but well mend it.


A good digestion to you all: and once more


Hautboys. Enter KING HENRY VIII and others, as  masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the  Chamberlain. They pass directly before CARDINAL WOLSEY, and gracefully salute him


A noble company! what are their pleasures?


Because they speak no English, thus they prayd


To tell your grace, that, having heard by fame


This night to meet here, they could do no less


Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,


But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct,


Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat


They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay em


A thousand thanks, and pray em take their pleasures.


They choose Ladies for the dance. KING HENRY VIII chooses ANNE


The fairest hand I ever touchd! O beauty,


There should be one amongst em, by his person,


More worthy this place than myself; to whom,


If I but knew him, with my love and duty


There is indeed; which they would have your grace


By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here Ill make


You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord:


You are a churchman, or, Ill tell you, cardinal,


Prithee, come hither: what fair ladys that?


Ant please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullens daughter--


The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness women.


By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart,


And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!


I fear, with dancing is a little heated.


Lead in your ladies, every one: sweet partner,


I must not yet forsake you: lets be merry:


Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen healths


To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure


To lead em once again; and then lets dream


Whos best in favour. Let the music knock it.


Even to the hall, to hear what shall become


That labour, sir. Alls now done, but the ceremony


Ill tell you in a little. The great duke


Came to the bar; where to his accusations


Urged on the examinations, proofs, confessions


Of divers witnesses; which the duke desired


At which appeard against him his surveyor;


Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car,


All these accused him strongly; which he fain


Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not:


Have found him guilty of high treason. Much


He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all


After all this, how did he bear himself?


When he was brought again to the bar, to hear


His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirrd


And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty:


But he fell to himself again, and sweetly


In all the rest showd a most noble patience.


By all conjectures: first, Kildares attainder,


Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,


No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,


And generally, whoever the king favours,


The cardinal instantly will find employment,


Hate him perniciously, and, o my conscience,


Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much


They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,


And see the noble ruind man you speak of.


Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; tip-staves  before him; the axe with the edge towards him;  halberds on each side: accompanied with LOVELL, VAUX, SANDS, and common people


Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.


I have this day received a traitors judgment,


And by that name must die: yet, heaven bear witness,


And if I have a co nscience, let it sink me,


Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!


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 look they glory not in mischief,


Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;


For then my guiltless blood must cry against em.


For further life in this world I neer hope,


Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies


More than I dare make faults. You few that loved me,


And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,


His noble friends and fellows, whom to leave


Go with me, like good angels, to my end;


And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me,


Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,


And lift my soul to heaven. Lead on, o Gods name.


Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.


Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you


There cannot be those numberless offences


Gainst me, that I cannot take peace with:


Shall mark my grave. Commend me to his grace;


And if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him


You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers


Yet are the kings; and, till my soul forsake,


Shall cry for blessings on him: may he live


Longer than 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,


To the water side I must conduct your grace;


Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux,


The duke is coming: see the barge be ready;


Let it alone; my state now will but mock me.


When I came hither, I was lord high constable


And Duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:


That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;


And with that blood will make em one day groan fort.


Who first raised head against usurping Richard,


Flying for succor to his servant Banister,


Being distressd, was by that wretch betrayd,


And without trial fell; Gods peace be with him!


Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying


My fathers loss, like a most royal prince,


Restored me to my honours, and, out of ruins,


Made my name once more noble. Now his son,


Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name and all


That made me happy at one stroke has taken


For ever from the world. I had my trial,


And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me,


A little happier than my wretched father:


Yet thus far we are one in fortunes: both


Fell by our servants, by those men we loved most;


Heaven has an end in all: yet, you that hear me,


This from a dying man receive as certain:


Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels


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


But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,


Pray for me! I must now forsake ye: the last hour


Of my long weary life is come upon me. Farewell:


And when you would say something that is sad,


Speak how I fell. I have done; and God forgive me!


Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling


What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?


This secret is so weighty, twill require


You shall, sir: did you not of late days hear


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


Is found a truth now: for it grows again


Fresher than eer it was; and held for certain


The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal,


Or some about him near, have, out of malice


To the good queen, possessd him with a scruple


That will undo her: to confirm this too,


Cardinal Campeius is arrived, and lately;


And merely to revenge him on the emperor


For not bestowing on him, at his asking,


The archbishopric of Toledo, this is purposed.


I think you have hit the mark: but ist not cruel


That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal


SCENE II. An ante-chamber in the palace.


My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with


all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and


furnished. 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 cardinals, by


commission and main power, took em from me; with


this reason: His master would be served before a


subject, if not before the king; which stopped our


I fear he will indeed: well, let him have them:


Enter, to Chamberlain, NORFOLK and SUFFOLK


It seems the marriage with his brothers wife


This is the cardinals doing, the king-cardinal:


That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,


Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.


Pray God he do! hell never know himself else.


How holily he works in all his business!


And with what zeal! for, now he has crackd the league


Between us and the emperor, the queens great nephew,


He dives into the kings soul, and there scatters


Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,


Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage:


And out of all these to restore the king,


That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years


About his neck, 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 stroke of fortune falls,


Will bless the king: and is not this course pious?


Heaven keep me from such counsel! Tis most true


These news are every where; every tongue speaks em,


And every true heart weeps fort: all that dare


Look into these affairs see this main end,


The French kings sister. Heaven will one day open


The kings eyes, that so long have slept upon


From princes into pages: all mens honours


Lie like one lump before him, to be fashiond


I love him not, nor fear him; theres my creed:


If the king please; his curses and his blessings


Touch me alike, theyre breath I not believe in.


I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him


And with some other business put the king


From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him:


The king has sent me otherwhere: besides,


Youll find a most unfit time to disturb him:


Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively


How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted.


Whos there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves


A gracious king that pardons all offences


Malice neer meant: our breach of duty this way


Go to; Ill make ye know your times of business:


Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?


Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS, with a commission


Whos there? my good lord cardinal? O my Wolsey,


Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom:


I would your grace would give us but an hour


[Aside to NORFOLK]             Not to speak of:


I would not be so sick though for his place:


Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom


Your scruple to the voice of Christendom:


Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?


The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her,


Must now confess, if they have any goodness,


The trial just and noble. All the clerks,


I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms


Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment,


One general tongue unto us, this good man,


This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius;


Whom once more I present unto your highness.


And once more in mine arms I bid him welcome,


And thank the holy conclave for their loves:


They have sent me such a man I would have wishd for.


Your grace must needs deserve all strangers loves,


I tender my commission; by whose virtue,


The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord


Cardinal of York, are joind with me their servant


In the unpartial judging of this business.


Two equal men. The queen shall be acquainted


Forthwith for what you come. Wheres Gardiner?


I know your majesty has always loved her


Scholars allowd freely to argue for her.


Ay, and the best she shall have; and my favour


To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,


Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary:


[Aside to GARDINER]  Give me your hand much joy and


For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me.


My Lord of York, was not one Doctor Pace


Believe me, theres an ill opinion spread then


They will not stick to say you envied him,


And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,


Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him,


Thats Christian care enough: for living murmurers


For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,


If I command him, follows my appointment:


I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,


We live not to be gripd by meaner persons.


The most convenient place that I can think of


For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars;


There ye shall meet about this weighty business.


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.


SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEENS apartments.


Not for that neither: heres the pang that pinches:


His highness having lived so long with her, and she


So good a lady that no tongue could ever


She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after


Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which


To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than


Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process,


She neer had known pomp: thought be temporal,


Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce


It from the bearer, tis a sufferance panging


And range with humble livers in content,


Than to be perkd up in a glistering grief,


And venture maidenhead fort; and so would you,


You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,


Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,


Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive,


Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen?


No, not for all the riches under heaven.


Old Lady:Tis strange: a three-pence bowd would hire me,


Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you,


What think you of a duchess? have you limbs


Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little;


I would not be a young count in your way,


For more than blushing comes to: if your back


Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,tis too weak


Would for Carnarvonshire, although there longd


No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here?


Good morrow, ladies. What weret worth to know


Not your demand; it values not your asking:


You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings


Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,


Perceive I speak sincerely, and high notes


Taen of your many virtues, the kings majesty


Does purpose honour to you no less flowing


Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title


A thousand pound a year, annual support,


What kind of my obedience I should tender;


More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers


Are not words duly hallowd, nor my wishes


More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes


Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,


Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,


As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness;


I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit


That they have caught the king: and who knows yet


To lighten all this isle? Ill to the king,


I have been begging sixteen years in court,


For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!


A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon


This compelld fortune!--have your mouth filld up


How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no.


There was a lady once, tis an old story,


That would not be a queen, that would she not,


For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it?


Oermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!


A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!


That promises moe thousands: honours train


Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time


I know your back will bear a duchess: say,


Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,


And leave me out ont. Would I had no being,


If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me,


The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful


In our long absence: pray, do not deliver


Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter two Vergers,  with short silver wands; next them, two Scribes, in  the habit of doctors; after them, CANTERBURY alone;  after him, LINCOLN, Ely, Rochester, and Saint  Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows  a Gentleman bearing the purse, with the great seal,  and a cardinals hat; then two Priests, bearing  each a silver cross; then a Gentleman-usher  bare-headed, accompanied with a Sergeant-at-arms  bearing a silver mace; then two Gentlemen bearing  two great silver pillars; after them, side by side,  CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS; two Noblemen  with the sword and mace. KING HENRY VIII takes  place under the cloth of state; CARDINAL WOLSEY and  CARDINAL CAMPEIUS sit under him as judges. QUEEN  KATHARINE takes place some distance from KING  HENRY VIII. The Bishops place themselves 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 convenient order about the stage


Whilst our commission from Rome is read,


Say, Henry King of England, come into the court.


Say, Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.


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


Sir, I desire you do me right and justice;


No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance


Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,


Hath my behavior given to your displeasure,


That thus you should proceed to put me off,


And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness,


I have been to you a true and humble wife,


Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry


Or made it not mine too? Or which of your friends


Have I not strove to love, although I knew


That had to him derived your anger, did I


He was from thence discharged. Sir, call to mind


That I have been your wife, in this obedience,


Upward of twenty years, and have been blest


With many children by you: if, in the course


And process of this time, you can report,


And prove it too, against mine honour aught,


My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty,


Against your sacred person, in Gods name,


Turn me away; and let the foulst contempt


To the sharpst kind of justice. Please you sir,


And unmatchd wit and judgment: Ferdinand,


My father, king of Spain, was reckond one


The wisest prince that there had reignd by many


A year before: it is not to be questiond


That they had gatherd a wise council to them


Of every realm, that did debate this business,


Who deemd our marriage lawful: wherefore I humbly


Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may


Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel


I will implore: if not, i the name of God,


And of your choice, these reverend fathers; men


Yea, the elect o the land, who are assembled


To plead your cause: it shall be therefore bootless


That longer you desire the court; as well


Hath spoken well and justly: therefore, madam,


And that, without delay, their arguments


We are a queen, or long have dreamd so, certain


The daughter of a king, my drops of tears


I will, when you are humble; nay, before,


You are mine enemy, and make my challenge


You shall not be my judge: for it is you


Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me;


Which Gods dew quench! Therefore I say again,


Refuse you for my judge; whom, yet once more,


I hold my most malicious foe, and think not


You speak not like yourself; who ever yet


Have stood to charity, and displayd the effects


Oertopping womans power. Madam, you do me wrong:


I have no spleen against you; nor injustice


For you or any: how far I have proceeded,


Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me


That I have blown this coal: I do deny it:


The king is present: if it be known to him


That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,


And worthily, my falsehood! yea, as much


I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him


Remove these thoughts from you: the which before


His highness shall speak in, I do beseech


You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking


You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,


With meekness and humility; but your heart


Is crammd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.


You have, by fortune and his highness favours,


Gone slightly oer low steps and now are mounted


Where powers are your retainers, and your words,


Domestics to you, serve your will ast please


Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,


You tender more your persons honour than


Your high profession spiritual: that again


To bring my whole cause fore his holiness,


She curtsies to KING HENRY VIII, and offers to depart


Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and


Disdainful to be tried byt: tis not well.


Katharine Queen of England, come into the court.


What need you note it? pray you, keep your way:


When you are calld, return. Now, the Lord help,


They vex me past my patience! Pray you, pass on:


Exeunt QUEEN KATHARINE and her Attendants


That man i the world who shall report he has


A better wife, let him in nought be trusted,


For speaking false in that: thou art, alone,


If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,


Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,


Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,


The queen of earthly queens: shes noble born;


In humblest manner I require your highness,


That it shall please you to declare, in hearing


Of all these ears,--for where I am robbd and bound,


There must I be unloosed, although not there


At once and fully satisfied,--whether ever I


Did broach this business to your highness; or


Laid any scruple in your way, which might


Have to you, but with thanks to God for such


A royal lady, spake one the least word that might


Be to the prejudice of her present state,


I free you fromt. You are not to be taught


That you have many enemies, that know not


Why they are so, but, like to village-curs,


Bark when their fellows do: by some of these


The queen is put in anger. Youre excused:


But will you be more justified? You ever


Have wishd the sleeping of this business; never desired


It to be stirrd; but oft have hinderd, oft,


The passages made toward it: on my honour,


I speak my good lord cardinal to this point,


And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me tot,


I will be bold with time and your attention:


Then mark the inducement. Thus it came; give heed tot:


My conscience first received a tenderness,


Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches utterd


By the Bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador;


Who had been hither sent on the debating


A marriage twixt the Duke of Orleans and


Our daughter Mary: i the progress of this business,


I mean the bishop, did require a respite;


Wherein he might the king his lord advertise


Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,


Sometimes our brothers wife. This respite shook


Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble


The region of my breast; which forced such way,


And pressd in with this caution. First, methought


I stood not in the smile of heaven; who had


If it conceived a male child by me, should


The grave does to the dead; for her male issue


Or died where they were made, or shortly after


This world had aird them: hence I took a thought,


This was a judgment on me; that my kingdom,


Well worthy the best heir o the world, should not


Be gladded int by me: then follows, that


I weighd the danger which my realms stood in


By this my issues fail; and that gave to me


The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer


Now present here together: thats to say,


I meant to rectify my conscience,--which


I then did feel full sick, and yet not well,--


And doctors learnd: first I began in private


With you, my Lord of Lincoln; you remember


I have spoke long: be pleased yourself to say


The question did at first so stagger me,


And consequence of dread, that I committed


The daringst counsel which I had to doubt;


And did entreat your highness to this course


My Lord of Canterbury; and got your leave


To make this present summons: unsolicited


I left no reverend person in this court;


Under your hands and seals: therefore, go on:


For no dislike i the world against the person


Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points


Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward:


Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life


To wear our mortal state to come with her,


Katharine our queen, before the primest creature


The queen being absent, tis a needful fitness


That we adjourn this court till further day:


Made to the queen, to call back her appeal


My learnd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,


Prithee, return: with thy approach, I know,


My comfort comes along. Break up the court:


SCENE I. London. QUEEN KATHARINEs apartments.


Enter QUEEN KATHARINE and her Women, as at work


Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles;


Sing, and disperse em, if thou canst: leave working.


Ant please your grace, the two great cardinals


With me, a poor weak woman, falln from favour?


I do not like their coming. Now I think ont,


They should be good men; their affairs as righteous:


Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY and CARDINAL CAMPEIUS


Your graces find me here part of a housewife,


I would be all, against the worst may happen.


What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords?


May it please you noble madam, to withdraw


Into your private chamber, we shall give you


Theres nothing I have done yet, o my conscience,


Deserves a corner: would all other women


Could speak this with as free a soul as I do!


My lords, I care not, so much I am happy


Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw em,


I know my life so even. If your business


Out with it boldly: truth loves open dealing.


Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina


As not to know the language I have lived in:


A strange tongue makes my cause more strange,


Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you,


If you speak truth, for their poor mistress sake;


Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal,


So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.


To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,


You have too much, good lady; but to know


How you stand minded in the weighty difference


Between the king and you; and to deliver,


Like free and honest men, our just opinions


My Lord of York, out of his noble nature,


Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace,


Forgetting, like a good man your late censure


Both of his truth and him, which was too far,


My lords, I thank you both for your good wills;


Ye speak like honest men; pray God, ye prove so!


In such a point of weight, so near mine honour,--


More near my life, I fear,--with my weak wit,


And to such men of gravity and learning,


Among my maids: full little, God knows, looking


For her sake that I have been,--for I feel


The last fit of my greatness,--good your graces,


Let me have time and counsel for my cause:


Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!


Madam, you wrong the kings love with these fears:


But little for my profit: can you think, lords,


That any Englishman dare give me counsel?


Or be a known friend, gainst his highness pleasure,


Though he be grown 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 here:


They are, as all my other comforts, far hence


Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.


Put your main cause into the kings protection;


Hes loving and most gracious: twill be much


Both for your honour better and your cause;


Ye tell me what ye wish for both,--my ruin:


Is this your Christian counsel? out upon ye!


Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge


The more shame for ye: holy men I thought ye,


Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;


But cardinal sins and hollow hearts I fear ye:


Mend em, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort?


The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady,


A woman lost among ye, laughd at, scornd?


I have more charity: but say, I warnd ye;


Take heed, for heavens sake, take heed, lest at once


And all such false professors! would you have me--


If ye be any thing but churchmens habits--


Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?


His love, too long ago! I am old, my lords,


And all the fellowship I hold now with him


To me above this wretchedness? all your studies


Have I lived thus long--let me speak myself,


Since virtue finds no friends--a wife, a true one?


Still met the king? loved him next heaven?


Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him?


Almost forgot my prayers to content him?


And am I thus rewarded? tis not well, lords.


Bring me a constant woman to her husband,