KATHERINE

Nay, we must longer kneel; I am a Suitor. Thank your Majesty That you would love your self, and in that love Not unconsidered leave your Honour, nor The dignity of your Office; is the point Of my Petition. I am solicited not by a few, And those of true condition; That your Subjects Are in great grievance: There have been Commissions Sent down among they, which hath flawed the heart Of all their Loyalties; wherein, although My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches Most bitterly on you, as butter on Of these exactions: yet the King, our Master Whose Honour Heaven shield from soil; even he escapes not Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks The sides of loyalty, and almost appears In loud Rebellion. No, my Lord? You know no more then others? But you frame Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome To those which would not know them, and yet must Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions (Whereof my Sovereign would have note) they are Most pestilent to the hearing, and to bear they, The Back is Sacrifice to the load; They say They are devised by you, er else you suffer Too hard and exclamation. I am much too venturous In tempting of your patience; but am boldened Under your promised pardon. The Subjects grief Comes through Commissions, which compels from each The sixth partly of his Substance, to be levied Without delay; and the pretence for this Is named, your wars in France: this makes bold mouths, Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze Allegiance in them; their curses now Live where their prayers did: and it's come to pass, This tractable obedience is a Slave To each incensed Will: I would your Highness Would give it quick consideration; for There is no primer baseness. I am sorry, that the Duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure. My learned Lord Cardinal, Deliver all with Charity. If I know you well, You were the Dukes Surveyor, and lost your Office On the complaint of the Tenants; take good heed You charge not in your spleen a Noble person, And spoil your nobler Soul; I say, take heed; Yes, heartily beseech you. God mend all. My Lord, my Lord, I am a simple woman, much too weak to oppose your cunning. you are meek, & humble-mouth'd You sign your Place, and Calling, in full seeming, With Meekness and Humility: but your Heart Is crammed with Arrogancy, Spleen, and Pride. You have by Fortune, and his Highness favors, Gone slightly over low steps, and now are mounted Where Powers are your Retainers, and your words (Domestics to you) serve your will, as't please Your self pronounce their Office. I must tell you, You tender more your persons Honour, then Your high profession Spiritual. That again I do refuse you for my Judge, and here Before you all, Appeal unto the Pope, To bring my whole Cause before his Holiness, And to be judged by him. Take thy Lute wench, My Soul grows sad with troubles, Sing, and disperse they if thou canst: leave working: ORpheus with his Lute made Trees, And the Mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing. To his Music, Plants and Flowers Ever sprung; as Sun and Showers, There had made a lasting Spring. Every thing that herd him play, Even the Billows of the Sea, Hung their heads, & then lay by. In sweet Music is such Art, Killing care, & grief of heart, Fallen asleep, or hearing die. How now? Would they speak with me? Pray their Graces To come near: what can be their business With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour? I do not Like their coming; now I think on't, They should be good men, their affairs as righteous: But all Hoods, make not Monks. Your Graces find me here partly of a Housewife, (I would be all) against the worst may happen: What are your pleasures with me, reverent Lords? Speak it here. There's nothing I have done yet of my Conscience Deserves a Corner: would all other Women Could speak this with as free a Soul as I do. My Lords, I care not (so much I am happy Above a number) if my actions Were tri'de by every tongue, every eye saw they, Envy and base opinion set against they, I know my life so even. If your business Seek me out, and that way I am Wife in; Out with it boldly: Truth loves open dealing. Oh good my Lord, no Latin; I am not such a Truant since my coming, As not to know the Language I have lived in: A strange Tongue makes my cause more strange, suspiti ous: Pray speak in English; here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor Mistress sake; Believe me she ha had much wrong. Lord Cardinal, The willingest' sin I ever yet committed, May be absolved in English. To betray me. My Lords, I thank you both for your good wills, You speak Like honest men, (pray God you prove so) But how to make you suddenly and Answer In such a point of weight, so near mine Honour, (More near my Life I fear) with my weak wit; And to such men of gravity and learning; In truth I know not. I was set at work, Among my Maids, full little (God knows) looking Either for such men, or such business; For her sake that I have been, for I feel The last fit of my Greatness; good your Graces Let me have time and Council for my Cause: Alas, I am a Woman frendlesse, hopeless. In England, But little for my profit can you think Lords, That any English man dare give me Council? Or be a known friend against his Highness pleasure, (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest) And live a Subject? Nay forsooth, my Friends, They that must weigh out my afflictions, They that my trust must grow to, live not here, They are (as all my other comforts) far hence In mine own Country Lords. How Sir? You tell me what you wish for both, my ruin: Is this your Christian Council? Out upon you. Heaven is above all yet; there sits a Judge. That no King can corrupt. The more shame for you; holy men I thought you, Upon my Soul two reverend Cardinal Virtues: But Cardinal Sins, and hollow hearts I fear you: Mend they for shame my Lords: Is this your comfort? The Cordial that you bring a wretched Lady? A woman lost among you, laughed at, scorned? I will not wish you half my Misery's, I have more Charity. But say I warned you; Take heed, for heavens sake take heed, least at once The burden of my sorrows, fallen upon you. Lord Cardinal, to you I speak. Sir, I am about to weep; but thinking that We are a Queen (or long have dreamed so) certain The daughter of a King, my drops of tears, I'll turn to sparks of fire. I will, when you are humble; Nay before, Or God will punish me. I do believe (Induced by potent Circumstances) that You are mine Enemy, and make my Challenge, You shall not be my Judge. For it is you Have blown this Coal, betwixt my Lord, and me; (Which Gods Due quench) therefore, I say again, I utterly abhor; yea, from my Soul Refuse you for my Judge, whom yet once more I hold my most malicious Foe, and think not At all a Friend to truth. Have I lived thus long (let me speak my self, Since Virtue finds no friends) a Wife, a true one? A Woman (I dare say without Vainglory) Never yet branded with Suspicion? Have I, with all my full Affections Still met the King? Loved him next Heaven? Obeyed him? Been (out of fondness) superstitious to him? Almost forgotten my Prayres to content him? And am I thus rewarded? It's not well Lords. Bring me a constant woman to her Husband, One that never dreamed a Joy, beyond his pleasure; And to that Woman (when she has done most) Yet will I add and Honour; a great Patience. My Lord, I dare not make my self so guilty, To give up willingly that Noble Title Your Master wed me to: nothing but death Shall ever divorce my Dignities. Would I had never trod this English Earth, Or felt the Flatteries that grow upon it: You have Angels Faces; but Heaven knows your hearts. What will become of me now, wretched Lady? I am the most unhappy Woman living. Alas (poor Wenches) where are now your Fortune's? Shipwrecked upon a Kingdom, where no Pity, No Friends, no Hope, no Kindred weep for me? Almost no Grave allowed me? Like the Lily That once was Mistress of the Field, and flourished, I'll hang my head, and perish. Do what you will, my Lords: And pray forgive me; If I have used my self unmannerly, You know I am a Woman, lacking wit To make a seemly answer to such persons. Pray do my service to his Majesty, He ha my heart yet, and shall have my Prayers While I shall have my life. Come reverend Father's, Bestow your Counsels on me. She now begs That little thought when she set footing here, She should have bought her Dignities so deer. What needs you note it? pray you keep your way, When you are called return. Now the Lord help, They vex me passed my patience, pray you pass on; I will not tarry: no, nor ever more Upon this business my appearance make, In any of their Courts. You turn me into nothing. Woe upon you, And all such false Professors. Would you have me (If you have any Justice, any Pity, If you be any thing but Churchmen's habits) Put my sick cause into his hands, that hates me? Alas, ha banished me his Bed already, His Love, too long ago. I am old my Lords, And all the Fellowship I hold now with him Is only my Obedience. What can happen To me, above this wretchedness? All your Studies Make me a Curse, Like this. Oh Griffith, sick to death: My Legs Like loaded Branches bow to the Earth, Willing to leave their burden: Reach a Chair, So now (me thinks) I feel a little ease. Didst thou not tell me Griffith, as thou leadest me, That the great Child of Honour, Cardinal Wolsey Was dead? Prithee good Griffith, tell me how he died If well, he stepped before me happily For my example. Alas poor man So may he rest, His Faults lie gently on him: Yet thus far Griffith, give me leave to speak him, And yet with Charity. He was a man Of and unbounded stomach, ever ranking Himself with Princes. One that by suggestion Tied all the Kingdom. Simony, was fair play, His own Opinion was his Law. In the presence He would say untruths, and be ever double Both in his words, and meaning. He was never (But where he meant to Ruin) pitiful. 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. Yes good Griffith, I were malicious else. After my death, I wish no other Herald, No other speaker of my living Actions, To keep mine Honour, from Corruption, But such and honest Chronicler as Griffith. Whom I most hated Living, thou hast made me With thy Religious Truth, and Modesty, (Now in his Ashes) Honour: Peace be with him. Patience, be near me still, and set me lower. I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith, Cause the Musicians play me that sad note I named my Knell; whilst I fit meditating On that Celestial Harmony I go too. Spirits of peace, where are you? Are you all gone? And leave me here in wretchedness, behind you? It is not you I call for, Saw you none enter since I slept? 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? They promised me eternal Happiness, And brought me Garlands (Griffith) which I feel I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall assuredly. Bid the Music leave, They are harsh and heavy to me. You are a saucy Fellow, Deserve we no more Reverence? Admit him entrance Griffith. But this Fellow Let me never see again. If my sighed fail not, You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor, My Royal Nephew, and your name Capuchius. Oh my Lord, The Times and Titles now are altered strangely With me, since first you knew me. But I pray you, What is your pleasure with me? Oh my good Lord, that comfort comes too late, It's Like a Pardon after Execution; That gentle Physic given in time, had cured me: But now I am passed all Comforts here, but Prayers. How does his Highness? So may he ever do, and ever flourish, When I shall dwell with Worms, and my poor name Banished the Kingdom. Patience, is that Letter I caused you write, yet sent away? Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver This to my Lord the King. In which I have commended to his goodness The Model of our chaste loves: his young daughter, The dews of Heaven fallen thick in Blessings on her, Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding. She is young, and of a Noble modest Nature, I hope she will deserve well; and a little To love her for her Mother's sake, that loved him, Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor Petition, Is, that his Noble Grace would have some pity Upon my wretched women, that so long Have followed both my Fortune's, faithfully, Of which there is not one, I dare avow (And now I should not lie) but will deserve For Virtue, and true Beauty of the Soul, For honesty, and decent Carriage A right good Husband (let him be a Noble) And sure those men are happy that shall have they. The last is for my men, they are the poorest, (But poverty could never draw they from me) That they may have their wages, duly paid they, And something over to remember me by. If Heaven had pleased 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 peoples Friend, and urge the King To do me this last right. I thank you honest Lord. Remember me In all humility unto his Highness: Say his long trouble now is passing Out of this world. Tell him in death I blessed him (For so I will) mine eyes grow dim. Farewell My Lord. Griffith farewell. Nay Patience, Vou must not leave me yet. I must to bed, Call in more women. When I am dead, good Wench, Let me be used with Honour; strew me over With Maiden Flowers, that all the world may know I was a chaste Wife, to my Grave: Embalm me, Then lay me forth (although queened) yet Like A Queen, and Daughter to a King enterre me. I can no more.