Chapter: Enter Queene and her Women as at worke.

Queen. Take thy Lute wench,
    My Soule growes sad with troubles,
    Sing, and disperse 'em if thou canst: leaue working.

    SONG.

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

    Queen. How now?
    Gent. And't please your Grace, the two great Cardinals
    Wait in the presence

    Queen. Would they speake with me?
    Gent. They wil'd me say so Madam

    Queen. Pray their Graces
    To come neere: what can be their busines
    With me, a poore weake woman, falne from fauour?
    I doe not like their comming; now I thinke on't,
    They should bee good men, their affaires as righteous:
    But all Hoods, make not Monkes.
    Enter the two Cardinalls, Wolsey & Campian.

    Wols. Peace to your Highnesse

    Queen. Your Graces find me heere part of a Houswife,
    (I would be all) against the worst may happen:
    What are your pleasures with me, reuerent Lords?
    Wol. May it please you Noble Madam, to withdraw
    Into your priuate Chamber; we shall giue you
    The full cause of our comming

    Queen. Speake it heere.
    There's nothing I haue done yet o' my Conscience
    Deserues a Corner: would all other Women
    Could speake this with as free a Soule as I doe.
    My Lords, I care not (so much I am happy
            Aboue a number) if my actions
    Were tri'de by eu'ry tongue, eu'ry eye saw 'em,
    Enuy and base opinion set against 'em,
    I know my life so euen. If your busines
    Seeke me out, and that way I am Wife in;
    Out with it boldly: Truth loues open dealing

    Card. Tanta est erga te mentis integritas Regina serenissima

    Queen. O good my Lord, no Latin;
    I am not such a Truant since my comming,
    As not to know the Language I haue liu'd in:
    A strange Tongue makes my cause more strange, suspitious:
    Pray speake in English; heere are some will thanke you,
    If you speake truth, for their poore Mistris sake;
Beleeue me she ha's had much wrong. Lord Cardinall,
        The willing'st sinne I euer yet committed,
        May be absolu'd in English

        Card. Noble Lady,
        I am sorry my integrity should breed,
        (And seruice to his Maiesty and you)
    So deepe suspition, where all faith was meant;
    We come not by the way of Accusation,
    To taint that honour euery good Tongue blesses;
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow;
You haue too much good Lady: But to know
How you stand minded in the waighty difference
Betweene the King and you, and to deliuer
(Like free and honest men) our iust opinions,
    And comforts to our cause

    Camp. Most honour'd Madam,
    My Lord of Yorke, out of his Noble nature,
    Zeale and obedience he still bore your Grace,
    Forgetting (like a good man) your late Censure
Both of his truth and him (which was too farre)
    Offers, as I doe, in a signe of peace,
    His Seruice, and his Counsell

    Queen. To betray me.
    My Lords, I thanke you both for your good wills,
    Ye speake like honest men, (pray God ye proue so)
    But how to make ye sodainly an Answere
    In such a poynt of weight, so neere mine Honour,
    (More neere my Life I feare) with my weake wit;
And to such men of grauity and learning;
In truth I know not. I was set at worke,
   Among my Maids, full little (God knowes) looking
   Either for such men, or such businesse;
   For her sake that I haue beene, for I feele
   The last fit of my Greatnesse; good your Graces
   Let me haue time and Councell for my Cause:
   Alas, I am a Woman frendlesse, hopelesse

   Wol. Madam,
   You wrong the Kings loue with these feares,
   Your hopes and friends are infinite

   Queen. In England,
   But little for my profit can you thinke Lords,
   That any English man dare giue me Councell?
   Or be a knowne friend 'gainst his Highnes pleasure,
   (Though he be growne so desperate to be honest)
    And liue a Subiect? Nay forsooth, my Friends,
    They that must weigh out my afflictions,
    They that my trust must grow to, liue not heere,
    They are (as all my other comforts) far hence
    In mine owne Countrey Lords

    Camp. I would your Grace
    Would leaue your greefes, and take my Counsell

    Queen. How Sir?
    Camp. Put your maine cause into the Kings protection,
    Hee's louing and most gracious. 'Twill be much,
    Both for your Honour better, and your Cause:
    For if the tryall of the Law o'retake ye,
    You'l part away disgrac'd

    Wol. He tels you rightly

    Queen. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruine:
    Is this your Christian Councell? Out vpon ye.
    Heauen is aboue all yet; there sits a Iudge,
    That no King can corrupt

    Camp. Your rage mistakes vs

    Queen. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye,
    Vpon my Soule two reuerend Cardinall Vertues:
    But Cardinall Sins, and hollow hearts I feare ye:
    Mend 'em for shame my Lords: Is this your comfort?
    The Cordiall that ye bring a wretched Lady?
    A woman lost among ye, laugh't at, scornd?
    I will not wish ye halfe my miseries,
    I haue more Charity. But say I warn'd ye;
Take heed, for heauens sake take heed, least at once
The burthen of my sorrowes, fall vpon ye

Car. Madam, this is a meere distraction,
    You turne the good we offer, into enuy

    Quee. Ye turne me into nothing. Woe vpon ye,
    And all such false Professors. Would you haue me
(If you haue any Iustice, any Pitty,
 If ye be any thing but Churchmens habits)
    Put my sicke cause into his hands, that hates me?
    Alas, ha's banish'd me his Bed already,
    His Loue, too long ago. I am old my Lords,
    And all the Fellowship I hold now with him
    Is onely my Obedience. What can happen
    To me, aboue this wretchednesse? All your Studies
    Make me a Curse, like this

    Camp. Your feares are worse

    Qu. Haue I liu'd thus long (let me speake my selfe,
            Since Vertue findes no friends) a Wife, a true one?
A Woman (I dare say without Vainglory)
    Neuer yet branded with Suspition?
    Haue I, with all my full Affections
    Still met the King? Lou'd him next Heau'n? Obey'd him?
    Bin (out of fondnesse) superstitious to him?
    Almost forgot my Prayres to content him?
    And am I thus rewarded? 'Tis not well Lords.
    Bring me a constant woman to her Husband,
    One that ne're dream'd a Ioy, beyond his pleasure;
And to that Woman (when she has done most)
    Yet will I adde an Honor; a great Patience

    Car. Madam, you wander from the good
    We ayme at

    Qu. My Lord,
    I dare not make my selfe so guiltie,
    To giue vp willingly that Noble Title
    Your Master wed me to: nothing but death
    Shall e're diuorce my Dignities

    Car. Pray heare me

    Qu. Would I had neuer trod this English Earth,
    Or felt the Flatteries that grow vpon it:
    Ye haue Angels Faces; but Heauen knowes your hearts.
    What will become of me now, wretched Lady?
    I am the most vnhappy Woman liuing.
    Alas (poore Wenches) where are now your Fortunes?
    Shipwrack'd vpon a Kingdome, where no Pitty,
    No Friends, no Hope, no Kindred weepe for me?
    Almost no Graue allow'd me? Like the Lilly
    That once was Mistris of the Field, and flourish'd,
    Ile hang my head, and perish

    Car. If your Grace
    Could but be brought to know, our Ends are honest,
    Youl'd feele more comfort. Why shold we (good Lady)
    Vpon what cause wrong you? Alas, our Places,
    The way of our Profession is against it;
We are to Cure such sorrowes, not to sowe 'em.
For Goodnesse sake, consider what you do,
    How you may hurt your selfe: I, vtterly
    Grow from the Kings Acquaintance, by this Carriage.
    The hearts of Princes kisse Obedience,
    So much they loue it. But to stubborne Spirits,
    They swell and grow, as terrible as stormes.
    I know you haue a Gentle, Noble temper,
    A Soule as euen as a Calme; Pray thinke vs,
    Those we professe, Peace-makers, Friends, and Seruants

    Camp. Madam, you'l finde it so:
    You wrong your Vertues
    With these weake Womens feares. A Noble Spirit
    As yours was, put into you, euer casts
    Such doubts as false Coine from it. The King loues you,
    Beware you loose it not: For vs (if you please
            To trust vs in your businesse) we are ready
    To vse our vtmost Studies, in your seruice

    Qu. Do what ye will, my Lords:
    And pray forgiue me;
    If I haue vs'd my selfe vnmannerly,
    You know I am a Woman, lacking wit
    To make a seemely answer to such persons.
    Pray do my seruice to his Maiestie,
    He ha's my heart yet, and shall haue my Prayers
    While I shall haue my life. Come reuerend Fathers,
    Bestow your Councels on me. She now begges
    That little thought when she set footing heere,
    She should haue bought her Dignities so deere.

    Exeunt.

 Katherine is sewing with her ladies-in-waiting. She asks one of them to sing. The woman sings a song about the power of music to heal sorrow. A Gentleman enters and tells Katherine that the cardinals want to speak with her. As Katherine asks him to show them in, she worries about what they want with her. Wolsey and Campeius enter. Wolsey asks her if they can speak in a private room, but she says that her conscience is clear, so she is happy to speak here. Wolsey begins to speak to her in Latin, but she stops him, saying that it could make people think that there is something about her cause which must be hidden. She asks him to speak in English, for all to hear. Wolsey says that they have come not to accuse her, but to know her intentions in the matter of the divorce, and to give her advice and comfort. Campeius says that Wolsey, out of nobility of spirit, has forgiven Katherine for her false accusations against him, and has come to offer help. Katherine is not convinced, saying in an aside to the audience that they have come to betray her. She tells the cardinals that she needs more time to seek counsel before she can give an answer on such an important matter. She tells them she is "a woman friendless, hopeless" . Wolsey insists that she has both friends and hopes, but she points out that no Englishman would dare to help her, as to do so would be to oppose the king. Those friends she has, she says, are in Spain. Campeius and Wolsey advise her to place herself under the king's protection, since if the court's judgment goes against her, she risks being disgraced. Katherine tells them that they both wish her ruin, but that there is a higher judge that no king can corrupt - God. She says that she thought them holy men, but now sees that they are heartless and full of sin. She feels that they are enjoying seeing her misery, but warns them to be careful, lest her misfortune rebounds on them. She asks them why she should place her cause in the hands of the king, who hates her. He has banished her from his bed, and she lost his love long ago. She is old, she says, and her relationship with the king consists merely of her obedience. She has been a loving and constant wife, yet she is rewarded by being rejected. Nothing but death will separate her from her "dignities" - her royal title of queen and, presumably, her marriage to the king. Katherine wishes that she had never come to England. She worries about what will become of her and her ladies. Wolsey protests that he and Campeius mean well, and that she is wrong in her suspicions about them. He warns her that she may damage her cause with the king by her stubborn attitude. Campeius insists that the king loves her and that they only wish to do her service. Katherine tells them to do as they will, and sarcastically says that if she has misunderstood their intentions, it is because she is only a woman, lacking understanding. She says she still loves the king and prays for him.

