Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 233 (всего у книги 250 страниц)

2.3 Enter Anne Boleyn and an Old Lady

ANNE

Not for that neither. Here’s the pang that pinches—

His highness having lived so long with her, and she

So good a lady that no tongue could ever

Pronounce dishonour of her—by my life,

She never knew harm-doing—O now, after

So many courses of the sun enthroned,

Still growing in a majesty and pomp the which

To leave a thousandfold more bitter than

’Tis sweet at first t’acquire—after this process,

To give her the avaunt, it is a pity

Would move a monster.

OLD LADY

Hearts of most hard temper

Melt and lament for her.

ANNE

O, God’s will! Much better

She ne’er had known pomp; though’t be temporal,

Yet if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce

It from the bearer, ’tis a sufferance panging

As soul and bodies severing.

OLD LADY

Alas, poor lady!

She’s a stranger now again.

ANNE

So much the more

Must pity drop upon her. Verily,

I swear, ’tis better to be lowly born

And range with humble livers in content

Than to be perked up in a glist’ring grief

And wear a golden sorrow.

OLD LADY

Our content

Is our best having.

ANNE

By my troth and maidenhead,

I would not be a queen.

OLD LADY

Beshrew me, I would—

And venture maidenhead for’t; and so would you,

For all this spice of your hypocrisy.

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

Have, too, a woman’s heart which ever yet

Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;

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

Saving your mincing, the capacity

Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive

If you might please to stretch it.

ANNE

Nay, good troth.

OLD LADY

Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen?

ANNE

No, not for all the riches under heaven.

OLD LADY

’Tis strange. A threepence bowed would hire me,

Old as I am, to queen it. But I pray you,

What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs

To bear that load of title?

ANNE

No, in truth.

OLD LADY

Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little;

I would not be a young count in your way

For more than blushing comes to. If your back

Cannot vouchsafe this burden, ’tis too weak

Ever to get a boy.

ANNE

How you do talk!

I swear again, I would not be a queen

For all the world.

OLD LADY

In faith, for little England

You’d venture an emballing; I myself

Would for Caernarfonshire, although there ’longed

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

Enter the Lord Chamberlain

LORD CHAMBERLAIN

Good morrow, ladies. What were’t worth to know

The secret of your conference?

ANNE

My good lord,

Not your demand; it values not your asking.

Our mistress’ sorrows we were pitying.

LORD CHAMBERLAIN

It was a gentle business, and becoming

The action of good women. There is hope

All will be well.

ANNE

Now I pray God, amen.

LORD CHAMBERLAIN

You bear a gentle mind, and heav’nly blessings

Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,

Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note’s

Ta’en of your many virtues, the King’s majesty

Commends his good opinion of you, and

Does purpose honour to you no less flowing

Than Marchioness of Pembroke; to which title

A thousand pound a year annual support

Out of his grace he adds.

ANNE

I do not know

What kind of my obedience I should tender.

More than my all is nothing; nor my prayers

Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes

More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes

Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,

Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,

As from a blushing handmaid to his highness,

Whose health and royalty I pray for.

LORD CHAMBERLAIN

Lady,

I shall not fail t’approve the fair conceit

The King hath of you. (Aside) I have perused her well.

Beauty and honour in her are so mingled

That they have caught the King, and who knows yet

But from this lady may proceed a gem

To lighten all this isle. (To Anne) I’ll to the King

And say I spoke with you;

ANNE My honoured lord.

Exit the Lord Chamberlain

OLD LADY Why, this it is—see, see!

I have been begging sixteen years in court,

Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could

Come pat betwixt too early and too late

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

A very fresh fish here—fie, fie upon

This compelled fortune!—have your mouth filled up

Before you open it.

ANNE

This is strange to me.

OLD LADY

How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.

There was a lady once—’tis an old story—

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

For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?

ANNE

Come, you are pleasant.

OLD LADY

With your theme I could

O’ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke?

A thousand pounds a year, for pure respect?

No other obligation? By my life,

That promises more thousands. Honour’s train

Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time

I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,

Are you not stronger than you were?

ANNE

Good lady,

Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,

And leave me out on’t. Would I had no being;

If this salute my blood a jot. It faints me

To think what follows.

The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful

In our long absence. Pray do not deliver

What here you’ve heard to her.

OLD LADY

What do you think me—

Exeunt

2.4 Trumpets: sennet. Then cornetts. Enter two vergers with short silver wands; next them two Scribes in the habit of doctors; after them the Archbishop of Canterbury alone; after him the Bishops of Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph; next them, with some small distance, follows a gentleman bearing both the purse containing the great seal and a cardinal’s hat; then two priests bearing each a silver cross; then a gentleman usher, bare-headed, accompanied with a serjeant-at-arms bearing a silver mace; then two gentlemen bearing two great silver pillars; after them, side by side, the two cardinals, Wolsey and Campeius; then two noblemen with the sword and mace. The King ⌈ascends⌉ to his seat under the cloth of state; the two cardinals sit under him as judges; the Queen, attended by Griffith her gentleman usher, takes place some distance from the King; the Bishops place themselves on each side the court in the 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

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Whilst our commission from Rome is read

Let silence be commanded.

KING HENRY

What’s the need?

It hath already publicly been read,

And on all sides th’authority allowed.

You may then spare that time.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Be’t so. Proceed.

SCRIBE (to the Crier)

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

CRIER

Henry, King of England, come into the court.

KING HENRY Here.

SCRIBE (to the Crier)

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

CRIER

Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court.

The Queen makes no answer, but rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the King, and kneels at his feet. Then she speaks

QUEEN KATHERINE

Sir, I desire you do me right and justice,

And to bestow your pity on me; for

I am a most poor woman, and a stranger,

Born out of your dominions, having here

No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance

Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,

In what have I offended you? What cause

Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure

That thus you should proceed to put me off,

And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness

I have been to you a true and humble wife,

At all times to your will conformable,

Ever in fear to kindle your dislike,

Yea, subject to your countenance, glad or sorry

As I saw it inclined. When was the hour

I ever contradicted your desire,

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

Have I not strove to love, although I knew

He were mine enemy? What friend of mine

That had to him derived your anger did I

Continue in my liking? Nay, gave notice

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 blessed

With many children by you. If, in the course

And process of this time, you can report—

And prove it, too—against mine honour aught,

My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty

Against your sacred person, in God’s name

Turn me away, and let the foul‘st contempt

Shut door upon me, and so give me up

To the sharp’st kind of justice. Please you, sir,

The King your father was reputed for

A prince most prudent, of an excellent

And unmatched wit and judgement. Ferdinand

My father, King of Spain, was reckoned one

The wisest prince that there had reigned by many

A year before. It is not to be questioned

That they had gathered a wise council to them

Of every realm, that did debate this business,

Who deemed 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’th’ name of God,

Your pleasure be fulfilled.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

You have here, lady,

And of your choice, these reverend fathers, men

Of singular integrity and learning,

Yea, the elect o’th’ land, who are assembled

To plead your cause. It shall be therefore bootless

That longer you desire the court, as well

For your own quiet, as to rectify

What is unsettled in the King.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

His grace

Hath spoken well and justly. Therefore, madam,

It’s fit this royal session do proceed,

And that without delay their arguments

Be now produced and heard.

QUEEN KATHERINE (to Wolsey) Lord Cardinal,

To you I speak.

CARDINAL WOLSEY Your pleasure, madam.

QUEEN KATHERINE

Sir,

I am about to weep, but thinking that

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

The daughter of a king, my drops of tears

I’ll turn to sparks of fire.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Be patient yet.

QUEEN KATHERINE

I will when you are humble! Nay, before,

Or God will punish me. I do believe,

Induced by potent circumstances, that

You are mine enemy, and make my challenge

You shall not be my judge. For it is you

Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me,

Which God’s dew quench. Therefore I say again,

I utterly abhor, yea, from my soul,

Refuse you for my judge, whom yet once more

I hold my most malicious foe, and think not

At all a friend to truth.

CARDINAL WOISEY

I do profess

You speak not like yourself, who ever yet

Have stood to charity, and displayed th‘effects

Of disposition gentle and of wisdom

O’er-topping woman’s power. Madam, you do me wrong.

I have no spleen against you, nor injustice

For you or any. How far I have proceeded,

Or how far further shall, is warranted

By a commission from the consistory,

Yea, the whole consistory of Rome. You charge me

That I ‘have blown this coal’. I do deny it.

The King is present. If it be known to him

That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound,

And worthily, my falsehood—yea, as much

As you have done my truth. If he know

That I am free of your report, he knows

I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him

It lies to cure me, and the cure is to

Remove these thoughts from you. The which before

His highness shall speak in, I do beseech

You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking,

And to say so no more.

QUEEN KATHERINE

My lord, my lord—

I am a simple woman, much too weak

T‘oppose your cunning. You’re meek and humblemouthed;

You sign your place and calling, in full seeming,

With meekness and humility—but your heart

Is crammed with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.

You have by fortune and his highness’ favours

Gone slightly o’er low steps, and now are mounted

Where powers are your retainers, and your words,

Domestics to you, serve your will as’t please

Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you,

You tender more your person’s honour than

Your high profession spiritual, that again

I do refuse you for my judge, and here,

Before you all, appeal unto the Pope,

To bring my whole cause ’fore his holiness,

And to be judged by him.

She curtsies to the King and begins to depart

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

The Queen is obstinate,

Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and

Disdainful to be tried by’t. ’Tis not well.

She’s going away.

KING HENRY (to the Crier) Call her again.

CRIER

Katherine, Queen of England, come into the court.

GRIFFITH (to the Queen) Madam, you are called back.

QUEEN KATHERINE

What need you note it? Pray you keep your way.

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

They vex me past my patience. Pray you, pass on.

I will not tarry; no, nor ever more

Upon this business my appearance make

In any of their courts.

Exeunt Queen Katherine and her attendants

KING HENRY

Go thy ways, Kate.

That man i’th’ world who shall report he has

A better wife, let him in naught be trusted

For speaking false in that. Thou art alone—

If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness,

Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government,

Obeying in commanding, and thy parts

Sovereign and pious else could speak thee out—

The queen of earthly queens. She’s noble born,

And like her true nobility she has

Carried herself towards me.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Most gracious sir,

In humblest manner I require your highness

That it shall please you to declare in hearing

Of all these ears—for where I am robbed 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

Induce you to the question on’t, or ever

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,

Or touch of her good person?

KING HENRY

My lord Cardinal,

I do excuse you; yea, upon mine honour,

I free you from’t. You are not to be taught

That you have many enemies that know not

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

Bark when their fellows do. By some of these

The Queen is put in anger. You’re excused.

But will you be more justified? You ever

Have wished the sleeping of this business, never desired

It to be stirred, but oft have hindered, oft,

The passages made toward it. On my honour

I speak my good lord Card’nal to this point,

And thus far clear him. Now, what moved me to’t,

I will be bold with time and your attention.

Then mark th‘inducement. Thus it came—give heed to’t.

My conscience first received a tenderness,

Scruple, and prick, on certain speeches uttered

By th’ Bishop of Bayonne, then French Ambassador,

Who had been hither sent on the debating

A marriage ’twixt the Duke of Orléans and

Our daughter Mary. I‘th’ progress of this business,

Ere a determinate resolution, he—

I mean the Bishop—did require a respite

Wherein he might the King his lord advertise

Whether our daughter were legitimate,

Respecting this our marriage with the dowager,

Sometimes our brother’s wife. This respite shook

The bosom of my conscience, entered me,

Yea, with a spitting power, and made to tremble

The region of my breast; which forced such way

That many mazed considerings did throng

And prest in with this caution. First, methought

I stood not in the smile of heaven, who had

Commanded nature that my lady’s womb,

If it conceived a male child by me, should

Do no more offices of life to’t than

The grave does yield to th’ dead. For her male issue

Or died where they were made, or shortly after

This world had aired them. Hence I took a thought

This was a judgement on me that my kingdom,

Well worthy the best heir o’th’ world, should not

Be gladded in’t by me. Then follows that

I weighed the danger which my realms stood in

By this my issue’s fail, and that gave to me

Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling in

The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer

Toward this remedy, whereupon we are

Now present here together—that’s to say

I meant to rectify my conscience, which

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

By all the reverend fathers of the land

And doctors learned. First I began in private

With you, my lord of Lincoln. You remember

How under my oppression I did reek

When I first moved you.

LINCOLN

Very well, my liege.

KING HENRY

I have spoke long. Be pleased yourself to say

How far you satisfied me.

LINCOLN

So please your highness,

The question did at first so stagger me,

Bearing a state of mighty moment in’t

And consequence of dread, that I committed

The daring’st counsel which I had to doubt,

And did entreat your highness to this course

Which you are running here.

KING HENRY (to Canterbury)

I then moved you,

My lord of Canterbury, and got your leave

To make this present summons. Unsolicited

I left no reverend person in this court,

But by particular consent proceeded

Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on,

For no dislike i‘th’ world against the person

Of the good Queen, but the sharp thorny points

Of my alleged reasons, drives this forward.

Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life

And kingly dignity, we are contented

To wear our mortal state to come with her,

Katherine, our queen, before the primest creature

That’s paragoned o’th’ world.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

So please your highness,

The Queen being absent, ’tis a needful fitness

That we adjourn this court till further day.

Meanwhile must be an earnest motion

Made to the Queen to call back her appeal

She intends unto his holiness.

KING HENRY (aside)

I may perceive

These cardinals trifle with me. I abhor

This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.

My learned and well-belovèd servant, Cranmer,

Prithee return. With thy approach I know

My comfort comes along. (Aloud) Break up the court.

I say, set on.

Exeunt in manner as they entered

3.1 Enter Queen Katherine and her women, as at work

QUEEN KATHERINE

Take thy lute, wench. My soul grows sad with troubles.

Sing, and disperse ’em if thou canst. Leave working.

GENTLEWOMAN (sings)

Orpheus with his lute made trees,

And the mountain tops that freeze,

Bow themselves when he did sing.

To his music plants and flowers

Ever sprung, as sun and showers

There had made a lasting spring.

Everything that heard him play,

Even the billows of the sea,

Hung their heads, and then lay by.

In sweet music is such art,

Killing care and grief of heart

Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

Enter ⌈Griffith,⌉ a gentleman

QUEEN KATHERINE How now?

⌈GRIFFITH⌉

An’t please your grace, the two great cardinals

Wait in the presence.

QUEEN KATHERINE

Would they speak with me?

⌈GRIFFITH⌉

They willed me say so, madam.

QUEEN KATHERINE

Pray their graces

To come near.

⌈Exit Griffith⌉

What can be their business

With me, a poor weak woman, fall’n from favour?

I do not like their coming, now I think on’t;

They should be good men, their affairs as righteous—

But all hoods make not monks.

Enter the two cardinals, Wolsey and Campeius, ⌈ushered by Griffith⌉

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Peace to your highness.

QUEEN KATHERINE

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?

CARDINAL WOLSEY

May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw

Into your private chamber, we shall give you

The full cause of our coming.

QUEEN KATHERINE

Speak it here.

There’s 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

Above a number—if my actions

Were tried by ev’ry tongue, ev’ry eye saw ’em,

Envy and base opinion set against ’em,

I know my life so even. If your business

Seek me out and that way I am wife in,

Out with it boldly. Truth loves open dealing.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, Regina serenissima—

QUEEN KATHERINE O, good my lord, no Latin.

I am not such a truant since my coming

As not to know the language I have lived in.

A strange tongue makes my cause more strange

suspicious—

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,

The willing’st sin I ever yet committed

May be absolved in English.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Noble lady,

I am sorry my integrity should breed—so

And service to his majesty and you—

So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.

We come not by the way of accusation,

To taint that honour every good tongue blesses,

Nor to betray you any way to sorrow—

You have too much, good lady—but to know

How you stand minded in the weighty difference

Between the King and you, and to deliver,

Like free and honest men, our just opinions

And comforts to your cause.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

Most honoured madam,

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—

Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,

His service and his counsel.

QUEEN KATHERINE (aside)

To betray me.

(Aloud) My lords, I thank you both for your good

wills.

Ye speak like honest men—pray God ye prove so.

But how to make ye suddenly an answer

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,

In truth I know not. I was set at work

Among my maids, full little—God knows—looking

Either for such men or such business.

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.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Madam, you wrong the King’s love with these fears.

Your hopes and friends are infinite.

QUEEN KATHERINE

In England

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,

In mine own country, lords.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

I would your grace

Would leave your griefs and take my counsel.

QUEEN KATHERINE

How, sir?

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

Put your main cause into the King’s protection.

He’s loving and most gracious. ’Twill be much

Both for your honour better and your cause,

For if the trial of the law o’ertake ye

You’ll part away disgraced.

CARDINAL WOLSEY (to the Queen) He tells you rightly.

QUEEN KATHERINE

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

That no king can corrupt.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

Your rage mistakes us.

QUEEN KATHERINE

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, laughed at, scorned?

I will not wish ye half my miseries—

I have more charity. But say I warned ye.

Take heed, for, heaven’s sake take heed, lest at once

The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Madam, this is a mere distraction.

You turn the good we offer into envy.

QUEEN KATHERINE

Ye turn me into nothing. Woe upon ye,

And all such false professors. Would you have me—

If you have any justice, any pity,

If ye be anything but churchmen’s habits—

Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me?

Alas, he’s banished me his bed already—

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

And all the fellowship I hold now with him

Is only my obedience. What can happen

To me above this wretchedness? All your studies

Make me accursed like this.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

Your fears are worse.

QUEEN KATHERINE

Have I lived thus long—let me speak myself,

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

A woman, I dare say, without vainglory,

Never yet branded with suspicion?

Have I with all my full affections

Still met the King, loved him next heav‘n, obeyed him,

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,

One that ne’er dreamed a joy beyond his pleasure,

And to that woman when she has done most,

Yet will I add an honour, a great patience.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.

QUEEN KATHERINE

My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty

To give up willingly that noble title

Your master wed me to. Nothing but death

Shall e’er divorce my dignities.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

Pray, hear me.

QUEEN KATHERINE

Would I had never trod this English earth,

Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it.

Ye have angels’ faces, but heaven knows your hearts.

What will become of me now, wretched lady?

I am the most unhappy woman living.

(To her women) Alas, poor wenches, where are now

your fortunes?

Shipwrecked upon a kingdom where no pity,

No friends, no hope, no kindred weep for me?

Almost no grave allowed me? Like the lily,

That once was mistress of the field and flourished,

I’ll hang my head and perish.

CARDINAL WOLSEY

If your grace

Could but be brought to know our ends are honest,

You’d feel more comfort. Why should we, good lady,

Upon what cause, wrong you? Alas, our places,

The way of our profession, is against it.

We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow ’em.

For goodness’ sake, consider what you do,

How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly

Grow from the King’s acquaintance by this carriage.

The hearts of princes kiss obedience,

So much they love it, but to stubborn spirits

They swell and grow as terrible as storms.

I know you have a gentle noble temper,

A soul as even as a calm. Pray, think us

Those we profess—peacemakers, friends, and servants.

CARDINAL CAMPEIUS

Madam, you’ll find it so. You wrong your virtues

With these weak women’s fears. A noble spirit,

As yours was put into you, ever casts

Such doubts as false coin from it. The King loves you.

Beware you lose it not. For us, if you please

To trust us in your business, we are ready

To use our utmost studies in your service.

QUEENS KATHERINE

Do what ye will, my lords, and pray forgive me.

If I have used myself unmannerly,

You know I am a woman, lacking wit

To make a seemly answer to such persons.

Pray do my service to his majesty.

He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers

While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers,

Bestow your counsels on me. She now begs

That little thought, when she set footing here,

She should have bought her dignities so dear.

Exeunt