Act II · Scene III
An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments.
Hover a speech to translate it — or press play to hear it performed.
Enter ANNE and an Old Lady
ANNE
Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches:His highness having lived so long with her, and sheSo good a lady that no tongue could everPronounce dishonour of her; by my life,She never knew harm-doing: O, now, afterSo many courses of the sun enthroned,Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the whichTo leave a thousand-fold more bitter than'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process,To give her the avaunt! it is a pityWould move a monster.
Old Lady
Hearts of most hard temperMelt and lament for her.
ANNE
O, God's will! much betterShe ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal,Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorceIt from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance pangingAs soul and body's severing.
Old Lady
Alas, poor lady!She's a stranger now again.
ANNE
So much the moreMust pity drop upon her. Verily,I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born,And range with humble livers in content,Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief,And wear a golden sorrow.
Old Lady
Our contentIs our best having.
ANNE
By my troth and maidenhead,I would not be a queen.
Old Lady
Beshrew me, I would,And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you,For all this spice of your hypocrisy:You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,Have too a woman's heart; which ever yetAffected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,Saving your mincing, the capacityOf your soft cheveril conscience would receive,If you might please to stretch it.
ANNE
Nay, good troth.
Old Lady
Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen?
ANNE
No, not for all the riches under heaven.Old Lady: 'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me,Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you,What think you of a duchess? have you limbsTo bear that load of title?
ANNE
No, in truth.
Old Lady
Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little;I would not be a young count in your way,For more than blushing comes to: if your backCannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weakEver to get a boy.
ANNE
How you do talk!I swear again, I would not be a queenFor all the world.
Old Lady
In faith, for little EnglandYou'ld venture an emballing: I myselfWould for Carnarvonshire, although there long'dNo more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
Enter Chamberlain
Chamberlain
Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to knowThe secret of your conference?
ANNE
My good lord,Not your demand; it values not your asking:Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.
Chamberlain
It was a gentle business, and becomingThe action of good women: there is hopeAll will be well.
ANNE
Now, I pray God, amen!
Chamberlain
You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessingsFollow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note'sTa'en of your many virtues, the king's majestyCommends his good opinion of you, andDoes purpose honour to you no less flowingThan Marchioness of Pembroke: to which titleA thousand pound a year, annual support,Out of his grace he adds.
ANNE
I do not knowWhat kind of my obedience I should tender;More than my all is nothing: nor my prayersAre not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishesMore worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishesAre all I can return. Beseech your lordship,Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness;Whose health and royalty I pray for.
Chamberlain
Lady,I shall not fail to approve the fair conceitThe king hath of you.
Aside
Chamberlain
I have perused her well;Beauty and honour in her are so mingledThat they have caught the king: and who knows yetBut from this lady may proceed a gemTo lighten all this isle? I'll to the king,And say I spoke with you.
Exit Chamberlain
ANNE
My honour'd lord.
Old Lady
Why, this it is; see, see!I have been begging sixteen years in court,Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor couldCome pat betwixt too early and too lateFor any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie uponThis compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd upBefore you open it.
ANNE
This is strange to me.
Old Lady
How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no.There was a lady once, 'tis an old story,That would not be a queen, that would she not,For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it?
ANNE
Come, you are pleasant.
Old Lady
With your theme, I couldO'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke!A thousand pounds a year for pure respect!No other obligation! By my life,That promises moe thousands: honour's trainIs longer than his foreskirt. By this timeI know your back will bear a duchess: say,Are you not stronger than you were?
ANNE
Good lady,Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,And leave me out on't. Would I had no being,If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me,To think what follows.The queen is comfortless, and we forgetfulIn our long absence: pray, do not deliverWhat here you've heard to her.
Old Lady
What do you think me?
Exeunt