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

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4.1 Enter the two Gentlemen meeting one another. The first holds a paper

FIRST GENTLEMAN

You’re well met once again.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

So are you.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

You come to take your stand here and behold

The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?

SECOND GENTLEMAN

’Tis all my business. At our last encounter

The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

’Tis very true. But that time offered sorrow,

This, general joy.

SECOND GENTLEMAN ’Tis well. The citizens,

I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds—

As, let ’em have their rights, they are ever forward—

In celebration of this day with shows,

Pageants, and sights of honour.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

Never greater,

Nor, I’ll assure you, better taken, sir.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

May I be bold to ask what that contains,

That paper in your hand?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

Yes, ’tis the list

Of those that claim their offices this day

By custom of the coronation.

The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims

To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,

He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest.

He gives him the paper

SECOND GENTLEMAN

I thank you, sir. Had I not known those customs,

I should have been beholden to your paper.

But I beseech you, what’s become of Katherine,

The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

That I can tell you too. The Archbishop

Of Canterbury, accompanied with other

Learned and reverend fathers of his order,

Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off

From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which

She was often cited by them, but appeared not.

And, to be short, for not appearance, and

The King’s late scruple, by the main assent

Of all these learned men, she was divorced,

And the late marriage made of none effect,

Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,

Where she remains now sick.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

Alas, good lady!

Flourish of trumpets within

The trumpets sound. Stand close. The Queen is coming.

Enter the coronation procession, which passes over the stage in order and state. Hautboys, within, ⌈play during the procession⌉

THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION

1. First, ⌈enter⌉ trumpeters, who play a lively flourish.

2. Then, enter two judges.

3. Then, enter the Lord Chancellor, with both the purse containing the great seal and the mace borne before him.

4. Then, enter choristers singing; ⌈with them, musicians playing.⌉

5. Then, enter the Lord Mayor of London bearing the mace, followed by Garter King-of-Arms wearing his coat of arms and a gilt copper crown.

6. Then, enter Marquis Dorset bearing a sceptre of gold, and wearing, on his head, a demi-coronal of gold and, about his neck, a collar of esses. With him enter the Earl of Surrey bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an earl’s coronet, and also wearing a collar of esses.

7. Next, enter the Duke of Suffolk as High Steward, in his robe of estate, with his coronet on his head, and bearing a long white wand. With him, enter the Duke of Norfolk with the rod of marshalship and a coronet on his head. Each wears a collar of esses.

8. Then, under a canopy borne by four barons of the Cinque Ports, enter Anne, the new Queen, in her robe. Her hair, which hangs loose, is richly adorned with pearl. She wears a crown. Accompanying her on either side are the Bishops of London and Winchester.

9. Next, enter the old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold wrought with flowers, bearing the Queen’s train.

10. Finally, enter certain ladies or countesses, with plain circlets of gold without flowers. The two Gentlemen comment on the procession as it passes over the stage

SECOND GENTLEMAN

A royal train, believe me. These I know.

Who’s that that bears the sceptre?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

Marquis Dorset.

And that, the Earl of Surrey with the rod.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

A bold brave gentleman. That should be

The Duke of Suffolk?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

’Tis the same: High Steward.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

And that, my lord of Norfolk?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

Yes.

SECOND GENTLEMAN (seeing Anne) Heaven bless thee!

Thou hast the sweetest face ever looked on.

Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel.

Our King has all the Indies in his arms,

And more, and richer, when he strains that lady.

I cannot blame his conscience.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

They that bear The cloth of honour over her are four barons

Of the Cinque Ports.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

Those men are happy, And so are all are near her.

I take it she that carries up the train

Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

It is. And all the rest are countesses.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed—

⌈FIRST GENTLEMAN⌉

And sometimes falling ones.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

No more of that.

Exit the last of the procession, and then

a great flourish of trumpets within

Enter a third Gentleman ⌈in a sweat⌉

FIRST GENTLEMAN

God save you, sir. Where have you been broiling?

THIRD GENTLEMAN

Among the crowd i’th’ Abbey, where a finger

Could not be wedged in more. I am stifled

With the mere rankness of their joy.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

You saw the ceremony?

THIRD GENTLEMAN

That I did.

FIRST GENTLEMAN How Was it?

THIRD GENTLEMAN

Well worth the seeing.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

Good sir, speak it to us.

THIRD GENTLEMAN

As well as I am able. The rich stream

Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen

To a prepared place in the choir, fell off

A distance from her, while her grace sat down

To rest a while—some half an hour or so—

In a rich chair of state, opposing freely

The beauty of her person to the people.

Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman

That ever lay by man; which when the people

Had the full view of, such a noise arose

As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,

As loud and to as many tunes. Hats, cloaks—

Doublets, I think—flew up, and had their faces

Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy

I never saw before. Great-bellied women,

That had not half a week to go, like rams

In the old time of war, would shake the press,

And make ’em reel before ’em. No man living

Could say ‘This is my wife’ there, all were woven

So strangely in one piece.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

But what followed?

THIRD GENTLEMAN

At length her grace rose, and with modest paces

Came to the altar, where she kneeled, and saint-like

Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and prayed devoutly, 86

Then rose again, and bowed her to the people,

When by the Archbishop of Canterbury

She had all the royal makings of a queen,

As holy oil, Edward Confessor’s crown,

The rod and bird of peace, and all such emblems

Laid nobly on her. Which performed, the choir,

With all the choicest music of the kingdom,

Together sung Te Deum. So she parted,

And with the same full state paced back again

To York Place, where the feast is held.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

Sir, You must no more call it York Place—that’s past,

For since the Cardinal fell, that title’s lost.

‘Tis now the King’s, and called Whitehall.

THIRD GENTLEMAN

I know it, But ’tis so lately altered that the old name

Is fresh about me.

SECOND GENTLEMAN What two reverend bishops

Were those that went on each side of the Queen?

THIRD GENTLEMAN

Stokesley and Gardiner, the one of Winchester—

Newly preferred from the King’s secretary—

The other London.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

He of Winchester

Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop’s,

The virtuous Cranmer.

THIRD GENTLEMAN

All the land knows that.

However, yet there is no great breach. When it

comes,

Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

Who may that be, I pray you?

THIRD GENTLEMAN

Thomas Cromwell, A man in much esteem with th’ King, and truly

A worthy friend. The King has made him

Master o’th’ Jewel House,

And one already of the Privy Council.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

He will deserve more.

THIRD GENTLEMAN

Yes, without all doubt.

Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way,

Which is to th’ court, and there ye shall be my

guests.

Something I can command. As I walk thither

I’ll tell ye more.

FIRST and SECOND GENTLEMEN You may command us, sir.

Exeunt

4.2 ⌈Three chairs.⌉ Enter Katherine Dowager, sick, led between Griffith her gentleman usher, and Patience her woman

GRIFFITH

How does your grace?

KATHERINE

O Griffith, sick to death.

My legs, like loaden branches, bow to th’ earth,

Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair.

A chair is brought to her. She sits

So now, methinks, I feel a little ease.

Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led’st me,

That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,

Was dead?

GRIFFITH

Yes, madam, but I think your grace, Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to’t.

KATHERINE

Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.

If well, he stepped before me happily

For my example.

GRIFFITH

Well, the voice goes, madam.

For after the stout Earl Northumberland

Arrested him at York, and brought him forward,

As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,

He fell sick, suddenly, and grew so ill

He could not sit his mule.

KATHERINE

Alas, poor man.

GRIFFITH

At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,

Lodged in the abbey, where the reverend abbot,

With all his convent, honourably received him,

To whom he gave these words: ‛O father abbot,

An old man broken with the storms of state

Is come to lay his weary bones among ye.

Give him a little earth, for charity.’

So went to bed, where eagerly his sickness

Pursued him still, and three nights after this,

About the hour of eight, which he himself

Foretold should be his last, full of repentance,

Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,

He gave his honours to the world again,

His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

KATHERINE

So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him.

Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,

And yet with charity. He was a man

Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking

Himself with princes; one that by suggestion

Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair play.

His own opinion was his law. I’th’ presence

He would say untruths, and be ever double

Both in his words and meaning. He was never,

But where he meant to ruin, pitiful.

His promises were, as he then was, mighty;

But his performance, as he is now, nothing.

Of his own body he was ill, and gave

The clergy ill example.

GRIFFITH

Noble madam, Men’s evil manners live in brass, their virtues

We write in water. May it please your highness

To hear me speak his good now?

KATHERINE

Yes, good Griffith,

I were malicious else.

GRIFFITH

This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly

Was fashioned to much honour. From his cradle

He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one,

Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading;

Lofty and sour to them that loved him not,

But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.

And though he were unsatisfied in getting—

Which was a sin—yet in bestowing, madam,

He was most princely: ever witness for him

Those twins of learning that he raised in you,

Ipswich and Oxford—one of which fell with him,

Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;

The other, though unfinished, yet so famous,

So excellent in art, and still so rising,

That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.

His overthrow heaped happiness upon him,

For then, and not till then, he felt himself,

And found the blessedness of being little.

And to add greater honours to his age

Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

KATHERINE

After my death I wish no other herald,

No other speaker of my living actions

To keep mine honour from corruption

But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.

Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,

With thy religious truth and modesty,

Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him.

(To her woman) Patience, be near me still, and set me

lower.

I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,

Cause the musicians play me that sad note

I named my knell, whilst I sit meditating

On that celestial harmony I go to.

Sad and solemn music. Katherine sleeps

GRIFFITH (to the woman)

She is asleep. Good wench, let’s sit down quiet

For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience.

They sit

THE VISION

Enter, solemnly tripping one after another, six personages clad in white robes, wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and golden visors on their faces. They carry branches of bays or palm in their hands. They first conge unto Katherine, then dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head at which the other four make reverent curtsies. Then the two that held the garland deliver the same to the other next two, who observe the same order in their changes and holding the garland over her head. Which done, they deliver the same garland to the last two who likewise observe the same order. At which, as it were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven. And so in their dancing vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues

KATHERINE (waking)

Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone,

And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?

Griffith and Patience rise and come forward

GRIFFITH

Madam, we are here.

KATHERINE It is not you I call for.

Saw ye none enter since I slept?

GRIFFITH

None, madam.

KATHERINE

No? Saw you not even now a blessèd troop

Invite me to a banquet, whose bright faces

Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?

They promised me eternal happiness,

And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel

I am not worthy yet to wear. I shall,

Assuredly.

GRIFFITH

I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams

Possess your fancy.

KATHERINE

Bid the music leave.

They are harsh and heavy to me.

Music ceases

PATIENCE (to Griffith)

Do you note

How much her grace is altered on the sudden?

How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,

And of an earthy colour? Mark her eyes?

GRIFFITH

She is going, wench. Pray, pray.

PATIENCE

Heaven comfort her.

Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER (to Katherine)

An’t like your grace—

KATHERINE

You are a saucy fellow—

Deserve we no more reverence?

GRIFFITH (to the Messenger)

You are to blame,

Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,

To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.

MESSENGER (kneeling before Katherine)

I humbly do entreat your highness’ pardon.

My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying

A gentleman sent from the King to see you.

KATHERINE

Admit him entrance, Griffith. But this fellow

Let me ne’er see again.

Exit Messenger

Enter Lord Caputius ⌈ushered by Griffith⌉

If my sight fail not,

You should be lord ambassador from the Emperor,

My royal nephew, and your name Caputius.

CAPUTIUS

Madam, the same, ⌈bowing⌉ your servant.

KATHERINE

O, my lord, The times and titles now are altered strangely

With me since first you knew me. But I pray you,

What is your pleasure with me?

CAPUTIUS

Noble lady, First mine own service to your grace; the next,

The King’s request that I would visit you,

Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me

Sends you his princely commendations,

And heartily entreats you take good comfort.

KATHERINE

O, my good lord, that comfort comes too late,

’Tis like a pardon after execution.

That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me;

But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.

How does his highness?

CAPUTIUS

Madam, in good health.

KATHERINE

So may he ever do, and ever flourish

When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name

Banished the kingdom. (To her woman) Patience, is

that letter

I caused you write yet sent away?

PATIENCE

No, madam.

KATHERINE (to Caputius)

Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver

This to my lord the King.

The letter is given to Caputius

CAPUTIUS

Most willing, madam.

KATHERINE

In which I have commended to his goodness

The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter—

The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her—

Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding.

She is young, and of a noble modest nature.

I hope she will deserve well—and a little

To love her for her mother’s sake, that loved him,

Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition

Is that his noble grace would have some pity

Upon my wretched women, that so long

Have followed both my fortunes faithfully;

Of which there is not one, I dare avow—

And now I should not lie—but will deserve,

For virtue and true beauty of the soul,

For honesty and decent carriage,

A right good husband. Let him be a noble,

And sure those men are happy that shall have ’em.

The last is for my men—they are the poorest,

But poverty could never draw ’em from me—

That they may have their wages duly paid ’em,

And something over to remember me by.

If heaven had pleased to have given me longer life,

And able means, we had not parted thus.

These are the whole contents; and, good my lord,

By that you love the dearest in this world,

As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,

Stand these poor people’s friend and urge the King

To do me this last rite.

CAPUTIUS

By heaven I will,

Or let me lose the fashion of a man.

KATHERINE

I thank you, honest lord. Remember me

In all humility unto his highness.

Say his long trouble now is passing

Out of this world. Tell him, in death I blessed him,

For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,

My lord. Griffith, farewell.

(To her woman)

Nay, Patience,

You must not leave me yet. I must to bed.

Call in more women. When I am dead, good wench,

Let me be used with honour. Strew me over

With maiden flowers, that all the world may know

I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me,

Then lay me forth. Although unqueened, yet like

A queen and daughter to a king inter me.

I can no more.

Exeunt ⌈Caputius and Griffith⌉ at one door;

Patience⌉ leading Katherine ⌈at another⌉

5.1 Enter ⌈at one door⌉ Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester; before him, a Page with a torch

GARDINER

It’s one o’clock, boy, is’t not?

PAGE

It hath struck.

GARDINER

These should be hours for necessities,

Not for delights; times to repair our nature

With comforting repose, and not for us

To waste these times.

Enter ⌈at another door⌉ Sir Thomas Lovell, meeting them

Good hour of night, Sir Thomasl

Whither so late?

LOVELY

Came you from the King, my lord?

GARDINER

I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero

With the Duke of Suffolk.

LOVELL

I must to him too,

Before he go to bed. I’ll take my leave.

GARDINER

Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell—what’s the matter?

It seems you are in haste. An if there be

No great offence belongs to’t, give your friend

Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk,

As they say spirits do, at midnight, have

In them a wilder nature than the business

That seeks dispatch by day.

LOVELL

My lord, I love you,

And durst commend a secret to your ear

Much weightier than this work. The Queen’s in labour—

They say in great extremity—and feared

She’ll with the labour end.

GARDINER

The fruit she goes with

I pray for heartily, that it may find

Good time, and live. But, for the stock, Sir Thomas,

I wish it grubbed up now.

LOVELL

Methinks I could

Cry the amen, and yet my conscience says

She’s a good creature and, sweet lady, does

Deserve our better wishes.

GARDINER

But sir, sir,

Hear me, Sir Thomas. You’re a gentleman

Of mine own way. I know you wise, religious.

And let me tell you, it will ne’er be well—

’Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take’t of me—

Till Cranmer, Cromwell—her two hands—and she,

Sleep in their graves.

LOVELL

Now, sir, you speak of two

The most remarked i‘th’ kingdom. As for Cromwell,

Beside that of the Jewel House is made Master

O’th’ Rolls and the King’s secretary. Further, sir,

Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments

With which the time will load him. Th’Archbishop

Is the King’s hand and tongue, and who dare speak

One syllable against him?

GARDINER

Yes, yes, Sir Thomas—

There are that dare, and I myself have ventured

To speak my mind of him, and, indeed, this day,

Sir—I may tell it you, I think—I have

Incensed the lords o’th’ Council that he is—

For so I know he is, they know he is—

A most arch heretic, a pestilence

That does infect the land; with which they, moved,

Have broken with the King, who hath so far

Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace

And princely care, foreseeing those fell mischiefs

Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded so

Tomorrow morning to the Council board

He be convented. He’s a rank weed, Sir Thomas,

And we must root him out. From your affairs

I hinder you too long. Good night, Sir Thomas.

LOVELL

Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant.

Exeunt Gardiner and Page at one door

Enter King Henry and Suffolk at another door

KING HENRY (to Suffolk)

Charles, I will play no more tonight.

My mind’s not on’t. You are too hard for me.

SUFFOLK

Sir, I did never win of you before.

KING HENRY But little, Charles,

Nor shall not when my fancy’s on my play.

Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?

LOVELL

I could not personally deliver to her

What you commanded me, but by her woman

I sent your message, who returned her thanks

In the great’st humbleness, and desired your highness

Most heartily to pray for her.

KING HENRY

What sayst thou? Ha?

To pray for her? What, is she crying out?

LOVELL

So said her woman, and that her suffrance made

Almost each pang a death.

KING HENRY

Alas, good lady.

SUFFOLK

God safely quit her of her burden, and

With gentle travail, to the gladding of

Your highness with an heir.

KING HENRY

’Tis midnight, Charles.

Prithee to bed, and in thy prayers remember

Th’estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone,

For I must think of that which company

Would not be friendly to.

SUFFOLK

I wish your highness

A quiet night, and my good mistress will

Remember in my prayers.

KING HENRY

Charles, good night.

Exit Suffolk

Enter Sir Anthony Denny

Well, sir, what follows?

DENNY

Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,

As you commanded me.

KING HENRY

Ha, Canterbury?

DENNY

Ay, my good lord.

KING HENRY

’Tis true—where is he, Denny?

DENNY

He attends your highness’ pleasure.

KING HENRY

Bring him to us.

Exit Denny

LOVELL. (aside)

This is about that which the Bishop spake.

I am happily come hither.

Enter Cranmer the Archbishop, ushered by Denny

KING HENRY (to Lovell and Denny) Avoid the gallery.

⌈Denny begins to depart.⌉ Lovell seems to stay

Ha? I have said. Be gone.

What?

Exeunt Lovell and Denny

CRANMER (aside)

I am fearful. Wherefore frowns he thus?

’Tis his aspect of terror. All’s not well.

KING HENRY

How now, my lord? You do desire to know

Wherefore I sent for you.

CRANMER (kneeling) It is my duty

T’attend your highness’ pleasure.

KING HENRY

Pray you, arise,

My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.

Come, you and I must walk a turn together.

I have news to tell you. Come, come—give me your

hand.

⌈Cranmer rises. They walk⌉

Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,

And am right sorry to repeat what follows.

I have, and most unwillingly, of late

Heard many grievous—I do say, my lord,

Grievous—complaints of you, which, being considered,

Have moved us and our Council that you shall

This morning come before us, where I know

You cannot with such freedom purge yourself

But that, till further trial in those charges

Which will require your answer, you must take

Your patience to you, and be well contented

To make your house our Tower. You a brother of us,

It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness

Would come against you.

CRANMER (kneeling)

I humbly thank your highness, And am right glad to catch this good occasion

Most throughly to be winnowed, where my chaff

And corn shall fly asunder. For I know

There’s none stands under more calumnious tongues

Than I myself, poor man.

KING HENRY

Stand up, good Canterbury.

Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted

In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand. Stand up.

Prithee, let’s walk.

Cranmer rises. They walk

Now, by my halidom,

What manner of man are you? My lord, I looked

You would have given me your petition that

I should have ta’en some pains to bring together

Yourself and your accusers, and to have heard you

Without indurance further.

CRANMER

Most dread liege, The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.

If they shall fail, I with mine enemies

Will triumph o’er my person, which I weigh not,

Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing

What can be said against me.

KING HENRY

Know you not

How your state stands i’th’ world, with the whole

world?

Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices

Must bear the same proportion, and not ever

The justice and the truth o’th’ question carries

The dew o’th’ verdict with it. At what ease

Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt

To swear against you? Such things have been

done.

You are potently opposed, and with a malice

Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,

I mean in perjured witness, than your master,

Whose minister you are, whiles here he lived

Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to.

You take a precipice for no leap of danger,

And woo your own destruction.

CRANMER

God and your majesty

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into

The trap is laid for me.

KING HENRY

Be of good cheer. They shall no more prevail than we give way to.

Keep comfort to you, and this morning see

You do appear before them. If they shall chance,

In charging you with matters, to commit you,

The best persuasions to the contrary

Fail not to use, and with what vehemency

Th’occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties

Will render you no remedy, ⌈giving his ring⌉ this ring

Deliver them, and your appeal to us

There make before them.

Cranmer weeps

Look, the good man weeps.

He’s honest, on mine honour. God’s blest mother,

I swear he is true-hearted, and a soul

None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,

And do as I have bid you.

Exit Cranmer

He has strangled

His language in his tears.

Enter the Old Lady

⌈LOVELL⌉ (within) Come back! What mean you?

⌈Enter Lovell, following her⌉

OLD LADY

I’ll not come back. The tidings that I bring

Will make my boldness manners. (To the King) Now

good angels

Fly o’er thy royal head, and shade thy person

Under their blessed wings.

KING HENRY

Now by thy looks

I guess thy message. Is the Queen delivered?

Say, ‘Ay, and of a boy.’

OLD LADY

Ay, ay, my liege,

And of a lovely boy. The God of heaven

Both now and ever bless her! ’Tis a girl

Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen

Desires your visitation, and to be

Acquainted with this stranger. ’Tis as like you

As cherry is to cherry.

KING HENRY

Lovell—

LOVELL

Sir?

KING HENRY

Give her an hundred marks. I’ll to the Queen.

Exit

OLD LADY

An hundred marks? By this light, I’ll ha’ more.

An ordinary groom is for such payment.

I will have more, or scold it out of him.

Said I for this the girl was like to him? I’ll

Have more, or else unsay’t; and now, while ’tis hot,

I’ll put it to the issue.

Exeunt