822 B58I , A CROWN FOR LOVE. A PLA V IN FIVE ACTS. BY EMILIA AYLMER BLAKE. LONDON:' EMIT/": FAITHFULL, ITUNTER IN ORDINARY* TO THE QUEEN, 85 , I'RA.MD STREET’ W. 1 87 5 . si CROWN FOR LOVE. A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS. Dramatis Ipirsom KING HENRY THE EIGHTH. THOMAS, DUKE OF NORFOLK, President "of the Council. CHARLES BRANDON, DUKE OF SUFFOLK, Vice-President of the same. EARL OF NORTHUMBERLAND. PERCY, his son, afterwards EARL OF NORTH¬ UMBERLAND. ADAM ARMOUR, a Blacksmith. SIR THOMAS WYATT. SIR HENRY NORRIS. GEORGE BOLEYN, afterwards VISCOUNT ROCHFORD. SIR WILLIAM KINGSTON, Lieutenant of the Tower. The EXECUTIONER. ANNE BOLEYN, afterwards Queen. The LADY MARY. ) daughters The LADY ELIZABETH (a child) / to the king. JANE SEYMOUR. LADY ROCHFORD. AMICE, woman to Anne Boleyn. LADY KINGSTON. Yeomen, Peasants, Lords of the Council, Courtiers Guards, Citizens, &c., &c. Ladies of the Court, Maids of Honour, Countrywomen, &c. Time 1532 to 1536 . S2.Z A CROWN FOE LOVE. ACT I. Scene I. —Gardens of Hever Castle, Kent . A rural festival . Enter Sir Thomas Wyatt and Sir Henry Norris, meeting. Norris. What’s this % You seem merrier here than we at Court—some rustic festival h Ah ! well met, Sir Thomas Wyatt. Still constant, I see, in service to fair Mistress Anne. Can you tell me the meaning of all this hurley among the country folk % ) Wyatt. Well, yes. These are customary revels ; the heir of Hever Castle comes of age to-day—Master George, Sir Thomas Boleyn’s only son, whose sister Anne has set her affections on the young Lord Percy, ^ heir to the proud Earl of Northumberland. Norris. Who does not care for her h She were a fool To dim with tears, for love of such as him, A cream-faced lout that knows not his own mind, Those eyes of hers, whose soul-subduing glance Should pierce with keener aim than steel or fire, Through every obstacle of form and law, Reason of State and panoply of pride, Her passage to the royal bed of England. Ah, King Harry loves her better than his crown. Fair Mistress Anne is not for me or you. I turn for consolation to the maid, & ; o 4 } s ' A 4 A CROWN FOR LOVE, My pretty Amice—ah, I see her now ! ’Twill be a brisk encounter of our wits; She’s sharp and swift as my Toledo blade. How do you, pretty Amice % Amice (entering). Sir ! your business Is with Sir Thomas Boleyn, I presume % Norris. A false thrust, Amice. Come now, what wilt thou give me if I tell thee what I have to say to thy mistress ? Come, a kiss, and make it two if thou canst. Amice. No, no ! The news first, payment afterwards. I fear you’ll be a hard creditor. Norris. Ah, but thou canst not resist me; thou’rt a woman, and curious, Well, I’ll torment thee yet a bit; thou shalt not hear this news. Amice Well, we can live without your news, both I and Mistress Anne. The young Lord Percy is within. Norris. Can she think of him that might have me ? Amice. I’ll be bound she might—or any woman, for the asking. Norris. Now, if it were thy case, woulds’t thou be so hard, eh, pretty Amice % Amice. How can I tell ] unless you put the question to me in sober seriousness. Norris. In sober seriousness, then—I will not have you. Amice. I never asked you, sir ! Norris. Nay, you do but as you are taught, for lack of better knowledge ; making store of the salt of your wit to cast upon a bird’s tail; but I’m not to be caught. No, no, no ! Amice. Boh, you goose ! Here comes young Master George and the revellers. Norris. By’r Lady, so they do ! Well, you may take yourself aWay, pretty Amice ; but first, you shall have my news—hist ! the king is coming here to day ! Amice. Heaven save us ! King Henry himself] Norris. King Harry—not old Harry, remember ! our gracious sovereign is most touchy on the point of his age. Aha ! I’ve brought you down, my tricksy bird. I thought I should. Good-bye ! A CROWN FOR LOVE. 5 (Exit Amice. Maypole Dance. Shouts.) Ah, here’s the youthful hero of the day 1 (Enter George Boleyn, Guests , Yeomen , and Peasants). George B. You’re welcome, friends, to our family fes¬ tivity. Bemember, I’m twenty one to-day, and my own master; henceforward, I write myself a man. Here’s somewhat to drink my health, and whenever I become your master—heaven send at a day long dis¬ tant—you shall have double the money for the same compliment. Now go and begin the games; by-and- bye, my father and mother, with my sister, will grace you—anon, anon, good friends. (Cheers and exeunt.) Wyatt. Why, George ? George. Welcome, good Thomas, and you too, Sir Henry. My good father and his better half, my revered stepmother, will rejoice to see you. Norris. Well, I believe I do bring you good luck along with me. But what’s this noise ? Your country people are somewhat boisterous in their mirth. George. By George, my holy patron, so they are ! Why, they’re in full cry like a pack of hounds after some wretched object they’ve started. What is it % A hare or a mad dog ? ( looking off.) Wyatt, ’Tis a man, George, a man ! Stop them. Norris. Who can it be 1 ? Some sturdy beggar or thief, or perhaps a lunatic— George. There, they’ve brought him down ! they’ll tear him to pieces, the cowards ! I’ll spoil their sport. Here, Wyatt! Wyatt. Have with you, man ! (Exeunt George Boleyn and Wyatt). Norris, (looking off) He has risen from the ground— he faces round upon his pursuers; By’r Lady a stout fellow, such as King Harry loves to look upon ! I don’t care if I strike a blow in his quarrel too ! Hullo, they are here I 6 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Enter Adam Armour, George Boleyn, and Wyatt, followed by the crowd . Armour. Stand back and hear me, friends ! If ye be men, Hunt me not like a savage beast; I am God’s offspring like yourselves, a fellow man, Though strange in speech, and something wild in garb, Shiftless and travel torn ; hard pressed by want To seek my food by work in brass or steel, My calling as a smith —a higher call Bade me neglect to earn the daily bread By which, alone, man doth not live—good friends, I am one man, unarmed, then spare to take My life, you cannot give it back again. ( Murmurs.) George. Stir at your peril, knaves ! You, sir, the law Must deal with; come with me before my father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, Justice of the Peace. Armour. So please you, can I speak with Mistress Anne, Privately, and in haste % George. My sister, hind, Hold speech with thee ! Norris. Nay, friend, thou’rt something rude Of accent to converse with courtly dames, Though rich in one inestimable gift— Thy own conceit. Wyatt. Give me thy message, man, If it be worthy of the lady’s ear, I’ll bear it faithfully. Enter Anne Boleyn and Percy. Anne. Where is my brother ? Oh, George! George. What is the matter, sister Anne ? Anne. Out of the window of my turret room I saw a strange, wild man, pursued with stones And murderous cries by our retainers ! George, Rescue him, I entreat you ! Where is he ? George. There, safe and sound. Armour. God bless you, Mistress Anne ! A CROWN FOR LOVE. 7 Wilt please you hear me speak a word alone, For old acquaintance’ sake ] Percy. Who art thou, knave h George. Truly, I kno w him not. Anne. Your patience, George; I’ve seen that face, perchance ’twas in a dream. Armour. Nay, mistress; when I came from Scotland first, I earned my living at your father’s hall,— Blickling in Norfolk, where yourself were born. Ay, many a time I’ve stayed my hammer’s blows To watch you on your pony trotting past; Leaping the brook one day, he cast a shoe, And all in tears you came to ask for help Of Adam Armour; yea, I mind you still, A wee bit lassie, truly even that time A fearless rider. Anne. George, I know him well, My mother’s humble friend : leave us together. Good brother, let the old man have his will; For my sake do so, go. George. Please yourself, sister, You may repent it though. Come gentlemen. Wyatt. We follow you. Norris. Fair Mistress Anne, your slave ! (Exeunt George Boleyn, Wyatt and Norris). Percy. Am I no partner in your conference, Anne ? Armour. Bemain, young lord, my errand touches you Not less than Mistress Anne : I have heard tell King Henry, weary of his wedded wife, Casts eyes of longing on your jewel here. Percy. That must not be; she is my love, my wife In sight of heaven ! Armour. Wed her in the church, A maid unstained ; so the royal power Of England dare not pluck her from your hand ! Do it, while yet ’tis time. Percy. Should I not ask My father’s blessing and consent ? A CROWN FOR LOVE. 8 Armour. Oh, ay ! If asking may obtain’t, and reconcile Your duty with your honour ; but if not, The dearest right is hers, whose virgin love, If you be man, shall plead within your heart To cherish and protect her innocence. Percy. You argue like a doctor, my good man ; A strange pass this we’ve come to, lords and knights, If bound to choose which narrow path of duty Your wisdom may prescribe. Who sent you here To be my teacher h Armour. Mock me if you will, My lord, I care not: for a helpless girl— Her mother’s spirit rests upon me now— I urge the claims of nature, love, and truth; And were I but the basest churl that wears The common form of man, and you a prince, Dare you to answer me ! Percy. Insolent knave ! Dost thou not know she has a knightly father And brother to protect her h Get thee gone, Lest worse than words chastise thee. Anne. Let him be, If you in aught regard me. A dam Armour, We’ll say no more of this ; go in, take rest; Go, leave us, Adam. Go ! Armour. God bless you, lass ! (exit). Percy. Anne, do you know that man t l Are such your means To keep my heart in thrall h Anne. Ho need of this ; Throw me away, fulfil with heart and hand Your father’s hest : match with a nobler bride, Earl Shrewsbury’s daughter ; I release your vow, Light as the air that made it • as for me-— Your castaway shall wed a royal king ! Percy. Is this thy answer, Anne ? Canst thou not trust me 'l To steer thee safe to shore by true love’s course Through dangerous currents h But I see it now, A CROWN FOR LOVE. 9 Worldly respect is woman’s only care, There is no love in you. Anne. No love in me ! Dost thou upbraid me, Percy h give me back The peaceful days of careless maidenhood, And teach me to forget thee ! Percy. I was wrong, That marred thy opening day with sorrow clouds, Linked my dark spirit to thy happy life. Then be the past as it had never been For love or hate, and let us part for ever. Anne. For ever, and in anger—no, recall Those cruel words ! would I had never seen Yon court of England’s king, where first my eye Met the bright form I could not choose but love. I saw thee, Percy, and my heart took wings, Borne out by strong affection unto thee ! Wilt spurn the trembling captive from thy breast ? Thou canst not do’t; nay, rather kill me here ! Percy. Kill thee, my love ! Anne. T’were kinder than to bid Me part from thee and live ; I would to heaven That we had lived and loved in humbler state, Toiling for daily bread ; or as the birds That build their nests, safe buried midst the trees From fear of separation ; oh, I’d sing, All through the summer night, until our souls, Mingling in love’s fond kiss, should float away, Bapt up to heaven on streams of harmony ! ( A horn sounds ). Percy, Hark, there above ! the music of a horn ! Anne. The king ! the king ! It is his signal, heard From yonder hill that frowns on Hever Castle: He sounds that note to warn of his approach; Now in a quarter of an hour or less, He will be here. Percy. Too plainly then I see, If I would keep my faith with thee, and live, My place is not in England. A CROWN FOR LOVE. Anne. No, nor mine ! Away, and take me with thee as thy wife, Thrice blest to follow thee through all the world ; Men call me proud, ambitious, but with thee A crust of bread in exile will be sweet ; While thou shalt laugh at fortune’s spite, enriched By the dear love King Henry sighs to win. Percy. Thus then I set a seal upon thy lips, Never to part again-Good heaven, my father ! (Enter the Earl of Northumberland. Anne retires). North. Bemain, Lord Percy ! Percy. , Sir, my noble father— North # Thou didst not look for me out of the North. ^ercy. Faith, no, my lord ! North. My journey has been quick. Percy. I fear too much so for your years, my lord. North. Dost thou, forsooth ? Ye give me weary work, You and your would-be countess here. So, boy, You have forgot the Lady Mary Talbot, Your wife betrothed. Percy. Pardon me, sir, I am Unworthy of the noble lady’s hand. North. Ay, truly : know moreover that the king Is sorely angered by thy following one, Too mean of birth to match with thee—that ’tis His pleasure to dispose her to another. Percy. I’m sorry for’t, my lord ; for the fair Anne, Though she be but a simple maid, her blood Is noble as the noblest—’tis too late For question, I have plighted her my faith. North. Son, even as thou hast been, ay, always wast A proud, licentious, and unthinking waster, So hast thou now declared thyself, and therefore What joy, what comfort shall I have in thee? I pray amend, or thou wilt be the last Earl of our house—nay, I have other sons : Break with this Anne. Percy. I grieve to vex you, sir; A CROWN FOR LOVE. 11 Indeed, I am engaged with her too far With honour to recede. North. Then shall my curse— Anne ( advancing) Stay, sir, the king shall judge of this himself, To him I will appeal North, (to Percy). Follow me, I command you, on your duty. Percy. Sir, I obey ; we wait for better times, Remember, Anne ! Anne. Till death ! be true to me. ( Exeunt Percy and Northumberland.) (Shouts within , “ Long live the King !”) Enter King Henry VIII., Suffolk, and Courtiers from without ; from the Castle , Sir William Norris, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Amice, &c. K. Henry. A merry day to you, good friends ! well met, Fair mistress ! How, in tears % why, what's the matter % An’ we could find the man who caused you grief, We’d hang him for high treason. Have you not Been breaking hearts % I saw him stealing yonder, The womanish boy, with water in his eyes, One Percy. Anne. I beseech your noble grace, Spare me ; I am not worth Lord Percy’s tears. K. Henry. Not worth his tears ! ay, marry, very like ! Why, thou’rt our kinswoman : his countess, fie ! We’ll make a marchioness of thee, a queen, If thou wilt have it so ; let’s join the dance Upon the green; nay, no denial, Anne, As I am a king, thou shalt; sweet partner, come ! (Exeunt King Henry and Anne.) Norris. Bight royal resolution ! Pretty Amice, Follow we not our leaders'? Amice. Gently, sir! (Exeunt Norris and Amice.) Suffolk. So goes the world ! Alack, and well-a-day, ’Tis pity but our holy lord the Pope, 12 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Should give permission to our lord the king To take unto himself two lawful wives And close the controversy. Wyatt. ’Tis said the Pope, Will hold King Henry to his marriage bond With Catherine our queen. Suffolk. His brother’s wife, A widow, six years older than the king ? Whether his Holiness can absolve that sin, There is the case of conscience. Wyatt. ' Will not Henry Be ruled in all things by the Church h Suffolk. Oh, ay, In all but Mistress Anne ; oh, he is mad, Infatuate ! Our pious prince to-day Heard but two Masses ere he sprang to horse; You would have laughed to hear him curse the priest For maundering o’er the holy words so slow ! Look, yonder come the revellers; stand aside. (Enter a company dancing , with King Henry and Anne.) K. Henry. So breaks our ring, my fairy of the woods, We’ll sit us here and rest; I am not air To match me with thy little tripping feet. Well, thou shalt ride with me to chase the deer In Windsor forest. (They sit on a banlc.) Anne. Please your Majesty, ’Tis too much honour for a simple maid. K. Henry. Tut, tut, thou prank’st thyself in simple guise As fine as any duchess in our court; I like thee best e’en thus, in sylvan green, And whatso’er adornment thou hast on Ever seems best to me ; so partial are Our first affections. Anne. To how many, sir, Have you professed as much ? First is the last, Till to a later first poor last must yield. K. Henry. Ha, ha ! Thy nimble wit ! I never thought A CROWN FOR LOVE. 13 The like could be in woman. Anne. Then you wronged us. K. Henry. Maybe I did, for I had never loved ; And only he who loves should judge fair woman. Anne. Never? Indeed? Why did you marry, sir? K. Henry. Why did I marry ? Why, why ?—hear the wench ! ’Twould set me hard to frame a meet reply To thy too curious question ; but in faith And to my best of memory and belief, ’Twas not for love. Anne. I’m not so sure of that. Was not the queen most amiable, fair, and good, When first you met her, sir ? K. Henry. And so she was; Alack, I am afraid, too good for me; The heart will have its bent. Anne. Have you a heart ? K. Henry. I might say so, until I saw thee, Anne ; Ah, thief ! ’tis stolen away. Anne. My gracious prince, You make suspicion of mine honesty. K. Henry. Sweetheart, should not a king be free to love As other men ? Why should he be alone Debarred the common privilege of kind That beggars may enjoy? Had I a son I’d bid him trust the augury of eyes, And choose from all the world his own true love, As, darling, I do thee ! Anne. Most worthy king, I think your noble Majesty speaks these words In mirth, to prove me, and, without intent Degrading to your princely self, and therefore Most earnestly beseech you to desist, And take my answer in good part. My liege, Much rather will I lose my life than virtue, The greatest and best riches I shall bring As dowry to my husband. K. Henry. Let me yet Continue in hope, 14 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Anne (kneeling). I understand not how, Most mighty king, you should retain such hope : * Your wife I cannot be, both in respect Of mine unworthiness, also, because You have a queen already, sir; your mistress I will not be. (rises). K. Henry. Thou hast an angel's wit, And dost deserve a crown ! As I'm a king Thou shalt not say me nay ! The eagle's force Subdues alike the falcon and the dove : Can ice resist the sun, or thy proud metal The flaming fire? The heart of hardest stone Is pierced by the thrusts of constancy, And wisdom turns to folly with a prince. Anne. The Lady Mary, Your daughter, sir, the heiress of your crown, Would curse Anne Boleyn for her mother's wrong. Shall I provoke the hate of all your friends, To take my mistress' place ? K. Henry. 'Twill grieve thy heart To make them jealous ! wear this rose for me, And grace me with thy own; (kissing her) if this be sin We'll keep our secret close. Thou’lt find me, Anne, Ho bashful wooer like thy Percy there ! I’ll snatch another kiss. (Anne gives a little cry.) Armour (entering). Hold there, enough ! Your Grace forgot thafc hedges may have ears ; And 'tis not fit a simple man o'erhear You talk in secret. K. Henry. Who the devil art thou ? Armour. Ho courtier, to abet the devil’s work : Your Grace will pardon me. K. Henry. What brought thee here ? Armour. What shepherd hears the bleating of the lamb Unwarned of danger lest the wolf be near ? And if she has no other friend at hand, Shall I, who love the lass above all things, A man beholden for his bread to her, A CROWN FOR LOVE. 15 Fall from her side in fear ? I had as lief That dirk of yours were buried in my body Up to the jewelled hilt. K. Henry. By my halidame, The rogue speaks home ! A trusty watchdog, Anne. Why, my good fellow, if thou wish her well, Dost thou mislike her favour with thy king ] Armour. A maiden’s heart, sir, is a tender flower, Too keen pursuit may crush ! and if she love The young Lord Percy— K. Henry. Hold thy traitorous tongue ! The young Lord Percy, if he love his life, Shall fear to woo her with a hand engaged, Aye, sealed unto another. Armour. Is not this Your highness’ case h You cannot mean her good, Having a queen and royal issue. K. Henry. Hay, My daughter’s interest, my particular care, Must touch me second to the common weal. If I should die, and leave no son to reign By right unquestioned, then should blaze anew The smouldering fires of war, and many a year The White Bose faction fill the land with blood : And therefore do I mean to be released From an unlawful union, cursed by heaven With failure of male offspring : true, I follow The bent of my affections in my choice : What then *? A fairer, wiser, better queen Were far to seek than she who sits beside me. So far I condescend to answer thee. Armour. So far 1 ? Ho farther h Has your highness power As well as will, to do the lassie right h K. Henry. Dost doubt of that'? The thing I ask is just, Supported by my loyal people’s will, Approved as righteous by the Pope himself; To him, as to a father, we appeal, And even now, by his Commission sits The Court at Westminster, presided by Our minister, his legate, Cardinal Wolsey, 16 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Whose pledge I hold, the law shall do me right. Armour. Ay, if the fox prove loyal to the sheep, Your lip may press the cup of your desire, Now trembling in your grasp ! Have you not proved The promises of Home are two edged swords % Shall lies beget a truth ? K. Henry. They shall, they must: Am I the only prince in Christendom On whose tried faith the Pope can lean secure, Though half the world rebel and fall away ? And shall he grudge me justice ? Armour. If he do Possess such power and use it, fear you not His hold too strong in your dominions ? Should marriages be made in Home, or heaven ? K. Henry. Say’st thou ? I am afraid thou art infect With the new heresy : take care ! We are Defender of the Faith. Anne. For my sake, sir, Let pass a foolish word, too common now. It is my sorrow, not my fault, if I Have bred this trouble in your highness 7 realm. K. Henry. I would not grieve thee, sweetheart, for the world ! We’ll pass it by this time. Look there, some stir Among your folk; ko, some one comes in haste— (Enter Suffolk.) Our brother-in-law—Why, Suffolk, what’s the news ? Suffolk ( entering ) Despatches from the Cardinal, please your Grace. K. Henry. Ha ! Charles, our ears are greedy for thy tale. Let us possess it, quick ! Suffolk. I’m much afraid ’Twill disappoint your highness’ expectation. (gives despatch.) K. Henry. Give me to know at once—ha ! what is this ] Appeal to Home—Queen Catherine’s plea allowed— Judgment again deferred, till the whole cause Be brought before His Holiness the Pope : A CROWN FOR LOVE. 17 So, my Lord Cardinal, I have been deceived ! Know you, the brows engirt with England’s crown May bow before no foreignA;ribunal ! 0 No, by the rood, not I willcringe and stoop A beggar to their justice ! Rather pluck A leaf from Charles, my brother sovereign’s book, Who dealt by storm and sack with haughty Rome. Armour. Yea, Rome shall fall, like Babylon, O king, And thou fulfil on her the wrath of heaven ! K. Henry. Out of my sight, thou prophet of ill news ! Summon my bishops and my Parliament; My people on my side, no Latin priest Shall bar King Harry from the maid he loves : We will to France, consult my brother Francis Upon this common privilege of kings, So outraged in my person ; though my cause Be his, the world’s, ’tis England’s first—in this If all prove false, myself will stand alone ! End op Act I. n ACT, 11/ ^ ^ A— Scene I.— WtetekaM. A Chamber • in the Palace , (Enter Norfolk, r., and Suffolk, l., meeting .) Suffolk. Save you, my lord of Norfolk ! Norfolk. What, Suffolk ! pardon me, my lord : I was thinking of somewhat. Suffolk. Faith, you look not so merry as you should, having vaulted clean over the heads of all the men in England, and stepped up next the king himself. Norfolk. Ay; greater men than I have fallen and made way for me. Suffolk. Mean you the great Cardinal % Yes, indeed, he never saw a lucky day since he crossed the path of b’ 18 A CROWN FOR LOVE. your lovely niece, Anne Boleyn. She was born under the star Venus, to overturn the whole course of the world. Norfolk. Ay, so I fear. An evil day it was that my sister married that upstart, Sir Thomas Boleyn. Suffolk. Now Earl of Wiltshire—thanks to his daughter, Queen Anne. Norfolk. Ay, forsooth ; they must clothe their poverty in ermine and purple and high-sounding titles. Anne’s brother, too— Suffolk. My Lord Bochford, a most insufferable cox¬ comb, and married for vile lucre’s sake to a homespun dowdy as ever I had the ill-luck to look upon ! By the eyes of sweet Saint Lucy, I’d rather be mated with a toad ! Norfolk. Ay, ’tis the world’s bitter jest; my grief and shame. Suffolk. Come, your grace, cheer up ; ’tis your niece who is above all, king over the king— Norfolk. I’d rather see my niece dead, than the cause of such evil to England ! Within, heresy and treason stalk the land; from without, invasion threats our hour of weakness. Suffolk. Yes; we are growing afraid lest the Pope should curse every Englishman, and set on the Em¬ peror Charles to swallow us up ! England is a sweet morsel, but by George ! ’twill stick in their throats. All I would mislike were, if we should fall to cutting our own. ’Tis certain that half the men in England and all the women, look upon the king’s marriage as no mar¬ riage, and hold by the Pope’s sentence that the old queen is the only true queen. Norfolk. And the Princess Mary, her daughter, the only true heir of England. Ah, well, poor ladies, theirs is a pitiful case ! Suffolk. And so is every man’s case pitiful, your grace. The king was too peremptory in that matter of the divorce; and in some other matters too. We’ve all lost our heads by statute. Norfolk. In what sense r l A CROWN FOR LOVE . 19 Suffolk. In the sense, or nonsense, of the last Act of Parliament. It is enacted that the king shall make us a new religion ; the man who questions his highness’s supremacy shall be hanged for treason, and the man who, to escape hanging, would follow the king’s fashion in matters of faith, why he shall be burned as a heretic ; and this includes every Englishman in one pro¬ miscuous damnation, ay, even his majesty’s most sacred person. Norfolk. I do not catch the drift of your grace’s argu¬ ment Suffolk. Hist! If the king’s marriage be once confirmed by the Pope, the queen’s enemies lose the only ground whereon they can make a stand. If his Holiness cannot be won over, the king will join himself with the Lutheran princes of Germany; and between these two stools he is so tossed about, that I defy any man, and least of all our gracious sovereign himself, to be able to know what the lawful religion in England may be. Norfolk. Indeed we are too lax—all sorts of heretics creep about the court—look there ! Suffolk. Oh—ay—Adam Armour, one of the queen’s almoners. Norfolk. We have been informed of him, and to day he shall answer for himself before the council. If the king will be said by me, we shall make a quick end of his business. Who is that lady he holds in discourse 1 Suffolk. The new maid of honour, Mistress Jane Seymour, a lovesome face ! If I were the queen I’d not care to tempt so far King Harry’s weakness. Ah ! well, she knows her power to keep him. Norfolk. Hem ! She thinks so. (Retire up , r.) (Enter Adam Armour, Jane Seymour, and Amice.) Armour. Must I again repeat my message h I am here, Mistress Seymour, at the queen’s command, to await her pleasure. Jane S. I do not think her grace will see you ; ’tis cer¬ tain you will wait long first. She is not dressed yet. 20 A CROWN FOR LOVE. The dance stole several hours from last night’s sleep. T’was a glorious masque. I wish we had the like every night in the year ! Armour. Her grace has not forgotten she sent for me ? Jane S. (c.) And if she has, it is no part of our busi¬ ness to remind her. Armour. Why so ? Jane S. She will take little pleasure to look upon your sour countenance; you frown down all her mirth : every time she sees you there’s not a merry face in court for three days after. Armour. You have a pleasant time here, fair ladies. Amice. Oh, delicious ! I’d rather live a week at court than twelvemonths anywhere in the world. I could stay here for ever. Armour. Oh, ay, a delightful life this of yours, fair ladies,.if it had no end ! But though you lock the doors, there will creep in the scurvy knave, death ! and turn your warm blood to ice—your gay apparel to a shroud, your painting and perfumes to foulness and corruption, your delicate body to a thing without a name—the meat of worms—and dismiss your soul naked and shivering as a new born babe out of this world. Jane S. Oh ! speak no more like that. I shall not dare to sleep to-night, for that look would haunt my dreams. Suffolk. A sweet face for a maid to lie awake and think upon ! Amice. Master Armour, I will do your message to the queen ) you shall see her grace. Norfolk. What! without leave asked? Armour. My lords, you shall question me this afternoon; I attend here the queen’s pleasure. Suffolk. A docile catechist ! Ah, he shall be the Mor- decai to our Queen Esther in the next Mystery Play. Look, where comes her grace. Norfolk. Who is that gentleman attending her ? Why, ’tis the new Earl of Northumberland. Suffolk. Yea, Lord Percy that was, come back to his old love. His father did not die till the right time ; but for the young lord’s enforced marriage, your niece would have been his countess rather than Henry’s queen. A GROWN FOR LOVE. 21 Norfolk. I would to Heaven she had! Suffolk. Ay, she repays him the slight. Ho you mark the keen light in her eyes, the scorn upon her brow, the proud curve of her neck, the arch of her small foot, too prone to trample upon men ] These are the signs and tokens of a perturbed spirit ! Norfolk. I do note a change in her from the woman she once was ; but hush ! she is here. (Enter Anne Boleyn, as Queen , and Northumberland.) Anne. My Lord Northumberland, go tell the king I crave some moments of his grace. North. Ay, madam. (Exit, l.) Anne. Save you, my lords ! wilt please you give us leave ? We would be private. Suffolk. At your highness’ pleasure. (Exeunt Norfolk, Suffolk, Jane Seymour and Amice, l.) Anne. Armour, remain ; you came to speak with me ] Armour. You bade me do so, madam. Anne. Well, art dumb ? Armour. Not so, but that the iron in my heart Hangs weight upon my tongue : if that your grace Shut out conviction of the truth I bear, I were best silent. Anne. Heal with me, good Adam, Plainly, as with your child ; too well I know You are in peril; ask and have my help, Ay, to my uttermost. Armour. For myself alone I need it not, nor ask it, holding life Of God as hire, to spend from day to day : But you, for mercy, to arrest the arm Of slaughter raised ’gainst every child of light, Are bound to move the king. Anne. What should I do ? I cannot what I would; my advocacy, Importunate o’er much, might anger him ; And could his favour to me once be lost, There were an end of me. 22 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Armour. And in this cause You think you may be silent and be safe ? How know you but you sit in this high place For such great purpose only? No, be bold And so secure. I know you stout of heart, And wise to see your enemies are strong : Then plead not only for yourself, or me, A world-worn, blunted weapon, but for all • Who shall be born unto the end of time, The heirs of England’s freedom, bought with blood, To be the birth-right of the world hereafter. Anne. Be sure, I’ll move the king, and if I fail, Believe, good Adam, ’tis for lack in me Of power, and not of will. Would Heaven I were Such as your prayers require ! Armour. Heaven guide your grace ! (Exit , l.) Anne. Such as a good man’s prayers would have me be, I am not, no, nor can be : Woman, stung To madness by intolerable wrong, All my fond love flung back to me with scorn, I saw before my eyes, within my reach, The golden round of sovereignty and fame ; I closed my hand to grasp a crown, and made My enemies my footstool ! Could the fear Of consequence, or peril of my soul Have given me pause, I had not done’t: no matter, The past is past, and come what may to me, My issue shall be royal. For thy sake, My baby girl, my young Elizabeth, I’ll stoop to crush the adder in my path, Though by his fang I perish !—Ha, the king ! (Enter King Henry, l.) K. Henry. Well, chuck, you asked for me. What is the matter ? Dear heart, why look’st thou sad ? Anne. I have much cause To fear I shall displease your majesty, Beseeching you defend the hapless man Your council brings to question for his thoughts, A CROWN FOR LOVE. 23 Touching the truth of Heaven, to all made free. His fault is even mine own. K. Henry. They are too bold Who vex thee with disputes and doubts which thou, Being but woman, canst not understand. I am thy head, thy husband, learn of me. Anne. Sir, as my friend, let Armour have no harm, If prayer of mine avail. K. Henry. He shall have justice, Twice tempered with sweet mercy, for thy sake ; But I have made for thee a better friend, In my good brother Francis, King of France, Thy old gallant—aha ! rememb’rest thou Our sports at Calais ? Well, he offers now His boy as bridegroom to thy baby girl. Hell wed her in her cradle. Anne. Oh, my lord ! You mock a mother’s pride; nay, female craft And envy brand her base-born, and those two, Mother and daughter, b} your patience, sir, Each day grow bolder in contempt of you, False traitresses, envenomed to the core. K. Henry. Ah, had we women judges ’twould go hard With sins of womankind ! For Catherine, Having annulled her claims as wife and queen, I have no power on her; my headstrong girl May sulk awhile ’ere she submit to loss Of royal place. What harm is that to thee, Secure in my protection h Do I not Entirely love thee ? Anne. Oh, my lord, they say The woodbine that will climb the lofty oak Shall wither in his shadow. Mary’s friends, Skilled in the arts and subtlety of Home, Contrive your death, and failing in the attempt— Which Heaven forefend they should not ! then on me Their malice shall have vent, perchance to turn Your heart to some new love; and then, farewell Me, and my innocent child ! K. Henry. By Heaven, sweetheart, 24 A CROWN FOR LOVE. I’d rather see a hundred daughters dead, Than thou to shed such tears ! I am resolved Mary shall break or bend. Come, I shall meet The lords in council, and devise the means ; ’Tis past the hour.—I stay too long with thee. ( Exeunt.) Change. Scene II. The Presence Chamber. Norfolk, Suffolk, Northumberland, and Lords Discovered. (.Enter K. Henry, attended by Sir Henry Norris, &c.) K. Henry. (s^)My lords, be seated; we must cut the knot Of these perplexities. My ears are stunned With rumours of the boastful Spaniard’s powers, Banded with rebels o’er the Irish sea, And whisperers of treason in our midst, To wreak on Britain’s shores the wrath of Home. Be ready then, to quit yourselves like men, And let them come, we’ll make them welcome that They’ll find no easy journey to return. You, Suffolk, rouse the merry men of Kent, The Essex marshes and our Eastern shores ; Ourself, at need, will lead the South and West; Northumberland, you answer for the North. North. Ay, sir, our trump of war blows loud and clear. K. Henry. A jocund sound ! You, Norfolk, see our ships Manned and equipped to match the famous day You sunk stout Andrew Barton. I have heard Of late, strange murmers touching our sea walls, Old England’s floating towers; our seamen’s lives Are held too cheap by merchants prone o’er much, Through greed of gold, t’ abridge by wreck and death The roll call of our mariners. Botten ships Sink to the depths with freight of orphans’ sighs, Whose voice has pierced our ears. We will devise A speedy remedy. A CROWN FOR LOVE. 25 Norfolk. Wilt please your grace, Defer the alleged abuse to a commission ? K. Henry. No, by the rood ! to set an idle troop Of chaffering landsmen to invent delays, While sailors drown ! The case is urgent, man, See to the means of due redress ; ourself, We will take order and enforce’t on all: Who breaks it, were he highest in the land, Shall rue the fault. Norfolk. Your grace shall be obeyed. We will, forthwith, submit for your approval A code of rules, the best we can devise For safety of the storm-tossed seaman’s life. K. Henry. Ay, and remove this blot on England’s fame, That wealth can set a price upon her sons. Norfolk. And this accomplished, will your grace pass by The fouler blot that blurs religion’s face; Heresy spreading in our midst, made bold By over much forbearance ? K. Henry. How, forsooth? Norfolk. This man who comes before your grace to-day, One Adam Armour, almoner to the queen, Sows his false doctrines here; in faith ’tis true, Within your palace ; working thus alone Worse mischief than a thousand tongues without. I fear lest he mislead the queen, from whom In kindness ’tis most fit he be removed. K. Henry. Bring him before us, we will question him. (Exit Norris, &c., l.) They shall not say, because we do reject The Pope from all dominion in this realm, That heresy may flourish unrepressed, Like a foul weed in England’s fruitful soil : Nay rather, we will pluck it up by th’ roots With our own hands. Let whom we hurt cry out At this our healthsome cruelty. Chamberlain outside announces “ The Queen / ” (Enter Queen Anne, attended.) 26 A CROWN FOR LOVE . K. Henry. Ah, sweetheart, wilt thou hear us judge this cause ? Sit down by us. Bring in this Adam Armour. (Armour is led in by Norris and Guards.) Anne. 1 hope your grace shall find no ill in him. K. Henry. That we shall see. Show us the proofs, my lords. Norfolk. These have been found upon him ; a great book Of heresy, on Holy Writ compiled, Teaching a truth to serve the devil’s end; And this, and this; here’s proof enough to burn A score of “ Christian Brothers,” that’s their style, A wasp’s nest of sedition, and this man Is one of them. (Gives books and papers.) K. Henry, (to Armour.) Are you so called h Armour. I am. K. Henry. J oined with a brotherhood to spread these Among the people ? [books Armour. Yes, so please your highness. K. Henry. Know you the consequence h Anne. Your majesty Should know I have these very books myself. K. Henry. Tut, tut : ’Tis otherwise for thee, for me, Than for this ignorant sort. What if I forbid Thee preach again on pain of death 1 dost hear h Of death by burning ! Armour. Speak those words, O king, To such as fear what man can do to man, The rich, the proud, wh£$& hope is of this world: But me they cannot daunt, nor cause me swerve, Till all my strength be spent for England’s rights; Those are the traitors who would bid thy hand Upheave the broad foundations of thy throne, The people’s liberties ! K. Henry. A bold reply ! Enough, enough, we are not hard ! (to Armour.) Thou’rt Man, for this first offence, we banish thee [warned From this our court, and if thou should’st relapse, Look to thyself, thou knowest the consequence— The stake, the fire ! A CROWN FOR LOVE . 27 Armour. K. Henry. Armour. Ay, when my hour shall come ! For this time, go, thou’rt free ! Thanks to your grace ! (Exit, L.) (Noise within .) K. Henry. What’s this disturbance ? Suffolk, go and see. (Exit Suffolk.,) Suffolk (Re-entering). Your daughter, sir, the Lady Mary, craves Admittance to your grace ; ’tis vain to urge Your strict commands. She will not be denied. Princess Mary (without). Unhand me: I will see his Majesty. fEnter Princess Mary.) K. Henry. What, my young headstrong ? Mary. Oh, forgive me, sir, ! Hear me yourself, and bend to my request, By rigid guardians spurned : permit me access Unto the queen, my mother— Anne. How, the queen ! Mary. Sir, I beseech you, she is very sick, It may be, dying, and the sight of me Would medicine with joy her sharp disease. Perchance, we shall but take our last farewell In this harsh world. Oln father, let me go ! K. Henry. After thy disobedience, let ye meet To plot against my life? Mary. Oh, sir, my father !— K. Henry. Know I not of your treasons ? body o’ me ! You take your mother’s side, deny my right To plead my cause without appeal to Borne, Here, in this realm of England : you refuse The oath of supremacy due to me, You hold me excommunicate, deposed; Your very prayers invoke a curse on me ! Mary. I am most unhappy to offend your grace, I have done nothing but obey my mother. K. Henry. Oh, ay, she prompts thy stubborn discon¬ tent : 28 A CROWN FOR LOVE. But Ill compel ye both to change your tune, Or smart for obstinate folly—many men, Yea, of the noblest bred on English earth, For half your guilt, do rot in traitors’ graves. Mary. Is there no heart has pity for my grief ? (To Anne). Are you a woman and can look on this 1 Must I not see my mother till she die h Anne. Obey the king, or take your punishment; Away, I will have nought to do with thee. Suffolk. Yield, lady, yield, ’tis peril of your life To cross his will and move his anger thus. Mary. Hay, Heaven forbids me to comply in this : What can I do ] Norfolk. Your majesty must own You cannot force the bent of consciences ; Avoid an open scandal, give her way. K. Henry. Silence ! Am I the king, or am I not 1 This is a new commandment of your Church, To teach our children disobedience. Out of my sight, begone, before I curse thee ! I’ll take such order as befits thy crime, And send thee word hereafter. Be it known, I suffer neither child nor wife to come Between me and my wrath. I am in England Sole sovereign Lord, or nothing. Ha, what’s this ? (Enter Sir Thomas Wyatt.) Wyatt. My liege, I bring a tale to change your mood; The Lady Catherine is no more. K. Henry. What, dead ? Anne. A largesse to the bearer of this news ! (Coming down R c). Let all my friends rejoice with me to day; Now is the crown fixed firm upon my head, To me and mine ! I am indeed a Queen ! Bochford (Entering?) There’s ne’er a loss could cost us fewer tears Than this good dame’s, the pity of it is, Her daughter has not borne her company. Wyatt. Peace, my young lord, look, look ! A CROWN FOR LOVE. 29 Mary ( Advancing to Anne). To you I speak. Woman in outward seeming, fiend in heart ! I fear no more your malice bent on me, My mother dead : her lips are closed and cold, Their latest cry unheard for sight of me ! I—I remain to curse thee ! Kill me too, Or live in fear the trampled worm may turn. You—you have changed me in my father’s eyes, And turned his love to loathing; you, ay you, By witchcraft won upon his weaker hour To brand my mother’s name with infamy, And fill this land with strifes and heresies : A day shall come to quit our wrongs—I’ll crush The seeds of falsehood you have sown, and give The poisoners of souls to feed the fire. Look in my eyes that cannot shed a tear, I’ll do’t—I’ll do’t—ay—’till the shuddering world Shall couple Mary’s name with blood—blood—blood ! (Anne sinks into the arms of Amice.) Tableau.— Curtain End op Act II. ACT III. Scene I. — A Chamber in the Palace . Greenwich . (Enter Lady Bochford and Amice, r.) Amice. Well, madam, how like you the air of the court? Lady It. Infection, rank infection ! I wish I had never come with you to Greenwich. Wherever Queen Anne Boleyn goes I think the pestilence follows after. Oh, I’m so sick ! Amice. Why, what ails your ladyship ? Lady It. What ails me, wench ? Why, of course, my husband, my husband. 30 A CROWN FOR LOVE. A mice. What has he done last ( l Lady It. Done % everything, the rake, the reprobate ! Oh, we’re the happiest couple in the world until some wretch of a woman makes eyes at him ! Oh, oh ! I don’t say my husband is guilty, but— Amice. I am afraid ’tis very likely. Lady P. How dare you say so ? You can’t imagine a wife’s feelings. The dowry I brought him too, squan¬ dered at play. A murrian on the money ! That’s not it, he cheats me out of himself for the sake of these painted dolls with yellow wigs. Oh, I’m choking with spite, to see him hanging like a rag upon everybody’s bush, except mine ! Amice. At least he is not constant to the company of any lady, except his sister, the queen; that’s so much the better for you. Lady P. Perhaps it is. I keep my mind to myself. I never liked her. She has some wicked charm of witch¬ craft, to turn men over and over in love with her. I don’t see that great beauty in her at all ! Amice. Nay, her grace and fascination are handmaids to her beauty, her exquisite taste in adornment— Lady P. Taste, indeed ! with your new fangled French fashions. I never follow them. Amice. No, indeed, your ladyship’s coif is the very marvel of the court. Lady P. A sensible head gear, wench ! ’tis most improper to show your hair hanging loose down your back, and not your own either. Queen Catherine’s Spanish mode was much more decorous. Amice. And that the king cannot abide. He’d rather see the devil than a lady in a Spanish dress. Lady P. He had better have seen the devil than a certain lady in a French dress. Ay, faith, he does not love her so much as he did. He affects the company of other ladies. His grace is most particularly civil to me. I’ll be bound he’s sorry for his match. Amice. ’Tis a pity you’re not both free. You might have a chance. Lady P. He might do worse, mistress Amice. I come A CROWN FOR LOVE. 31 from a different stock from these Boleyns, a mean brood, grown rich by trade. She is no better than she should be. I’ve made up my mind on that. She has played double with the king. Amice. No ; how could that be, beneath so many eyes that watch her slightest actions ? Lady It. When the queen and her ladies go a nutting in the woods hereabouts, and you and she wander away by yourselves, you’ve met somebody. Amice. Oh, no, only beggars, or gipsies, by chance. Lady It. Now, don’t you deny it! You’ve met Adam Armour, that old Scotch spy, banished from court by the king. Aha ! my young mistress, you think your jade’s tricks don’t show on that baby face. I’ve seen you with the fellow. Amice. And what harm if the queen pities the old man ? Lady It. What harm ? he’s a wicked old curmudgeon. The queen says he loves her like a father, but it’s not that, you know it’s not that, ’tis something else. You know ’tis something else ! Amice. Ha ! ha ! ha ! so that’s your ground of suspicion against the queen ! Lady It. Well, I think that quite enough ; but there’s more, if ’tis wanting. The Lady Catherine has died suddenly, poisoned, they say, and people will ask, who shall profit by her death ? nobody suspects the king. Amice. You do not mean to hint that Queen Anne— ] Lady It. I do not say so. Nay, Heaven forbid; but such a man as this Armour would be a fit instrument for the deed. Look, here comes a gentleman in haste ! Amice. ’Tis Sir Henry Norris ! Lady It. Your gallant, as you flatter yourself; my dear, if you love the spark, I pity you. I’ll be sworn he comes here oftener for the mistress than the maid. Amice. You cannot believe such a thing. Lady It. I’ll believe anything of men. (Enter Sir Henry Norris.) Amice. Well, Sir Henry ! These are sad news of good Lady Catherine. Lady It. Oh, good sir ! When did it happen? Where 32 A CROWN FOR LOVE. was she ? Who were about her ? Was it very sudden ? Was there not suspicion of foul play ? I’m dying to hear ! Sir H. Nay, madam, I have no hundred tongues, like my Lady Fame ; she was a woman. With the one I have I am bound to the king ! (Exit R.) Lady L. A plague on the ill conditioned lout! he’s told me nothing. Come, come, let us be the first to report this news everywhere—come ! (Exeunt, R.) (Enter Norfolk and Suffolk.) Norfolk. Sad tidings; yet this noble lady’s death Shall lift a load of shackles from the king. Now he is free to make our peace with Lome Through reconcilement with the Emperor Charles; Now shall our Princess Mary see good days, With restitution of her dignities. Suffolk. Think you your lady niece will suffer that ? Norfolk. My niece, my shame ! Were she ten times my niece, I’ll bear with her no more ! Because I dared Lebuke her for abandoned wantonness She used me like a dog; by Heaven, she seemed Swollen with unblushing pride to browbeat me ! Damn her, vile courtesan ! Suffolk. With all my heart ! She fears not to confess her shame to man, Our homemade bishops can absolve without. But shall we not in duty warn the king Of her ill courses ? She should be divorced, And Henry free to choose another wife, Now Catherine is dead ! Norfolk. Ay, that were well. Not I, with honour may perform the office: Too nearly touched, my interest points that way. Mary, my child, is wed with tha^ fair fruit Of stolen kisses, Lichmond’s Duke, Fitzroy, And Anne’s young babes unfathered, it may be This love-child shall inherit Henry’s crown : No ! Let this revelation come from you. A CROWN FOR LOVE. 33 Suffolk. Neither like I the venture, good my Lord, To pit my favour with the king ’gainst hers: Say, she should prove too strong? Norfolk. Tush, you are safe, Being the only man can crack a joke, Or break a lance with our most gracious king ! Suffolk. I’ll bide the risk the blithlier, that to day King Harry hath made gift of a rich jewel To lovely Mistress Jane. Oh, she is wise, Most friendly with the Lady Mary’s grace, And bears herself discreetly. See, the king ! (Exit Norfolk, r.) (Enter King Henry, reading a Letter.) K. Henry. Here her last words are writ and, like herself, Gentle and noble ever—her requests All shall be granted to the uttermost. Well, she is gone, perchance so best for her To make an end of pain : she suffered for The sins of others-—yet she was not old ; I never thought she would have died so soon : She loved me. Suffolk. If your majesty had known, You might have waited until now, to make Your choice beyond all question. K. Henry. True, I might: What’s done is past recall : the kindless fool Shrinks from the bed of roses or of thorns, His own hand spread. Suffolk. ’Twere well your noble grace Should meet as fair return. K. Henry. What is thy drift ? Out with it, Charles I Suffolk. Not till I am assured You will not snatch the weapon from my hand Bent o’er your foe, and turn its edge on me. K. Henry. Mean what thou wilt, such thoughts are better spoke To me alone, than in the general ear. Say on. c 34 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Suffolk. I am no chamberer, good your grace, To spy and pry about a woman’s ways, Albeit, should you desire the proof of guilt, ’Twill not be far to seek : ’mong her own kin She for herself hath earned no gentler names Than sorceress and wanton. K. Henry. Speak no more ! Or swear with awful oath thou wilt disprove Their foul tongues’ rottenness ! Suffolk. Please you, sir, I am Your sister’s husband, father of fair boys Sprung from your princely race : shall these obey The spurious issue of a harlot, born To some strange father in your royal bed ? Nay, tis the common news, by all believed, Except yourself alone. K. Henry. .Elizabeth— Say they she is not mine ? Suffolk. Ay, such belief Grows general. K. Henry. What, my child, Elizabeth ! This is a tale indeed : upon thy life Keep silence ; whatso’er behoves us do Must rest with me. Suffolk. There, look you now, the queen ! She comes with merry cheer, as is her wont, Attended by a troop of gentlemen. Your grace will speak with her ? K. Henry. Not now, I am Tossed up and down on waves of battling thoughts ; Do not you follow me. What, not my child ! (Exit K. Henry.) (Enter Queen Anne, followed by Jane Seymour, Rochford, and Gentlemen.) Anne. Mistress Jane Seymour, what rare jewel’s there, Hid in your bosom’s fold so carefully ? Jane S. Madam, a simple locket, but the chain Is broke. A CROWN FOR LOVE. 35 Anne. [Snatching it.) Come hither, minion, show it me. Ah, the king’s portrait, worn without my leave ! Jane S. I do beseech your highness, pardon me. Anne. Who gave thee this ] [Pause) Who gave thee this? himself] Jane. S. Ay, madam. Anne. When ] Jane S. This morning. Anne. You may go. [Exeunt Jane Seymour and Gentlemen.) Shut door on her, that none may look on me. Oh, sweet my brother, with thyself alone, Anna, the Queen may give her passion way ! Poor butterfly, caught in the spider’s web Of evil eyes, and tongues of scorpion sting ! Rochford. My sister, I thought thee happy, but if this be so, ’Twere better thou had’st never worn a crown ! Anne. Ay, well thou knowest, I never chose this fate ! My light was quenched with Percy’s broken vow ; When he was married, worse than dead to me, I sold my hand, who had no heart to give, Most bitter bargain ! And my lord grew cold, To feel the love of Percy in my heart, The warmth of Percy’s kisses on my lips. Well may his roving fancy chase this girl, On the blank page of whose eventless life No grief was ever writ—unstung by love, Terrible love, that dieth not of pain ! Rochford. Nay, thou dost forge a trouble for thyself, Brooding in fancy on this silly maid, As Henry’s mistress and thy rival, Anne. Anne. These quiet women are more dangerous Than still, deep waters. Sure my enemies know Some alteration in my husband’s love, Or dare not thus defy me. Well, the king Hath never had my heart. K. Henry [entering). Ha, say you so] George, give us leave awhile. [Exit Rochford, r.) A CROWN FOR LOVE. 36 Anne. Your majesty Oh ay, for cause. Has many moods to-day. K. Henry. Were you, my lady, tuned to graver thoughts, And feelings with my own conformable, ’Twould show in you more wifely: from this world Hath passed a noble spirit, hurt to death By my desertion. Anne. Have not you as good And better in exchange? K. Henry. No, on my soul, None could be better than she was, nor love Be found in woman passing her’s to me! Look, Anne, to set you in her royal seat, What it hath cost: I gave unbounded love, And what is thy return? Anne. How means your grace? K. Henry. How mean I, say you? Know you not the [tale, How Csesar did repudiate his wife, Not for a fault confessed, but that he deemed The partner of a Roman bed should be Not blameless merely, but above suspicion? Have I a right to less? Anne. If tales tell true, Of Caesar’s self the lady caught the trick, By virtue of example. Know you, sir, Where Mistress Seymour has bestowed your token? To no less dainty lodging, I’ll be sworn, Than her white bosom. K. Henry. Am I to be plagued With woman’s whims of baseless jealousy? Unwholesome fancies of thy giddy brain ? Did I forsake the noble Catherine, The gem of women and the boast of queens, Who, when I wronged her most, was still the same, As patient, as obedient, and by thee Shall I be called upon to make account For every thoughtless act or idle word? This from an upspring jade! What art thou? Nothing A GROWN FOR LOVE, 37 But what my favour made thee. Know thyself A May Day Queen, the insect of an hour, Bred by my fantasy— Anne. Forbear, my lord! Pause with your passion, lest you speak a word Love could not pardon, nor yourself recall. Some fiery drops in poor Anne Boleyn’s veins Stir the proud spirit of Plantagenet, My mother’s temper! Though my father’s house, I shame not to confess a truth, was built By honourable trading—as for me I never sought to share your royal state, I might, if it had pleased your majesty, Have mated with mine equal—by your will Greatness was put upon me, and the love Which cannot be commanded, I have given, Your equal, as we shall be in the grave. Whate’er Anne Boleyn sprung from, let that pass, I am your queen: for those who carp at me, I pay them scorn for scorn! K. Henry. I’ll wager thee, To hold thy own with honour ’gainst the field, In a fair quarrel. Sweetheart, go in peace, Heaven prosper thee according to thy truth. I’ll come to thee anon. (Kisses her.) Anne. Heaven keep your grace From evil tongues, with gentle thoughts of me! (Exit, c.) K. Henry. (After a pause,) Varying and ever changeable : [so saith The B-oman poet, and my brother Francis, Both skilled in womankind: that am not I ; Their ways are past my cunning; we have rules Of justice, honour, truth, to steer our course By even handed right, ’twixt man and man, Laws, human and divine; now on my soul, They fail us all with women! was I wise That held her loyal, till her careless speech Betrayed her thought and bred a doubt in me? 38 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Perchance she spoke in heat of jealousy : She hath some cause; my portrait, given in jest, Body o’ me ! that is not much! these women, Shallow and frail themselves, are keen of sight To mark our trivial lapses; she speaks home, She taxed me boldly : faith, she knows she has A patient husband: if she bear a son, . All may be well. Odso, whom have we here 1 (Enter Jane Seymour.) Jane. (Falling on her knees.) My lord, my sovereign— K. Henry. Gentle lady, rise, What is your suit to us ? Jane. (Offers 'portrait) Take back your gift, Such favours are too perilous for me. K. Henry. Hey day! Jane. My parents, sir, are honourable, ’Twere shame for me to hear, for you to press A lawless suit. K. Henry. Why, wench, I never did; I took thee for a virtuous woman; wear This in all honour for thy beauty’s sake. Jane. Wait sir, if you will grace me with your gifts, Till Heaven shall send one meet to be your wife; Then shall I be unblamed. K. Henry. What say’st thou, wench ? Is not the queen thy mistress and my wife 1 Jane. No honest man in England deems her so, Nor holds your marriage lawful. K. Henry. Ha, so rank! Come we in such contempt 1 ? Stay, talk to me. Jane. The queen, my lord, expects you in to dinner, She is impatient, I shall bear her blame. K. Henry. We take thatjon ourself: who told thee tins'? We can discharge us of the Lady Anne At pleasure, eh 1 who bade thee tell me this *? I’ll have the truth, if I should kiss it out. (.Kisses her.) (Anne entering from the back.) Anne. Betrayed, undone! Oh help, I die, I die ! A CROWN FOR LOVE,\ 39 K. Henry. Fear not, sweetheart, all shall go well for thee. Anne sinks on the ground . King Henry raises her in his arms , kissing her . Jane hides her face. Ladies come on. Tableau.) End of Act III. ACT IY. Scene I. The QueerHs Apartments. Greenwich. Queen Anne, Amice and Ladies, seated. A Table laid for dinner. Amice. Your grace will faint for lack of sustenance. Anne. Let be, I cannot eat. Oh, I am sick! I loathe the sight of food. Come, let me have Sweet music to allay my aching heart. Where is Mark Smeaton ? Amice. Your musician, madam, Has not been seen since Sunday, when you made Your jest upon his melancholy looks. Anne. Indeed, how strange! Amice. Alas, he knew too much I Sir Henry Norris, whom you mocked, because Our marriage was again put off, is now A prisoner in the Tower. Anne. No ! how is that? I saw him at the tilt but yesterday. Amice. Ay, madam, when you dropped your handkerchief, He caught and kissed it, and the king rose up, Changed colour, left the court, and rode away. Anne. True, so he did, without a word to me. Amice. Norris rode with him, and returned no more; I cannot choose but weep. Anne. All through my fault, For a few idle words! Oh me, is fate 40 A CROWN FOR LOVE. So hard a creditor? Short reckoning with This shadowy likeness of a royal queen, Poor desolate woman now, and very weak: On every hand my terrors compass me With narrowing circle. Such a tale I’ve heard Told of a prisoner, was’t in Yenice? shut In a rich chamber, that from day to day Grew small, and smaller, Till its meeting walls Crushed him to death. But hist, what’s that I hear ? Some well known voice, the music of a hymn ! Amice. ’Tis Armour, madam : bid your ladies leave ; He seeks for speech with you. Anne. My damsels all Pray you withdraw awhile. (Exeunt Ladies , r.) (Enter Armour.) Anne. Oh friend, art here, In time of need, unalterably true ? The blessing of a broken heart be thine! Armour. Fares it so sadly, lady ? Anne. From that day I saw Jane Seymour toying with my lord, I lay in torment till my boy was born, Dead by my agony. My husband then Grew desperate of an heir, he hates me now : All his affections have broke loose to her My handmaid. Since that day—-tis three months past, Here in this palace, I remain alone, Here, where I dwelt in state, beneath one roof With my despised mistress, when the king Scarce could endure an hour away from me ; Where I was more than queen ! I am repaid The measure I have meted—Catherine, Thou art avenged ! Armour. And is it come to this ? Anne. Jane Seymour has my place ! Armour. Can this be true ? Anne. I’ll take no thought for what becomes of me, But for my babe Elizabeth—good friend, A GROWN FOR LOVE. f 41 Beseech you lead her in the narrow path, By clearer light than mine ! If she should reign— Armour. She shall, for England’s glory ! Yes, to thee, Now, in thy darkest hour of misery, I bring this promise with rich comfort through The blessings of the poor. Anne. I had forgot To ask for them, and yet I should be taught To feel for others’ woe ; ’tis little wealth I scatter by thy hand, but gold and gems Proved valueless ! Oh friend, that better seed Which thou dost bear beneath thy pedlar’s garb, Spreads it abroad? Armour. That prospers : through the people The message speeds; the old have learnt to read, The blind to hear, the desperate to hope : Great joy attends it, soon the lamp of truth Shall shine through every corner of the land, And that, as England follows or forsakes, So shall she rise or fall! while staunch to that, Chief in the world’s great balance ! Anne. And am I An instrument to this ? my sins the means, Shaped by the eternal purposes of Heaven ! In such a cause, I feel I could consent To death ; my soul but shrinks from infamy. Armour. Happy the soul that suffers shame for truth ! Anne. Ay, but to feast my enemies with joy, To glut the rancour of an envious court With my most foul disgrace—the very stones Shall rise and cast themselves at me, the air Taint Henry’s ear with slanders: my worst foes, Those flatterers who beguile his fickle heart, Are my own kindred. Armour. Let them do their spite: Take thou heed only lest the subtler foe Within thy breast, more cruel than the world, A fearful and an unbelieving heart, Betraying thee to witness ’gainst thyself, 42 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Blast thine integrity. Come life, come death, Stand firm upon that rock, i’ the strength of heaven ! Amice. ( Entering , l.) Oh, lady, royal mistress ! Anne. What’s the matter? Amice. Madam, the archers of the royal guard Have seized the gates. The Duke of Norfolk leads A haughty troop of lords and councillors Into your grace’s presence. Anne. Leave me, Armour, You cannot help me now. Armour. I’ll to the king. (Exit c. and l.) (Enter Norfolk, l. Lords of the Council. Sir William Kingston. Guards. Ladies , dec. doc.) Anne. Your will with me, my lords? Your grace of [Norfolk Doth use your privilege : we’ve little mirth To greet you here at Greenwich ; do you bear Some message from the king to comfort me ? What, stand you silent with unbended knees, And sullen brows of wrath that glare on me ? Sir William Kingston, Lieutenant of the Tower. Why are you come ? Kingston. (Bowing) To bring you to the Tower, There to abide his highness’ pleasure; madam, The king commands it. Anne. What, the king my husband ? That is impossible—I will not go. Norfolk. Nay, but you stand committed for your crimes, Adultery, high treason ; be advised, Confess your guilt, and cast yourself upon His highness’ mercy. Anne. Oh, my lord and uncle I owe you this good turn ! Norfolk. Forbear that name Thou damned blot upon a noble race ! Bow down thy brow of pride, thy paramour Already hath confessed ! Anne. Whom do you mean ? A GROWN FOR LOVE. 43 Norfolk. Sir Henry Norris. Anne. It is as false as Hell ! Uncle, you know ’tis false : look in my face, And speak those words again. Norfolk. ( Slowly) Upon my soul And knightly honour, I believe ’tis true. Anne. You’ll say so to the king. This wicked plot Is your contrivance. Norfolk. (Shaking liis head.) Tut, tut, tut! We know The rights of that. Anne. Accused by deadly foes ! Oh, Master Kingston, shall I not have justice 1 Kingston. The poorest subject of the king has that. Anne. Bring me to him; why should I die unheard ? My innocence shall plead for me with power. So shall your prayers find mercy at your need, Let me but see the king. Norfolk. That cannot be. Anne. I needs must to the Tower 1 Kingston. Our duty, madam, Leaves us no choice : you know the Royal warrant, His Majesty’s hand and seal. ( Shews warrant.) Anne ( Faintly,) If such, indeed, His pleasure, I am ready to obey. (To Norfolk.) My lord, I owe you this. Do what [you may, But I will die as I have lived, your queen. Conduct me to my barge. My lords, lead on. (The Queen passing Norfolk, gathers up her robes.) Exeunt . Scene II. A Gallery in the Palace of Whitehall. (Enter Lord Rociiford, followed by Lady Rockford.) Rockford. I pray you, madam, no more of this ; the lady you revile is my sister, and your queen. 44 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Lady B. Sister, quotha ! Jezebel and sorceress, she is openly called, and by holy men too. People ask, who made Nan Boleyn our queen. I’m not the only one will be glad when her reign’s done. Your rich mer¬ chants don’t want war with the Emperor : Why there’s an embargo on Flemish goods already, no Dutch fashions to be had for love or money; we’re forced to wear French fandangoes, our trains knock us over when we back out of the presence; commend me for elegance and ease to a Dutch round gown ! Bochford. And you would be a court lady. Ah, well, ’tis all the same whatever you put on. Lady It. You wretch, finery suits your carpet knight’s tactics ; you who swore to confine your attractions to me ! Bochford. How could I ? If sweet ladies are wilful and fanciful, does it become a man to quarrel with their taste ? Lady B. You renegade ! I have nails to pluck on your game of eyes ! You ’re sworn to me, and how often have you broken it ? You false thief, I’ll spoil your sport for you, you shall see. Bochford. Pooh, pooh, you’re a jealous woman, all the Court knows that. Lady B. All the Court knows you give me cause. But I’ll show your fine madams I’m able to keep my husband when I’ve got him. Bochford. I wish you’d keep the peace then. Why are you always harrying a fellow ? Lady B. I harry you ! ’Tis the king shall harry you, heretic, I’ll warrant his grace ! I was sent for last week, by the Lords of the Privy Council. I’ve spoken my mind to them, and to some purpose, too, upon my oath ! I’ve spoken the truth, the whole truth, and— Bochford. And nothing but the truth. You don’t say that. Ha ! ha ! King Harry loves a merry jest ! Lady B. You shall laugh on the other side of those jibing lips. My evidence was confirmed by report of other Court ladies, who have kept their eyes upon you and A CROWN FOR LOVE. 45 the queen. You shall be set on the stool of repentance, you naughty fellow ! Rochford. Shall I faith ] I’ll see thee on the ducking stool first. What have we here ] (Enter Suffolk, l., Sergeant-at-Arms , Guards.) Suffolk. George, Viscount Rochford, I arrest thee of high treason, in the king’s name. Sergeant, do your duty. To the Tower. (Rochford is arrested .) Rochford. This is no jest. Thy jealous fury is like to make me poor in life and goods, to thy own loss : woman, thou hast undone thy husband, with thy false pernicious tongue. My lord, I obey the king’s command. Lady R. Not without me ! Gentlemen, I’m his wife. I have a right to go where he goes. What, what, will you separate us h Gentlemen, he is innocent, never believe a word I say; oh, my poor dear unfortunate husband, that would not hurt a fly ! Oh, gentlemen, there’s no more harm in him than a babe unborn ! Oh, oh, oh ! (Exeunt Rochford guarded , Lady R .folloiving.) (Enter Sir Thomas Wyatt, r.) Suffolk. ( Laughing ) Ah, our poet, good Sir Thomas ! there’s a theme for your satiric muse, ha ! ha ! ha ! W yatt. What means this folly % Suffolk. It means that my young lord is sent to the Tower to keep his betters company. Wyatt. My lord, on my life and soul, I do believe the queen is slandered. Suffolk. A female Alexander ! She would weep for a new world of hearts to conquer. Wyatt. Has the king no shame, but to trumpet thus his own disgrace Suffolk. Faith, indifferent little : he doth parade his horns with a bold countenance, though in wrath as loud as the roaring of the sea, lashed by an ill-wind that blows somebody good. ’Tis the Princess Mary shall be merry now. She has an advocate with her father who knows how to pour oil upon these troubled waters, Mistress Jane Seymour—that’s the only creature the king can 46 A CROWN FOR LOVE. . suffer about him now. Our Gramalkin is a subtle, demure one. Aha ! Mistress Jane ! smooth spoken, simple-seeming Mistress Jane ! Wyatt. Look, where comes the king ! Suffolk. The tempest of his fury sweeps hitherwards. I must look to my prisoner. You had best come with me. ( Exeunt , l.) (Enter King Henry and Norfolk, r.) K. Henry. Shut doors upon those babblers. Norfolk, go. Now we’re alone. The queen is in the Tower ! Norfolk. Surely, your grace— K. Henry. She took it heavily : Thou needs’t not tell me so. Well, that is done, Would all were over ! perhaps the worst is past When ’tis begun; I’ve heard the first sharp cut Into the quick in severance of a limb Is more than half the anguish. Norfolk. Hoes your grace Shrink from proceeding further ’gainst her 1 K. Henry. No ! If I could find some means less sharp than death, To rid me of this plague. Norfolk. You do not doubt Her guilt % K. Henry. Doubt of it, man ? Have I not eyes ? Talk not to me of proof. I have enough. Norfolk. Ay, and ’tis clear the Lady Catherine’s death Was hastened, to our shame, by some foul play. K. Henry. If the physician’s word be taken, ay : Had she to do with that h Norfolk. Who else had cause To injure the good princess h Who hath shown A step-dame’s cruel malice to her child h K. Henry. Too true : can she be proved a murderess ? Norfolk. The missing link is ready to your hand, To close the chain upon conviction : yea, Armour, the smith, doth watch and wait without, For access to your grace. I make no doubt A CROWN FOR LOVE. 47 That man hath done her work; but give me leave To question him with torture. K. Henry. Let him be, In fitting time myself will deal with him : Be his tale true or false, not all the pains The fiend hath taught to wring men’s bones withal Will move him from’t one whit: go, send me hither The Earl Northumberland—no more to-night ! Norfolk. ( At door.) So please you, the Lady Mary ! (Exit, Norfolk.) Mary. (Kneeling.) My lord, my father ! K. Henry. Bise, my girl; this night My blessing go with thee. Mary. Thank Heaven for that ! I have a father still ! K. Henry. My heart is glad, That she, who practised on thy mother’s life Shall harm my child no farther. Much I fear, Had she the power, she would have poisoned thee ! Mary. I pray your grace may find another choice, A queen who shall be mother to my youth. K. Henry. What, thou would’st have me wive ? Mary. For your soul’s good I would, my father. K. Henry. For the Commonwealth’s, My nobles say, in their petition on’t: Their prayer cries haste ; ’twere well, it seems to me Make end of old love, ’ere we woo the new ! Mary. That is most easy, if it please your grace Accept the aid of Borne. K. Henry. No, by the rood ! Some other means than that; and now, good night. Mary. May all good angels bless the king, my father % (Exit, l.) K. Henry. They’d marry me in haste ; no fear, enough Fair women would be kind to me, the king. Ha, what, Northumberland ! 48 A CROWN FOR LOVE. {Enter Northumberland, l.) Thou’lt help me wear this sleepless night away ? North. What would your majesty ! K. Henry. Come, walk with me ; Some time I wronged you of a woman's love. North. I pray you, sir, let buried sorrow rest. K. Henry. She was not worth thy grief. North. You think so, sir, That took her from me ? would you give your crown, Sceptre and kingdom in exchange for her, All were as nothing to redeem my loss; To me she was the world! K. Henry. Good Heaven, that man Should set his heart on these frail fleeting things, Bind up his honour with the inconstant wind And own no offspring but on woman’s faith ! Thou did’st avoid my rock. North. My lord, I bore With adverse fate, in loyalty to you. K. Henry. If thou did’st love her—tell me all the truth. Was she not more to thee than word-betrothed? But say she was thy wife, unknit the bond That links me to a wanton, she shall live, And haply to repentance. North. Good your grace, I can say nothing more than I have said, Our hearts alone were bound, no legal tie Held us ; for me she was a maid and pure. K. Henry. Then she must die. North. Oh, pardon me, but shame And her high nature, sir, were far apart; One fault in her, intolerable pride, Galled me almost to hate her, can it be That she has stooped to wantonness ? K. Henry. ’Tis sure As eyes and ears can prove it. North. Then your grace, Grant me this favour, not to be her judge On your foregone conclusion. A CROWN FOR LOVE . 49 K. Henry. What, thou art On the commission % So be’t, none shall say I challenged you, her friend, upon her trial, Or dealt her less than justice; purge her clean Of all, if Heaven so will! North. Heaven’s will be done ! I feel in this decree the stroke of death. (Exit, r.) K. Henry. Die for her love ! The like shall many more, So far my Circe queen hath spread her net Of foul enchantments to entice men’s souls. I was her thrall till anger broke the spell, By strong compulsion of her shames; like her No woman stirred my pulses to the heart With the fierce flame of love’s devouring fire. My joy was blessed with fruit, a lovely child— Horrible thought, another’s ! Ha, the room Breathes stifling, faint, air, air ! ( Opens window.) The Glares in upon me, and his morning fires [eye of day Transmute the pale-faced waters into gold. I mind me now of such a sun in May Three years ago ; upon his glittering breast Yon river a triumphal pageant bore Of a fair woman in her queenly state From Greenwich to the Tower. I met her there, To set my royal crown upon her head— All past, like yonder ever-rolling stream : The curse remains to me ; if I be just I must be cruel, while the voice of men Cries out upon me, Herod like, to slay The thing I loved to madness, and my name Lives in the world’s abhorring. Soft you there One patient watchful eye that haunts me still!— ’Tis Armour; in his single breast doth beat The heart of England’s people— (Looks out of window) — Come up hither, My man—what, ho, without, admit that fellow ! Perchance I may resolve some doubt by him. D 50 A CROWN FOR LOVE. (Enter Armour.) K. Henry. Come hither, man. Armour. What is your will, my king ? K. Henry. Thou knowest of this great trouble come upon me ? I would give half my kingdom but to find A way out of this strait, without her death. Could’st not thou bring her to confess her guilt ? Armour. Have those confessed that be accused with her ? K. Henry. Though offered life and pardon, one and all Have paltered with the truth, Armour. And what is truth h What proof remains against them ? K. Henry. Proof? enough To doom a million lives. I heard her say She never loved me ; and from hour to hour Hew horrors creep to light. Armour. Ay, there it is ! Not easier doth the acorn breed the oak, Than of suspicion power concludeth guilt. By those who make and love a lie, the germ Is set in the hot bed of flatteries, To spring unto perdition ! K. Henry. Wilt thou swear The queen is loyal ? Armour. No man takes her part; But I who eat my meal from day to day By labour of my hands, in that rough strife, Taught to discern betwixt the truth and lies, Save woman’s failings, vanity and pride, Declare her innocent. K. Henry. I have been told She is a poisoner, thou her tool. Armour. I am Beady to give my body to be burned, To test that charge ! K. Henry. No, tortures could not bend thee. Go, thou art free, but look thou come no more Within my question. A CROWN FOR LOVE. 51 (Exit Armour.) Let the law decree The pain of death, determined by the peers Against her treason ; all means shall be good To save her, by confession of her shame ! (Exit.) Scene III .—A Hall within the Tower. Norfolk under a Dais; Suffolk, Northumberland, Lords, Judges, The Lord Mayor of London , and Anne Boleyn at the Bar . Norfolk. The indictment and the depositions read, The law doth give you leave to answer now, Whatever you can say in your defence. Anne. My lords, you hunt a maimed prey to death ; In truth, I know not how to answer you, Set to defend my honour and my life, Arraigned of such offences, that the like Were never charged against a Christian queen; On testimony sworn behind my back, No witness to confront me, face to face, Nor counsel to defend me. Norfolk. Such the law In trial of high treason. Anne. Law enough To crush me; most convenient cloak, my lords, To shelter my traducers. Norfolk. Nay, we will hear Your answer to the charge. Beply to that. Anne. I can but answer as I said already, I am the king’s true wife. The heart I sealed Together with my hand, I brought my lord Virgin and pure, though wrung by early grief For one I could have loved, but Fate o’erruled The courses of our lives. North. Unworthy heart That let her love go by ; unknightly hand That cannot right her now. Oh, this is death ! (Exit Northumberland.) 52 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Norfolk. And now, my lords, your verdict'? Each of you Say, is the prisoner guilty or not guilty *? I charge you on your honours, speak the truth. My lords, your verdict % Suffolk. ( After consulting the Lords Triers.) Guilty of high treason I Norfolk. (To Anne.) Now you shall hear.the sentence of the Court, And first ’tis fit you put away your crown And signs of royalty. Anne. (Talcing off her crown.) Eight willingly. Off! off! imperial round, that mocks the brow Of misery ! Thou tempter, wrought with charms No mortal virtue can resist, away ! Harsh kinsman, do your will upon me now : What, moved with passion, like the crocodile ? Be those eyes wet I took for graven stones 1 Norfolk. The sight of thy disgrace might wring from Some fiery drops of tears. I too must feel [flint Nature is strong in us, that man should weep To look upon thy fall. Your sentence is, You shall be taken by the Constable, Sir William Kingston, back to the king’s prison Within the Tower, and, at the king’s command, Be brought to Tower Green, and there beheaded, Or burned with fire, as it shall please the king. May Heaven have mercy on your guilty soul ! Anne. Oh, everlasting, righteous Judge, thou knowest Whether I have deserved this death ! My lords, I will not say your sentence is unjust, But you have cause you dare not whisper ’neath High Heaven, for fear the thunder fall, jin witness I never sinned against my lord, the king ! (A noise without. Cries of, 66 A pardon ! A pardon !) Norfolk. What noise is this without 1 ? Sir William Kingston, Look you keep silence, or I’ll clear the court. Where is the Constable h Kingston. (Advancing.) Lord President, The Lady Mary from the king. A CROWN FOR LOVE. 53 (Enter the Lady Mary with the child Elizabeth.) Mary. Hold ! hold ! I bring a pardon. Lady Anne, look there ! Anne. Oh, Heaven, my child ! Mary. If thou would’st live for her Confess thy guilt, ask mercy, and be saved. Anne. Is this thy counsel ? look on me, false fiend, Till face to face, I tell you what you do. You, base born shoot of England's royal stem, Have made a compact with her foreign foes To persecute to death a stainless wife, That Spanish tyrants and Italian priests May prey on this free realm, and sell our souls Like sheep for slaughter. Live and reign a queen, Teach men to curse in Bloody Mary’s name ! My orphan babe, to Heaven do I commit thee, And feel, since I have brought thee to this world, I come not to this bitter pass in vain ! Though by false, slanderous tongues betrayed to death, My dearer self shall live, and men one day Shall bless the mother of Elizabeth, Whose fair renown shall heal my mangled name, The glory and the light of England’s kings ! ( Tablau , Curtain .) End of Act IY. ACT V. Scene I.— The Queen’s Presence Chamber in the Tower . Sir William Kingston and Amice. Kingston. ( Reading letter ) Yes, ’tis his grace’s hand; [I’ll not deny Your access to the queen: yet even now The wild mood is upon her. 54 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Amice. Must she die ? Kingston. She must' to-morrow—but the hour’s kept close, Because they fear a rising of the people. Amice. Her brother too, and—Norris ? Kingston. Ay, this day Their sentence takes effect. Amice. Oh, Master Kingston, I would not hold your office—no, not for Two thousand pounds a year ! Kingston. Give thanks to Heaven You are a woman, cast in kindlier mould Than custom wears in us. Sure I have seen The fall of greatness many a time, but now, Our sun is quenched at noon—I mind me well Before her coronation, how she came. By water in procession to the Tower Of fifty barges, all with banners blazoned, Glorious with gold, and beautiful with flowers, The white rose and the red : their blended stems A snow white falcon as her emblem bore, Whose issue should unite their race; above, Her proud device was lettered, “Me and Mine ! ” Scattering rich perfumes round, and music rare, Whose diapason boomed from Tower and fleet, Up stream they floated, while the sun of May Kissed with his beams the waters ’neath her prow, And all the world came forth and wondered at her ! A nobler presence, nor a fairer face Sure eyes of men did never feast upon ! The woman’s beauty sparkled in the light Of admiration, and the blaze of fame ! The king stood waiting at the Tower stairs, And bore her in and kissed her—if she die To-morrow, ’twill be on that day three years. But soft, she comes ! Amice. (Looking off) Oh me, she is distraught. (Enter Anne, followed by Lady Kingston and Ladies. Amice retires up.) Anne. Back, back, you shall come no further with me A CROWN FOR LOVE. 55 though it be to a dungeon I will go alone. I will have no false witnesses about me, spies to note down my dreams, and report my secret thoughts. Go, go ; I tell you. The king knew what he did, when he put such wretches near me. Lady K. Madam, we are all honourable women here, to serve your grace. Anne. But why have I not those of my own chamber, such as I love? You, mistresses, think scorn of me, because I shall be put to death ; but I'll cheat your malice yet. The king does this to prove me. I shall be sent away to—to Antwerp, to make room for his new love. Lady K. Good madam, I pray for your deliverance. Anne. Oh, my brother, where is my sweet brother? And thou, Norris—I have brought ye to this ! You, who are you ? my brother’s wife ? Lady K. No, lady, this is my husband. (Pointing to Sir William.) Anne. Ha, you are my jailor ! Oh, Heaven help me, as I am guiltless of that whereof I am accused ! There will be no rain in England till I am out of the Tower; I hope it may be soon, for the dry weather—’tis hot, very hot—lay me by the river’s edge, beneath the green leaves. Kingston. Poor wretch, her mind wanders wide of the mark ! Anne. I am sorry to live so long. Before this hour I thought to have been dead—past my pain. Kingston. Nay, madam \ that shall be but little, ’tis so subtle. Anne. Hath any come back to tell you ? I have heard your executioner is most skilful, and I have a little neck. (Clasps it with her hands.) Your king hath kissed it often. Ha ! ha ! ha ! What place is this ? Kingston. Your own lodging, madam, where you lay at your coronation. Anne. I do remember—’tis too good for me. Heaven have mercy on me ! (Weeps ; then bursts into a laugh, falling on her knees.) Lady K. Heaven comfort you, lady. 56 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Anne. If you will do me kindness, sit you down there. Yes, there. ( Points to a seat beneath dais.) Lady. K. Madam, ’tis my duty to stand, not sit at all in your presence, much less upon the seat of state of the queen. Anne. Ah, that is gone! I pray you, sit down there. Lady K. Well, I have often played the fool in my youth, and to fulfil your command, I will do it once more in my age. (Sits.) Nay, madam, you shall not kneel ! Anne. (Kneeling) So, I do charge thee in the sight of Heaven, Fall down before the Lady Mary’s grace, And in like manner ask her to forgive All wrongs I have done to her ; till she forgive My conscience cannot rest. (A cry within , “ The King ! The King ! ”) Anne. What cry was that 1 ? Amice. Madam, it is the king. Anne. My hour is come to meet my enemy. (Enter King Henry, l.) K. Henry. Retire you all, we would be left alone. (Exeunt Sir William and Lady Kingston and Ladies.) Madam, you have not sued to me in vain. I come to offer mercy. Anne. For myself I have not asked it; do your pleasure, sir : For others’ sake, ’twere welcome. K. Henry. Thou hast cost Too much, enthralled me in too straight a bond, For my just wrath to cast thee all away. What hath been, hath been ; give my soul relief— Why should I slay the thing that I have loved h Confess the truth, and live. Anne. Ay, that I will Could truth deliver me. But think not, sir, That ever your poor wife will wrong so much Your grace, who chose her, though unworthy, as A CROWN FOR LOVE. 57 The partner of your greatness, stain her child, To own a fault, where not a thought hath swerved. My last and only prayer shall be, if e’er I have found favour in your sight, if e’er Your ear had pleasure in Anne Boleyn’s name, On me alone exhaust your rage, and spare The innocent souls of those poor gentlemen Condemned to die for me. K. Henry. "What, let them live? Upon this earth with me ! The men who know The sweetness of thy beauty, hold thy love In common with myself, the loathsome brood That crawl upon my feast ? Ho, they shall die The death of worms, thee only would I spare ! Anne. Do you believe me guilty ?—you are silent. Do you believe me guilty ? K. Henry. Ay, I do. Anne. Then Heaven forgive you, sir ! My enemy sworn Hath sat as my accuser and my judge : If not alone my death, but infamy Must quit you of me, then I do desire Of Heaven and grace to pardon your great sin, And not to call you to a strict account Before the everlasting judgment throne, Where you shall look upon my face again. K. Henry. Do I not know you loved me not 1 I gave My soul in pawn to borrow love of thee, And fetched away the stale and barren kiss Of withered custom : hadst thou asked of me To cleave my kingdom or my heart in twain, I had kept nothing back from thee : but thou With smiles of cold deceit did’st clothe thy hate; Thy humours lost my boy. Anne. Oh, sir, you follow The bent of your affections, set on her For sake of whom I am as now I am : I could have named her long ago, your grace Being not ignorant of my suspicion! Your fault and her’s proved mortal to our'son : You love, will marry her, is’t true ] A CROWN FOR LOVE. 58 K. Henry. It may be That I shall marry—for good cause—not love ; I’ve known too much of women. Set me free Some other way than by thy death. Anne. My liege Do as you will, but never prince had wife More loyal in all duty and true love, Than you have found in me. K. Henry. Thou did’st confess But yesterday, thou had’st been Percy’s wife. Anne. Ha, said I so ? Then I was mad. ’Tis false ! K. Henry. ’Tis on my mind that he did handsel thee. His wife thou art, not mine. Anne, Does he say so 'l K. Henry. No, faith, being questioned, he denied it all. Anne. Then Percy has been true ! I have your drift; Unqueened, dishonoured, suffered so to live, Stripped of my wifehood, by consent to shame ; My child a spurious changeling. No ! no ! no ! I have no cause; for me, ’tis best to die. K. Henry. Then do your choice. I’ll use the means I know Apt to compel the truth from stubborn lips— In mercy to thyself, I’ll do’t. Anne, My liege, You will not torture me h K. Henry. Not thy soft body, The delicate fabric of my sweet delight I would not mangle by the hangman’s hands : I’ll harrow up the sinews of thy soul With such revenge, so terrible, so meet, ’T’will lend new horror to these ancient stones When men repeat thy story. Anne. What means this % K. Henry. Thou’lt see what I will do. I leave thee to Thy own devices : now to mock the time, We’ll wear our life out as an evil jest, A harness marred past mending : fortune’s stings Are woman’s weapon’s, prove them ’gainst a king’s ! (Exit K. Henry, l.) A CROWN FOR LOVE. 59 Anne. Gone, gone ! What sound is ringing in my ears Like a black circle creeping o’er my brain ? The room swims round, I’ll call for help, no, no, Better alone than set by wolfish eyes, Let me be still, and bear what I must bear. Some sense there was borne in upon me of The thing he left unspoken—some dread of worse Than in division ’twixt the spirit and flesh To suffer of that fell anatomy, Whose arrows shoot so keen. Ha ! ’tis the time ! Warm, throbbing heart and head are cleft in twain To bleed asunder on the earth in death ! In death—how if it be not death ? I’ve heard The severed head, when the baptismal name In the stark ear was whispered, hath been seen To ope its eyes, and look its agony, Unutterable by the tongue—cold drops Of horror on my brow are trickling down. ( Bell tolls.) Ha, there, the knell of doom ! Some wretch this hour Shall prove these hideous secrets. Can it be My brother ? I’ll look, although a sight be there To smite my eyes with blindness. ( Goes to window) Ha, ’tis he ! My brother—mercy, mercy, a reprieve ! I am the queen, I’ll answer for it—his life You cannot render back 1—ha, hold your hands, Stay, mercy, mercy, mercy ! Ah ! it falls. (Sinks upon the ground.) Scene II. A Passage in the Vaults of the Tower. (Enter Norfolk and Executioners afterwards Adam Armour is borne in.) Norfolk. The potent cordial has revived his spirits : Here is more air than in his cell, so bring him : 60 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Belike he’ll speak. (Armour is brought in.) Now wilt thou answer us, Touching Queen Catherine’s death by poison 1 Speak ! Armour. I may not bear false witness ’gainst myself: You can but slay my body, that is yours To do yoilr will upon, but for my soul, Though you should offer me the world in fee, You could not purchase that. Norfolk. But we have means Of torture, subtle, exquisite, to wring The finest nerve and fibre of thy frame: Why yet thou’st suffered nothing. Armour. You do wrong To violate the laws of England : these Allow no torture. Norfolk. Fie ! we know no law But public safety ; for the general weal We use our licence to detect and crush The envenomed heretic, poisoner of souls. Armour. Then use it on true traitors, such as Spain, Breeds of her slime, infecting this free land. Nay, fear to outrage thus the vilest form, Stamped with the immortal image of its God. Oh, shrinking flesh, I could despair ! (Fainting.) Norfolk. Confess! Earn swift release; would’st thou in stubbornness Outvie thy betters 1 Armour. Have they told you aught ? Norfolk. Mark Smeaton hath, his treasons with the [queen : The faint denials of those gentlemen, Had easily proved the like, but we’re forbid With them such means of question as befits Thy baser sort. Armour. I am poor and humble born, But truth is on my side: I will not fear What man can do to me—’tis not much more. (Enter Sir Thomas Wyatt.) Wyatt. My lord, the king is high in wrath to hear A CROWN FOR LOVE. 61 Of your so extreme handling of this man, Whom he commands you instantly release. Norfolk. So be’t, he shall go free as best he may. Tis day ; is not the execution toward ? Come, let us hence. Lead forth and loose this man. (.Exeunt A Bell tolls as Scene Changes.) Scene III. Tower Green. The Scaffold. A crowd of Citizens. Guards, (See. Enter Sir William Kingston and Sir Thomas Wyatt. Kingston. Faith, I have seen men die, and women too, With sorrow, loth enough, but to my knowledge The queen hath pleasure and much joy in death. Since two o’clock past midnight, she abides Continually in prayer. Sir, pardon me, The time requires my duty. (Exit.) Wyatt. Woe is me, That see, and can do nothing ! I who knew And loved her from a child : look there, she comes, To meet her death ! What light is in her eye, What radiance wraps her form ! I think the queen Hath never looked so beautiful before ! (Enter through the Portal , in procession , ushered by Sir William Kingston as Chamberlain, the Queen preceded by Guards, the Executioner bearing the Axe with the edge towards her. Amice and three other Maids of Honour. Suffolk, the Lord Mayor, (See ., take their seats.) Anne. I charge you witness, now my hour is come, I do protest my innocence of that Wherefore I am to die. Sir Thomas Wyatt! Wyatt. (Approaching.) Madam, I bear an errand from [the king; At this last hour, upon the same harsh terms (52 A CROWN FOR LOVE. Pardon is yours; your majesty best knows What fits your honour. Anne. ( With suppressed irony.) Commend me to his grace. Tell him he hath been constant in his course For my advancement: from a simple maid He made me a marchioness, from thence a queen, And having no degree of honour left *Yet higher to bestow, he gives me now The crown of martyrs in the court of Heaven. (Ascends steps of scaffold ; looking round sees Suffolk.) t Pray do not haste the signal for my death, Till I have spoken what is on my mind. Good Christian people, I came here to die, Not to accuse my enemies; by the law I am judged to suffer, therefore will I say Nothing against it, neither will I speak Of what I am accused, for well I know From my defence could spring no hope of life; Only to die I come, to yield myself To the commandment of my lord, the king. Long may he live and reign, for ne’er was prince Gentler, more merciful; ay, and to me, Till traitors parted us, he ever was A loving and most gracious sovereign lord. If any man will meddle with my cause, I do require he judge the best; and thus I take my leave of you and of the world, Entreating of you all to pray for me ! Hither, my damsels, come, unbind my coif. What, all amazed 1 nay, then, I’ll tend myself— True hearts that love me to the last, farewell ! No tears. (Embraces the Maids of Honour, Amice last.) (The Executioner approaches, and Jcneels.) Anne. What would this man ? Executioner. Your pardon, madam. Anne. Fellow, I owe thee kindness ; take this gift. (Gives chain off her neck.) ~A GROWN FOR LOW& Be bold, despatch and spare me lingering v Be yare with me—the parting is not much. (Armour, entering , falls at her feet.) ’Tis notlm The strife is done : ’tis peace, ’tis triumph now, A crown immortal ! (Dies.) Anne. Faithful unto death ! Through the dark shadow would’st thou point the As thou art now, so would I be ! No, no, You shall not bind my eyes; am I not taught To know the King of Terrors as my friend ] Into thy hands !—Farewell, farewell, farewell ! As she speaks the last words Anne closes her eyes , then suddenly opens them , looking upwards , while a light breaks upon her countenance , as she slowly sink s, as if mechanically to her knees. The curtain descends on Tableau. EMILY FAITHFULL, PRINTER IN ORDINARY TO THE QUEEN, 85 , PRAED STREET W.