William Shakespeare: Henry VIII, Act II, Scene II
Enter Chamberlain, reading a letter
My lord, the horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and furnished. They were young and handsome, and of the best breed in the north. When they were ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by commission and main power, took 'em from me; with this reason: His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king; which stopped our mouths, sir.
He will have all, I think.
Enter, to Chamberlain, Norfolk and Suffolk
This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal:
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
Turns what he list. The king will know him one day.
And with what zeal! for, now he has crack'd the league
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew,
He dives into the king's soul, and there scatters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience,
Fears, and despairs; and all these for his marriage:
And out of all these to restore the king,
He counsels a divorce; a loss of her
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
Of her that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with; even of her
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the king: and is not this course pious?
These news are every where; every tongue speaks 'em,
And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare
Look into these affairs see this main end,
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon
This bold bad man.
And heartily, for our deliverance;
Or this imperious man will work us all
From princes into pages: all men's honours
Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd
Into what pitch he please.
I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed:
As I am made without him, so I'll stand,
If the king please; his curses and his blessings
Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in.
I knew him, and I know him; so I leave him
To him that made him proud, the pope.
And with some other business put the king
From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon him:
My lord, you'll bear us company?
The king has sent me otherwhere: besides,
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him:
Health to your lordships.
Exit Chamberlain; and King Henry VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively
Into my private meditations?
Who am I? ha?
Malice ne'er meant: our breach of duty this way
Is business of estate; in which we come
To know your royal pleasure.
Go to; I'll make ye know your times of business:
Is this an hour for temporal affairs, ha?
Enter Cardinal Wolsey and Cardinal Campeius, with a commission
The quiet of my wounded conscience;
Thou art a cure fit for a king.
To Cardinal Campeius
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom:
Use us and it.
To Cardinal Wolsey
I be not found a talker.
Aside to Norfolk
I would not be so sick though for his place:
But this cannot continue.
Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk
Above all princes, in committing freely
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom:
Who can be angry now? what envy reach you?
The Spaniard, tied blood and favour to her,
Must now confess, if they have any goodness,
The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
I mean the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms
Have their free voices: Rome, the nurse of judgment,
Invited by your noble self, hath sent
One general tongue unto us, this good man,
This just and learned priest, Cardinal Campeius;
Whom once more I present unto your highness.
And thank the holy conclave for their loves:
They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd for.
You are so noble. To your highness' hand
I tender my commission; by whose virtue,
The court of Rome commanding, you, my lord
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant
In the unpartial judging of this business.
Forthwith for what you come. Where's Gardiner?
So dear in heart, not to deny her that
A woman of less place might ask by law:
Scholars allow'd freely to argue for her.
To him that does best: God forbid else. Cardinal,
Prithee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary:
I find him a fit fellow.
Exit Cardinal Wolsey
Re-enter Cardinal Wolsey, with Gardiner
Aside to Gardiner
You are the king's now.
Aside to Cardinal Wolsey
For ever by your grace, whose hand has raised me.
Walks and whispers
And fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
Kept him a foreign man still; which so grieved him,
That he ran mad and died.
That's Christian care enough: for living murmurers
There's places of rebuke. He was a fool;
For he would needs be virtuous: that good fellow,
If I command him, follows my appointment:
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
For such receipt of learning is Black-Friars;
There ye shall meet about this weighty business.
My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. O, my lord,
Would it not grieve an able man to leave
So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience!
O, 'tis a tender place; and I must leave her.