University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

An Apartment in Whitehall Palace. Enter King Henry.
King Henry.
How easy 't is to run an evil course!
How many stubborn checks a virtuous meets!
Sure all the fiends have turned them engineers,
And smoothed the thousand pathways to their gulf,
So quickly trod by man. There 's not a let,
As far as reason's straining eye can pierce,
To the career which sin points out for me.
Jane daily warms; the queen grows proud and cold,
Nor now besieges me with tender notes;
My nobles leave her, all afire for me;
And the most powerful—ay, her very kin—
Hatch plots to work her sudden overthrow.
My love goes smoothly.—Hum! and yet 't is strange,
When not within the circle of my eyes—
That drink her beauties like the thirsting sands,
And bear the hot thrill of her loveliness
Into my very soul—how this same fever,
That fiercely glowed erewhile, calms and is cooled;
How, in the place of sudden pangs and starts,
And all unrest, a holy peace succeeds;
When comes the shape of my much-wrongéd queen,
Crossing my mind in quiet majesty,
And trampling on the dust of noxious fancies,
That throng the long, long avenues of thought,
As if of right she crushed my base desires!

(Enter Queen Anne, behind.)
Queen Anne.
Henry.

King H.
Was that a spirit?

Queen A.
Husband, king.

King H.
How came you here? I left direct command
That no one should disturb my privacy.
Have you again been tampering with my knaves?

Queen A.
I came by a small passage—if forgotten
By you, my liege, still to my memory dear—
Made by yourself, in that once happy time,
When, unobserved, you came to woo “the Boleyn.”
Is there no secret passage, you can name,
Through which so poor a one as I may creep
Back to your heart, and see again the face
Of hidden love? O, sir, it must be rough,
And small, and frightful to a valiant gaze,
But I will tempt it.

King H.
There is none for you.
Your pride and haughtiness and stubborn will
Are all too big for love's slight passages.—
Now, by my faith, I am indeed amazed,
To hear you pleading in this gentle tone.
Have you forgot your character? Begin!
Rail, like the thunders, at our guilty world!
So ho! brave censor of morality,
Embodied purity, untouched by earth!—
What, are you pitiful? or have you sinned,
And therefore feel compassion?

Queen A.
I have sinned,
And tried the mercy of indulgent Heaven
Beyond all bounds that human reason knows.
I have been arrogant, to judge my kind
By God's own law, not seeing in myself
A guilty judge condemning the less vile.
I have forgotten that the hand of death
Would snatch the royal circle from my brow,
And set me, but encumbered by my guilt,
Equal with all, before the judgment-seat.
I have forgotten mercy: so might God
Forget His mercy in my utmost need.
I have—

King H.
Hoot! madam; pray restrain yourself!
I have no office to receive confessions.
Yet—since you force me to play ghostly father—
Is there no other sin, of grosser cast,
By you committed, not towards Heaven alone,
But to my honor?

Queen A.
'T is a hideous lie!
Who has abused your majesty's belief
With such unworthy tattle? Did you stand
And tamely hear your honor thus belied?
I knew that I had enemies enough,
Unscrupulous and cruel; but never deemed
Such base, malicious, and unfounded charge
Could move a human lip, or find an ear
So used to gorging sickly mental stuff
As to receive it. Try me, try me, sir.
Wring every fibre of my woman's frame
With piercing tortures—hold my modesty,
In truth's keen sunlight, to the vulgar gaze—
Confront me crownless with my slanderers:
If at the last my trial prove me clear,
And reünite our long-dissevered hearts,
I'll hold the pain but lightly.

King H.
Pshaw! my child,
You waste your energy. This base report
Is the light mintage of some idle tongue,
In want of truer metal.

Queen A.
Ah! my liege,
I hold this shallow falsehood at its worth;
But it afflicts me sadly, to behold
Your easy method of avoiding it,
Without a thought of punishing the wrong.
How have I changed?—O, Henry, you have changed
From that true Henry who, in bygone days,
Rode, with the hurry of a northern gale,
Towards Hever's heights, and ere the park was gained,
Made the glad air a messenger of love,
By many a blast upon your hunting-horn.
Have you forgotten that old oaken room,
Fearful with portraits of my buried race,
Where I received you panting from your horse;
As breathless, from my dumb excess of joy,
As you with hasty travel? Do you think
Of our sweet meetings 'neath the gloomy yews
Of Sopewell Nunnery, when the happy day
That made me yours seemed lingering as it came,
More slowly moving as it nearer drew?
How you chid time, and vowed the hoary knave
Might mark each second of his horologe
With dying groans, from those you cherished most,
So he would hasten—

King H.
Anne, that was you.
Have you forgotten, too, my merriment
At your quaint figure of time's human clock,
Whose every beat a soul's flight registered?

Queen A.
God bless you, Henry!

[Embraces him.]
King H.
Pshaw! why touch so deep?
These softening memories of our early love
Come o'er me like my childhood.

Queen A.
Love be praised,
That with such pure reflections couples me!
Be steadfast, Henry.

King H.
Fear not: love is poor
That seals not compacts with the stamp of faith.

Queen A.
My stay is trespass. We shall meet anon.
Love needs no counsel in his little realm.

[Embraces him, and exit.]
King H.
I hang 't wixt heaven and hell.—Anne, return;
For, by my soul, one half my virtuous strength
Has gone with you! O, I would rather be
The snarling cynic in his squalid tub,
And master of myself, than England's king,
Reared to indulgence of each flimsy whim
That passion hints at. 'T is the curse of kings,
This slaving to our pampered appetites;
Which thwarted men nursed in vicissitude,
And by compulsion taught to check desire,
Gain strength to vanquish.

(Enter Jane Seymour.)
Jane Seymour.
Harry, royal Harry!

King H.
Good-morrow, mistress Seymour.

Jane S.
Ha! so cold—
The queen just gone! I'll match you, whirligig.
[Aside.]
I crave your pardon, that with rude alarm
I thus disturbed your gracious majesty,
Seeking for one I nicknamed royal Harry—
Not meaning disrespect to you, my liege,
But from a wanton fancy. Had I thought
Your majesty here present, I 'd have held
A stricter rein upon my noisy tongue.

King H.
Ah! she is beautiful. This little mood,
Of mingled coquetry and tearful spite,
Sits like the angry rain-drops on a rose,
Giving fresh lustre to its crimson cheeks.
[Aside.]
You have my pardon.

Jane S.
Nay, I wish it not.
Pray cast your pardon on a graver slip:
Forgive the maiden greenness of a heart
That prattled to itself a silly tale
Of love, and hope, and thoughtless confidence,
Even in your very presence.

King H.
Jane, what mean you?

Jane S.
But what my words imply.

King H.
And are you angry?

Jane S.
No, I am deceived.

King H.
Truce, truce, fair mistress!

Jane S.
Nay, peace is not my purpose.

King H.
Prithee stop!

Jane S.
You may be king of half the universe,
For aught I care; you are not king of hearts:
My heart shall speak, though every word cry treason!

King H.
Forgive my coldness.

Jane S.
Ah! I never deemed
A truer spirit lived than yours, my liege:
Else why did you, from your exalted height,
Descend with flattering promises of love?—
Only to make me wretched! O, 't is base!
A brutal hind might show more constancy
Than this anointed king.

[Weeps.]
King H.
Nay, weep not, Jane.
[Kneels.]
See me thus lowly in my penitence.
I swear I meant no insult to you, darling;
And here, upon my knees, I once again
Put on the easy fetters of my heart.

Jane S.
Swear fealty to love! Your fickleness
Reproaches more your manly character,
Than the poor wrong to me—

King H.
I swear, by Heaven,
Henceforth to love you with all constancy,
By night, by day, in sunshine and in storm;
Nor will I alter in my steadfast aim
To crown you queen, though every mortal sin,
That fiends can reckon in their calendar,
Lie between me and my unfaltering wish!

[Rises.]
Jane S.
This oath is fearful.

King H.
But irrevocable.—
What ask you more?

Jane S.
O, sir, I asked not that:
I but demand of you a bare return
For the great venture of my woman's heart,
Unhappily launched upon a sea of love,
With you for careless pilot. 'T is my all;
Though you esteem the charge of little worth.

King H.
Tut, tut, my darling! if our hearts respond,
Our windy tongues are poor ambassadors
To bear their gentle greetings. Love is dumb,
A potent spirit, felt, but never heard,
Save when he murmurs inarticulate
'T ween meeting lips, or buzzes wild conceits,
That mock the language of our grosser sense,
In lover's brains. Words are love's counterfeits:
When stumbling fools would ape a shallow passion,
Lies slide full glibly, and false rhetoric,
Lashed to a foam, roars opposition down,
And for effect kills feeling. Rail no more;
Or I shall doubt that sweet sincerity
On which I live.

Jane S.
O, never doubt my faith.

King H.
Nor will I. (Embraces her.)
I will bar my pliant ears
Against the witchery of sly Anne's tongue:
Her airy magic cheats my spell-bound heart,
And for a moment shows a fancied spot,
Bright with the May-day flowers of early love,
Amid December's snow. And now for Norfolk.

Jane S.
Nothing in haste, my liege.

King H.
No; all in love.

[Exeunt.