Henry VIII

All princely graces That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her.

Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long To have this young one made a Christian. As I have made ye one, lords, one remain: So I grow stronger, you more honor gain.

for those that tame wild horses Pace ’em not in their hands to make ’em gentle, But stop their mouths with stubborn bits and spur ’em Till they obey the manage.

Good grows with her; In her days every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors.

Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee. By all that’s holy, he had better starve Than but once think his place becomes thee not.

Heaven, from thy endless goodness send prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England, Elizabeth!

I had thought They had parted so much honesty among ’em— At least good manners—as not thus to suffer A man of his place, and so near our favor, To dance attendance on their lordships’ pleasures, And at the door too, like a post with packets.

If they smile, And say ’twill do, I know within a while All the best men are ours; for ’tis ill hap If they hold when their ladies bid ’em clap.

My good lords: hitherto, in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labor’d, And with no little study, that my teaching And the strong course of my authority Might go one way, and safely; and the end Was ever to do well;

My mind gave me, In seeking tales and informations Against this man, whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at, Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!

My noble gossips, y’ have been too prodigal. I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, When she has so much English.

nor is there living (I speak it with a single heart, my lords) A man that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience and his place, Defacers of a public peace than I do.

Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir As great in admiration as herself, So shall she leave her blessedness to one (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness) Who from the sacred ashes of her honor Shall star-like rise as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix’d

O Lord Archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man! Never, before This happy child, did I get any thing.

She shall be, to the happiness of England, An aged princess; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it.

The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such an honor; how may I deserve it, That am a poor and humble subject to you?

These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse and fight for bitten apples, that no audience but the tribulation of Tower-hill or the limbs of Lime-house, their dear brothers, are able to endure.

They fell on, I made good my place; at length they came to th’ broom-staff to me, I defied ’em still, when suddenly a file of boys behind ’em, loose shot, deliver’d such a show’r of pibbles, that I was fain to draw mine honor in, and let ’em win the work. The devil was amongst ’em, I think, surely.

This oracle of comfort has so pleas’d me That when I am in heaven I shall desire To see what this child does, and praise my Maker.

Where ever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honor and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations.

Would I had known no more! But she must die, She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To th’ ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

And if there be No great offense belongs to’t, give your friend Some touch of your late business. Affairs that walk (As they say spirits do) at midnight, have In them a wilder nature than the business That seeks dispatch by day.

I’ll not come back, the tidings that I bring Will make my boldness manners. Now good angels Fly o’er thy royal head, and shade thy person Under their blessed wings!

Most dread liege, The good I stand on is my truth and honesty. If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, Will triumph o’er my person, which I weigh not, Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing What can be said against me.

These should be hours for necessities, Not for delights; times to repair our nature With comforting repose, and not for us To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas! Whither so late?

First, mine own service to your Grace, the next, The King’s request that I would visit you, Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me Sends you his princely commendations, And heartily entreats you take good comfort.

No? Saw you not even now a blessed troop Invite me to a banquet, whose bright faces Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?

The last is for my men (they are the poorest, But poverty could never draw ’em from me), That they may have their wages duly paid ’em, And something over to remember me by. If heaven had pleas’d to have given me longer life And able means, we had not parted thus.

These are the whole contents, and, good my lord, By that you love the dearest in this world, As you wish Christian peace to souls departed, Stand these poor people’s friend, and urge the King To do me this last right.

Good Griffith, Cause the musicians play me that sad note I nam’d my knell, whilst I sit meditating On that celestial harmony I go to.

His overthrow heap’d happiness upon him; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little; And to add greater honors to his age Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

His promises were, as he then was, mighty; But his performance, as he is now, nothing. Of his own body he was ill, and gave The clergy ill example.

Such joy I never saw before. Great-bellied women, That had not half a week to go, like rams In the old time of war, would shake the press And make ’em reel before ’em. No man living Could say, “This is my wife” there, all were woven So strangely in one piece.

’Tis well. The citizens I am sure have shown at full their royal minds— As, let ’em have their rights, they are ever forward In celebration of this day with shows, Pageants, and sights of honor.

Be just, and fear not; Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O Cromwell, Thou fall’st a blessed martyr!”

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forc’d me (Out of thy honest truth) to play the woman.

May he continue Long in his Highness’ favor, and do justice For truth’s sake and his conscience, that his bones, When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphants’ tears wept on him!

Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, Found thee a way, out of his wrack, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it.

The King has cur’d me, I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin’d pillars, out of pity taken A load would sink a navy—too much honor. O, ’tis a burden, Cromwell, ’tis a burden Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!

Then, that you have sent innumerable substance (By what means got, I leave to your own conscience) To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways You have for dignities, to the mere undoing Of all the kingdom. Many more there are, Which since they are of you, and odious, I will not taint my mouth with.

This is the state of man: today he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes, tomorrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls as I do.

Believe it, this is true. In the divorce his contrary proceedings Are all unfolded; wherein he appears As I would wish mine enemy.

For your great graces Heap’d upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks, My pray’rs to heaven for you, my loyalty, Which ever has and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it.

I am joyful To meet the least occasion that may give me Remembrance of my father-in-law, the Duke, To be reveng’d on him.

I have touch’d the highest point of all my greatness, And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.

KING. You have said well. WOL. And ever may your Highness yoke together (As I will lend you cause) my doing well With my well saying!

Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left To some ears unrecounted. But, my lords, She is a gallant creature, and complete In mind and feature. I persuade me, from her Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall In it be memoriz’d.

My lord, we have Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion Is in his brain; he bites his lip, and starts, Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground, Then lays his finger on his temple;

My sovereign, I confess your royal graces Show’r’d on me daily have been more than could My studied purposes requite, which went Beyond all man’s endeavors.

straight Springs out into fast gait, then stops again, Strikes his breast hard, and anon he casts His eye against the moon. In most strange postures We have seen him set himself.