University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A Room in Whitehall Palace. King Henry and Jane Seymour.
Jane Seymour.
Nay, my sweet Henry, shrink not for a thought.
Wisdom is Janus-faced, and boldly looks
Not only at dead acts of bygone times,
But, in the very front of coming years,
Stands forth, a prophet, to foretell events.
Why should we dream upon the harmless past,
If not to shape the future of our lives
By its dear-purchased knowledge?

King Henry.
True enough.

Jane S.
See then what follows. Should Queen Anne die,
And no male issue bless your majesty,
Elizabeth, your so-called daughter, reigns.—
So-called, I say; for where is your warranty
To deem her truer than her faithless dam?

King H.
Right, by my soul! I'll disinherit her;
My Parliament shall set her claim aside:
We'll have no bastards on our English throne,
To mock our justice.

Jane S.
Ah! the Parliament!
But what it does, it can undo again.

King H.
Ay, ay; 't were safer to divorce the queen,
And so, as in our daughter Mary's case,
Cut off Elizabeth.

Jane S.
'T will trouble you,
For many a weary day, if the bold queen
Should stand up stiffly for her royal rights,
Nor yield to you.

King H.
Nor yield?—'ods wounds! she shall!
I'll have each tittle of my liberty,
Ere we break quits. Why, it were monstrous, base,
To offer our good subjects her vile sprout
By way of queen! 'T was rumored, at her birth,
That Bess was not my own.
(Enter Duke of Norfolk.)
In good time, Norfolk—
How proceeds our cause?

Norfolk.
Slowly, my liege.

King H.
Push on, push on!

Nor.
Ha, ha! my royal hound,
Do you scent blood at last? (Aside.)
Mark Smeaton now
Will swear to anything beneath the moon;
But all the others are intractable.
When of their common guilt we question them,
Rochford but gives a melancholy smile;
Weston stares at us with his great bright eyes,
As if he doubted of our sanity;
Brereton, scowling, fumbles for his sword;
And Henry Norris has gone virtue-mad:
He raves and swears about his innocence,
And vows he never will accuse the queen,
Whom in his conscience he believes most pure.

King H.
Hang him up, hang him up, then!

Nor.
Wonderful!
He grows blood-thirsty. 'T was but yesterday
He saved a fly from drowning, and so talked,
And moralized so sweetly on this theme,
As nigh re-drowned the insect in his tears.
[Aside.]
Yes; but before he hangs, could we succeed
In throwing him, or one of gentle blood,
Into the balance 'gainst her majesty,
'T would show her light as air.

Jane S.
You doubt her guilt?

Nor.
Not I, my lady; but opinion weighs
No atom in the jealous scales of law.

King H.
We'll suit the triers to the evidence.
She is false, without debate; then wherefore, sir,
Should we be nice about the means we use?
A band of angels, sworn upon our side,
Could not increase her guilt.

Nor.
Doubtless, my liege;
But 't would convict her to the common mind:
For, as we stand, this base-born, wavering groom
Is our sole witness; and we lose respect
By such a tottering basis to our cause.
The people—

King H.
Furies seize them, root and branch
Here comes that bugbear of a timid court,
That noisy nothing, to assail our ears!
Sir, I more reverence a flock of geese—
Being a Roman in that one idea—
Than all the banded folly of the earth.
Is there more wisdom in a million fools
Than one alone? Shall folly gain respect
By bare addition?

Jane S.
Please your majesty,
His grace but cares for your committed honor
In this regard.

King H.
I know his loyalty:
But shall a monarch answer to a mob
For private deeds? Lord, save their silliness!
'T is scarce a twelvemonth since they howled at us,
“We'll have no Nanny Boleyn for our queen!”
And now they saint her! Norfolk, look at them
As on a crowd of human weathercocks,
That ever point right in the teeth of power,
Howe'er it veer. Join me anon, your grace;
I fain would hit upon some speedy scheme
That may annul my marriage with the queen.
Sweetheart, come walk.

Nor.
I will attend your highness.
[Exeunt King Henry and Jane Seymour.]
So all this pother, all this hanging men,
Divorcing wives, and chopping off of heads,
Is for mere happiness—an endless chase!
As if a man, so stuffed with memories
Of the dark path that led him to his hopes,
Could taste enjoyment if he reached his wish!
Good Lord, a king may be a royal fool!
This outdoes alchemy.—I 'd rather fight
'Gainst nature for the boon of endless life,
And hope to turn God's purpose upside down—
Chase the horizon till I found the spot
Where heaven meets earth, and, with that blissful kiss,
Rains joy celestial on the duller land—
Run down the rainbow to the golden spring
Of its bright arch—believe a poet's dream—
Do any shallow thing, but set sound wits
Upon a chase for phantom happiness.
Ha, ha! king motley! Give me power, power, power!

[Exit.]