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You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers
Yet are the king's; and, till my soul forsake me,
Shall cry for blessings on him: May he live
Longer than I have time to tell his years!
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be!
And, when old time shall lead him to his end,
Goodness and he fill up one monument!

lore. To the water side I must conduct your grace; Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end.

Vaux. Prepare there.

The duke is coming: see, the barge be ready;
And fit it with such furniture, as suits
The greatness of his person.

Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas,

Let it alpne; my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable,
And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward

Bohun16:

Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it;
And with that blood will make them one day groan

for't.

My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant Banister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!
Henry the seventh succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal prince,

Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of rains,

Made my name once more noble. Now his son,

Henry the eighth, life, honour, name, and all

That made me happy, at one stroke has taken

For ever from the world. I had my trial,

And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes me

A little happier than my wretched father:

Yet thus far we are one in fortunes,—Both

Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most;

A most unnatural and faithless service!

Heaven has an end in all: Yet, you that hear me,

This from a dying man receive as certain:

Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels,

Be sure, you be not loose; for those you make

friends,

And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewell:

And when you would say something that is sad,
Speak how I fell.—I have done; and God forgive

me! [Exeunt Buckingham and Train.

1 Gent. O, this is full of pity !—Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their heads.,

That were the authors.

2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless, Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling

Of an ensuing evil, if it fill,
Greater than this.

1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us! What may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir?

2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it.

1 Gent. Let me have it; I do not talk much.

2 Gent. I am confident;

You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear
A buzzing, of a separation
Between the king and Katharine?

1 Gent. Yes, but it held not: For when the king once heard it, out of anger

He sent command to the lord mayor, straight
To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues
That durst disperse it.

2 Gent. But that slander, sir,
Is found a truth now: for it grows again
Fresher than e'er it was; and held for certain,
The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal,
Or some about him near, have, out of malice

To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple
That will undo her: To confirm this too,
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately;
As all think, for this business.

1 Gent. Tis the cardinal;

And merely to revenge him on the emperor,
For not bestowing on him, at his asking,
The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd.

2 Gent. I think, you have hit the mark: But is't

not cruel,

That she should feel the smart of this? The cardinal Will have his will, and she must fall.

1 Gent. "Tis woful.

We are too open here to argue this;
Let's think in private more. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Antichamler in the Palace.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a letter.,

Cham. My lord,The horses your lordship sent for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden, and fornuhed. 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 paver, took 'em front me; with this reason,His master would be served before a subject, if not before the king: which stopp'd our mouths, sir.

I fear, he will, indeed: Well, let him have them;
He will have all, I think.

Enter the Dukes ofNouFOLK and Suffolk.

Nor. Well met, my good

Lord chamberlain.
Cham. Good day to both your graces.

Suf. How is the king employ'd?

Cham. I left him private

Full of sad thoughts and troubles.

Nor. What's the cause?

Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's

wife Has crept too near his conscience.

Suf. No, his conscience

Has crept too near another lady.

Nor. "Tig so;

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.

Suf. Pray God, he do! he'll never know himself else.

Nor. How holily he works in all his business! 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

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