University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Northumberland and Rochford.
North.
This is the Day shall Crown your Parents wishes,
And long expecting hopes: The King intends
To publish streight his Marriage with your Sister,
And make her known by th'Title of his Queen:
The Reason why it was so long kept secret,
Was our great Cardinal's Delays, and Tricks
Of Rome, which Harry has with Frowns discover'd:
But since, in spite of Woolsey and the Conclave,
By Reverend Cranmer has the Cause been try'd;
And Katherine is this day proclaim'd divorc'd.

Roch.
Heav'n be my Witness, brave Northumberland!
It joyes not me, but that it is his pleasure,
Whose Happiness we all are bound to pray for;
And may my Sister's Crown sit lighter on
Her Brow, than does the Honour upon mine:
Something of boding whispers to my Soul,
And tells me, Oh! this Marriage will be fatal—
Methinks I see a Sword ty'd to a Thread,
Small as a Hair, hang o're our Pageant Greatness:
Believe me, Friend; Thrones are severest Touch-stones;
And, like the Emblem of their Guard, the Lyon,
All but of Royal-Blood they will destroy.

North.
My Lord, this is severe to all that love you;
And you reflect unkindly on your Fortunes.

Roch.
Fortune! why did she lay her load on her?
A load, I say, to quiet Minds—she should
Have cast it upon one that was ambitious:
My Lord, it had been kindly done of Fortune,
T'have seen my Sister wedded to her Vows,
Your Peircy's Wife; and not at one time made her
Both Cruel to the Queen, and False to him.

North.
You know, my Lord, we all are Witnesses
With what remorse she took the Regal Burthen,
That fate upon her like a heavy Armour
On a Child's back; she stagger'd with the Weight.

Roch.
Oh! may it not be fatal to us, Heav'n!
For at the very time she gave her Hand
To th'eager King to fasten't with a Pledge,
The Ring fell off, and could no more be found.

North.
Meer Chance, my Lord.

Roch.
And then immediately,
When the glad Ceremonies were perform'd,
The amorous King bending to kiss her Hand,
A shower of Pearls broke passage from her Eyes,
And all-bedew'd his Head with ominous Tears.

North.
The common use of every bashful Bride.

Roch.
What will she do when she shall understand
Our foul Designs, and Peircy's Innocence;
His Letters to her that you intercepted;
And counterfeited others to deceive her,
To make her once believe that he was marry'd?
But what a mortal Grief will seize your Son,
When he shall find his Mistress was betray'd;
And forc'd to marry one she cannot love?

North.
To prevent that: Soon as he's come to Court,
Just but to see she's marry'd, and no more,
(Not giving him the time for second thoughts)
I'll make a Match between him and the Heiress
Of Shrewsbury.

Roch.
A very gallant Lady.
As Virtuous, Beautiful, and Richer far
Than all our Generation of that Sex.

North.
You wrong your self to flatter me. Her Father
Brings her this day on purpose from the Country:
But the Queen thinks already they are marry'd.

Roch.
And are you sure to gain your Sons consent,
To what he has been still so obstinate?

North.
Rage and Despair, when he shall find her false,
Will make him rashly change to any state;
And, thinking to be miserable, will plunge
Into the dreadful Sea of Matrimony,
And make himself, though much against his Will,
The happiest man that ever was on Earth.
Enter Cardinal Woolsey musing.
Behold the proud imperious Cardinal,
With such a furious Tempest on his Brow,
As if the World's four Winds were pent within
His blustering Carkass. He has heard the News,
And comes to argue with his Friend the Devil,
The Reason of his No-Intelligence

Roch.
The Popedom now, and all the Wealth in Rome,
Can scarcely recompence him for the fright
This News has put him in—See how he staggers,
Giddy with th'height his Pride has rais'd him to.
'Tis then most fatal to unhappy England
When such Church Blazing-Stars appear in it.

[Ex. North. and Roch.
Card.
Marry'd in private, and declar'd his Queen!
Katherine divorc'd, and Anna Bullen marry'd!
Now, by our Holy Father's Triple-Crown
It must not, cannot, nay, it shall not be.
Where was your aid, that time, you slothful Saints,
You whom false Zeal created in more numbers
Than e're the Heathen made and worshipp'd Gods?
A Lutheran Queen upon the Throne of England!
She to lye in the Bosom of our Prince!
A Buxom King, that for a wanton Smile
Will pawn his Faith, and turn an Heretick!

Enter the Lady Elizabeth Blunt.
Blunt.
Awake thou wretched dreaming Priest, look up:
Can you behold your proud Saint Peter shake?
The mighty Pillar of that spreading Church
That holds the great Religion of the World
To stagger, and bestow no help, no aid
From mighty Woolsey's Shoulders to support it?
Is this the great King Cardinal, who late
From smallest Root began to shade the Land,
And stood the tallest Cedar of the Church?
Shame to thy Priest-hood, and thy Scarlet Robe,
Ev'n thou to whom the liberal See of Rome
Has given all, next giving of her self:
Unworthy Servant of so kind a Mistress.

Card.
What does the Fairest mean!

Blunt.
Ha! must I teach thee?
Art thou the Thing that from the Chaff of Mankind,
From the base scurrilous Rubbish of the World,
First found thy self a way to thrive by Wit?
Then edging it with sharpest Villanies,
Mow'd thee a passage to thy Princes Breast,
And cut down all the Virtuous from his sight,
Who chose thee for the Champion of his Vices;
Whilst thou with labour let loose all their Sluces,
And pour'd them like a Torrent in his Bosom?
This you did once confess to me, and more,
When you declar'd how hot you were in love—
Bullen is Queen, the Crown you promis'd me
Now wreaths her Head—Are these the hopes you gave me,
When once you said my Son should be a King?
The News not stirs your Wonder! Hell and Furies!

Card.
What wou'd you I should do to serve you?

Blunt.
Forgive me, tender Woolsey, pious Cardinal!
Shall I then teach your Scarlet Priesthood Blood?
I would have done as Alexander did,
The Sixth, and the most merciful so nam'd;
Are there no Consecrated Weapons left?
Or have you lost the Power to make 'em so?
Give me Saint Dagger or Saint Poison straight,
And I will do that Meritorious Act:
Dispatch her streight to Hell, from whence she fetch'd
Those Looks that robb'd me of the King and Crown.

Card.
Have patience, Madam.

Blunt.
Preach it to the Damn'd,
To those that feel the Rack or Inquisition—
Curse on your Gown Apologies: but more
Be curst the time of Bullen's fatal Birth,
Wrinkles like Age anticipate her Youth;
Mildews and Blasts devour her wanton Beauties,
Small-Pox and Leprosies rough-cast her o're;
Dig up her Charms and Features by the Roots,
And bury 'em in Pits as deep as Graves.

Card.
Study some Act that may revenge this Fury,
This hurts no more than Barks of Coward Curs;
She lives, and is as beautiful as ever:
Be rul'd by me, who like a dreadful Piece,
Am sure to kill, where-e're I take my aim,
Before they hear the Noise or see the Flame.

Blunt.
Oh tell me how to quench this Fire within!
That burns me up with thoughtful Injury.

Card.
An easie way I'le chalk to your Revenge,
A Road not steep, nor dangerous, but smooth;
So unsuspected, and so fatal too,
That the Queens Fancy and deluded Genius,
Shall tempt her in the same dissembled Path,
Taking her by the other hand with us,
And lead her in the Pit prepar'd for her.

Blunt.
Go on my Woolsey, charming as the young,
And more melodious than a Quire of Angels.

Card.
This then it is: The King you know's inconstant,
As jealous and as teasty as old Age,
So covetous of the pleasure he possesses,
That he who does but look upon't must dye,
With her, whose innocent Charms did force him to't.

Blunt.
But how shall we be backt with a pretence?

Card.
'Tis easie to give fire to that fond Breast
That is already charg'd with jealous Sulphur:
The Queen loves Piercy, that may be a means;
And Spies may be laid every where to watch
Their Private Meetings, and their very looks,
And then acquaint the Hot-brain'd King with it:
So streight their joyful Destinies are seal'd.

Blunt.
Most admirable!

Card.
If we fail in this,
Some cry'd-up Beauty, ne're yet seen at Court,
Must be found out, to put her in his way,
And take the Amorous King: 'Twill certain do;
For then no greedy Falcon, when he sees the Lure,
Will flye down swifter to be catch'd and hooded,
Than he into the Fetters of her Charms.

Blunt.
O come to my Embrace, thou Godlike Priest!
Balm to my wounded and my tortur'd Bosom.

Card.
Go streight, and haste about the Intelligence.

Blunt.
I will. Good Fortune has been so propitious,
To make young Rochford, Anna Bullen's Brother,
Enamour'd of my Beauty; him I'le mould,
Sound ev'ry thought of his unguarded Soul,
Linking him close in amorous Intrigues,
'Till I have discover'd from him our Design
Of Peircy's Love, and of his Sisters Conduct.

Card.
An Accident, the luckiest that could happen!
Behold the Queen in her first State and Greatness,—
But yet she bears it with no welcome meen:
Peircy hangs heavy on her heart, and in her Eyes;
It works, it manages as we would have it:
And in her heedless Innocence she sails,
Shunning no Rocks, no Quick-sands, nor no Danger,
But runs into her Ruine faster than
We wish.

Blunt.
Her Crown is hideous to my sight,
Its Jewels fatal as the Eyes of Basilisks:
O Cardinal! This Rival-Queen and I
Should never meet but in the Scales of Death,
That weigh all Mortals even and alike.

Queen Anne appears seated upon a Throne. Northumberland, Rochford, Lords, Ladies, Attendants and Guards about her.
Omnes.
Long live King Henry, and Queen Anne of England.

North.
Immortal live Great Queen of England, France,
And Ireland, and for ever rule the Heart
Of Conquering Henry, as he Reigns o're us
And all his faithful Subjects—
I speak it as the Wishes and the Voice
Of your most Loyal Kingdoms; to confirm it,
Sound straight your loudest Instruments of Joy,
And shout as I do, all that love their Queen.

Queen rises from her Throne,
[Shouts and Trumpets within.
Queen.
These Sounds might lift another to the Heav'ns!
But what is Musick to the Ear that's deaf;
Or Crowns and Scepters to a dying Wretch?
Despair turns all alike that comes to me,
Blind to the Pomp that glads all Eyes but mine,
Deaf to its Charms, and dead to all its Glories.
[Trumpets and Shouts again.
Cease you more empty Flatterers than Winds;
Be silent as the Sorrows in my Breast:
If you will give me ease, forbear such Flatteries:
For I receive 'em with as little joy,
As ev'n those silly Wretches utter them,
Having no other Reason but vile Custom.
My Noble Lords!
I know you all are Loyal to the King,
And for his sake you are thus kind to me;
But for the Rabble, who can read that Sphinx?
Their very Breath that now Proclaims, with joy,
Sad Katherine to be no longer Queen,
And my unwelcome Coronation,
Would the same moment, should my Stars permit,
Shout louder at the Sentence of my Death.

Card.
Most glorious and beloved of England's Queens!
O lay not on our Nation such a Curse,
As a suspicion of its Faith to you.
I dare be bold, and say it, as a Priest,
As Confessour to all my Country's Guilt,
There's none, how mean soever with my self,
But loves you more than life, or darling Riches,
Wishing to feel severest Penance here,
And Hell hereafter, rather than behold
You less a Queen, or less ador'd than now.

Queen.
They have my thanks, next kind good natur'd Woolsey,
Who cannot but be real, 'cause he says it.

Card.
Oh that your Majesty would think so ever,
And that my proud endeavours, with success,
First whisper'd in the Bosom of the King
The secret Wonders of your Mind and Person,
And made him soon discover all your Beauties,
Those rare Perfections, that above your Sex
Have merited his Passion and his Crown.

Queen.
O Reverend, pious, best of Cardinals!
Who too well knows
By whose high hand I climb'd this malic'd Greatness,
And wear this envy'd Crown.

Card.
May Heav'n and Stars
Pour their just hatred on—

Queen.
Cease Execrations;
For should they come to pass, as Heav'n forbid,
What wou'd the miserable Nation do?
Besides 'twere pity to the King and me,
That we should lose so exquisite a Head,
And such a Prelate should be damn'd so soon

Card.
Ten thousand Saints, more than my Royal Master,
Are Witnesses to th'truth of what I say.

Queen.
As many Saints and Myriads of bright Angels
Can witness of the blackness of thy Soul,
That canker'd first the Conscience of thy Master,
Misleading him with hopes to purge a sin,
To act the worst, ev'n a Religious Guilt—

Card.
The wise and just Omnipotence—

Queen.
No more:
Hell's not so full of Torments, as thy Soul
Has Blasphemies to be rewarded in it—
Give me some ease, just Heav'n! if there be any—
My Lords! if there's no more for you to act
To perfect or unmake this Ceremony,
(Oh that it cou'd be done!) retire a while,
And leave me with my Women for some Moments—
What am I then a Prisoner to be guarded?
Has then a Throne cost me so dear a Price,
As forfeit of my Liberty of Thinking?
Do Princes barter for their Crowns their Freedoms?
Good Heav'n! not think! nor pray if I have need—
If I am Queen, why am I not obey'd?

Card.
We'll all perform your Majesties Command.

[Ex. all but her Women.
Queen.
Am I got loose, loose from this worrying Scene
Of dismal State, that always loads a Monarch,
And racks him with dissembling Torturers?
O wretched state of Princes! that want nothing
But a Retreat from Business and from Crowds;
Yet wanting that, want every thing that's happy,
A Soul at ease—O sacred Solitude!
How aiery and delightful are thy Walks?
No stinging Serpent, nor worse Insect Man,
Disturb thy fragrant and enamell'd Paths;
No Winter-Blasts, nor Autumn Winds molest
Thy sacred Grotto's, all around is Summer;
Nothing broods there but an Eternal Spring,
Mild as all May, and Beautiful as Eden:
Thou charitable Good! that from th'afflicted
Unloads the heavy Burdens that oppress them,
And plants Repose in every Breast in stead!

Enter a Lady.
Lady.
The Lady Diana Talbot begs admittance,
To pay her Duty to your Majesty.

Queen.
What say'st! Thou'st rous'd a Dragon in my Breast.
Which I had thought for ever to have husht:
That Name sets every Pulse again at work
Within me—Talbot! how art thou mistaken?
She's Piercy's now; And Piercy all his hers.

Lady.
Shall she be brought to your Presence?

Queen.
Ay—No—Yes—
Do any thing, so 'twill be sure to kill me:
O Piercy! Piercy! would thou ne're hadst been
Unfaithful, or at least in being so,
Hadst never taught me how to be reveng'd:
But oh the dismal Pain is all my own,
And like an Arrow from an o'rebent Bow,
The hasty Dart turn'd back and hurt my self,
Wounding that Breast where I least meant my aim.
How soft and tender were our mutual Vows,
Which since another's Charms, like Lightning, blasted;
Whilst Parents Threats and Kings Authority,
Rent me, like Thunder, from my fixt Resolves:
Th'art marry'd now, and all those amorous sighs,
And passionate tears, with thousand Extasies,
Which we both learnt and taught to one another,
Like innocent Children in the School of love,
Are now the Arts with which, false man! th'hast caught
Anothers fond believing heart, they are.
Enter Lady Diana Talbot.
She comes, triumphant in her Eyes the joy
That once like Tides o're-flow'd my fruitful Breast.
How proud she bears her self to see my pain!
Whilst I look up to her, and sigh in vain!
But I will hide it, and forgive me Heav'n;
[Diana kneels.
For 'tis the first time that I e're dissembled—
“Rise dear Diana, you have been a Stranger;
Could nothing but a Queen drag you to Court?
I owe this Kindness to my Royalty,
And not your Friendship—

Dian.
Pardon, mighty Princess!
I had been blest for ever in your Presence,
Charming in all Estates as well as now,
Had I been Mistress of my Inclinations.
But—

Queen.
'Tis no matter, I'le allow your Reason,
A Cause so indispensible and just,
That 'twere a fault in me to blame such Virtue.

Dian.
Indeed a Parents Will ought still to be
Obey'd, next Duty to your Majesty.

Queen.
And something yet more binding—Do not blush—
Come I'le unriddle all, and spare your Tongue
The trouble, and your bashful Cheeks the Fire.

Dian.
What fire? what blushes do you tax me with?
I feel not any but what Wonder raises,
And blush because I cannot comprehend.

Queen.
You are unkind, why make it you a secret?
And but to me, when all the World reports it.

Dian.
There is no secret; nothing I would hide
From so ador'd a Friendship as my Queen's.

Queen.
Why d'you suspect me then? [Aside]
How loth she is
To tell it me! As loth as I to hear it:
Sure she suspects how fatal 'twill be to me;
And the proud man has triumph'd o're my weakness!
And told her all my passion with a scorn—
'Tis so; whilst poor, regardless, innocent I
Was all the while their Censure and their Pastime,
The Fool, whose Story acted made 'em sport,
And gave new edge to all their sated Joyes;
Nay and perhaps drew Pity from their Pride?
Pity! good Gods! must I endure their Pity?
You will not own it then? But 'tis no matter.
[To Diana.
When saw you Piercy?

Dian.
Piercy, Madam!

[She starts.
Queen.
Yes,
Why did you start! has he a Name so horrid?
But now you spoke as tho there were not such
A man i'th'World, and wonder'd at my meaning;
But yet have all the Agonies to hear him nam'd:
Him you would hide, but cannot hide your Blushes.

Dian.
Good Heav'n! by what strange Miracle have you
[aside.
Reveal'd my secret Passion to the Queen?
I never told my Grievance but to you,
And that but silently in broken Sighs
And stifled Tears—

Queen.
'Tis plain she is disturb'd!—
What can this mean? Sure one of us is mad!
[Aside.
Why all this Care to hide a Truth from me,
That is the common talk of all the World?
There's something in it more than yet I know,
Which I must search into by other means.
Madam, I thought when I had condescended
[To Diana.
To open my Breast, and mingle Friendships with you,
You would not then deny so small a Secret;
And now when I am Queen and may command it—
Therefore begone. Leave me without Reply.
Henceforth I'le know the Persons better, out
Of whom I mean to chuse a Friend—Farewell—
Piercy no doubt is not so fondly nice,
But brags, and tells the World of his proud Conquest.

Dian.
Forgive me first; then give me leave to tell you—
How 'twas disclos'd to you, the Wonder stuns me;
But Piercy knows not yet, nor shall from me,
This secret which I thought scarce Heav'n found out.

Queen.
Racks and worse Tortures! Frenzies of the mind!
Hence; take her from my sight: she will distract me.

Dian.
O hear me first: your Fury's not so dreadful,
As is my pain to tell: yet I'le confess:
[Kneels.
A fatal Truth it is, Piercy I love—
Now pity me, and quench my torturing Blushes:
For Heav'n reveal'd it to you for no Ill.

Queen.
I am amaz'd: still worse and worse, she stabs me,
And they're Abuses all—Ingrateful Woman!
Wouldst have me think thy lawful Passion such a wonder!
Is it a Crime for thee to love thy Husband?

Dian.
Ha! what is that you say? my Husband said you!
Meant you to mock th'unfortunate Diana?

Queen.
No. I will say't again; thy perjur'd Husband!

Dian.
Ah! Royal Madam! Piercy is more blest;
We are not Marry'd, he is not my Husband.

Queen.
Ha!

[Aside.
Dian.
That were to me too great a Happiness!

Queen.
Should this be true, what will become of me?
[Aside.
Diana rise: Are you not Marry'd, said you!

Dian.
So far from that, his Person I've not seen
In twelve long Months, this last long tedious year.

Queen.
Art not his Wife!

Dian.
By all your precious Hopes
And mine, I'm not.

Queen.
Is Piercy then not marry'd!
Support me Heaven! and with a wonder save me;
[Aside.
Call all thy Virtue and thy Courage streight
To help thee now, or thou art lost for ever.
Am I then cheated! and is Piercy faithful!
If I can bear all this, I challenge Atlas
To live under a Load so vast as mine.
Ah Piercy! injur'd Piercy! injur'd Bullen!
But hold, there's yet a greater task behind,
And that is to Dissemble well.—Diana!

Dian.
Madam—

Queen.
Thou wonder'st at my Curiosity,
As tho I were concern'd at this false Story.
I'll tell thee why: It has been long reported,
That you and Peircy were in private Marry'd.

Dian.
Such a report came likewise to my hearing;
But how 'twas rais'd, by whom, or why, I know not.

Queen.
Too well the dreadful cause of it I know.
[Aside.
This, when I heard, I took unkindly from you:
I was your Friend, you ought no more to steal
A Marriage from a Friend, than from a Father
And when you aggravated, as I thought,
By your unkind denial, it enrag'd me;
For which I hope, Diana, you'll forgive me—
Methinks I do it rarely—

[Aside.
Dian.
Best of Queens!
Thus on my Knees, I ought to beg that pardon:
I only did offend, my Gracious Mistress.

Queen.
Rise to my Arms—This Kiss now Seals thee mine
For ever.

Diana.
Oh most admirable Goodness!

Queen.
This tenderness betrays me, melts my Soul!
[Aside.
A fatal Engine that draws all my Griefs
Up to my Eyes and Lips, just ready to unload
And pour 'em in at once into her Breast,
Whom I, of all the World, should hide 'em from.
Oh for some Wild, some Desart to complain in,
Some vast and uninhabitable place;
Or else some Precipice that butts the Ocean,
The wide, and never to be fathom'd Ocean,
That I might tell the ecchoing Rocks my Woes,
And count my Sorrows to the Winds and Seas,
More pitiful, and more relenting far,
Than false and cruel Mankind is to me.

Dian.
You seem disturb'd! Ah! what inhumane Grief
Dares seize your Royal Breast?

Queen.
Come, dear Diana;
Go to my Closet with me; there, perhaps,
Some rest may quell this melancholly Monster;
And there it may not be amiss sometimes
To talk of Peircy, will it?

Dian.
Sacred Queen,
'Twill not; and oh! I wish that the Discourse
Would sooth your Soul with as much Joy as mine.

Queen.
These are the first of Miseries, the rest
Come rolling on apace, and, Katherine, now
Thou art Reveng'd—Just Heav'n, whose is the Sin?
Punish not me, I sought not to be Queen;
But Henry's Guilt amidst my Pomp is weigh'd,
And makes my Crown sit heavy on my Head,
To banish from his Bed, the chastest Bride,
That twenty years lay loving by his side!
How can I give it, without Tears, a Name,
When I reflect my Case may be the same?
And I, perhaps, as Slaves are by the Priest,
Thus gay and fine for Sacrifice am drest.
Ah! Katherine, do not envy me thy Throne,
For thou art far more happy that has none.

[Exeunt.