SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments. The Life of King Henry the Eighth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Henry VIII  | Act 2, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE III. An ante-chamber of the QUEEN'S apartments. 

 Enter ANNE and an Old Lady  ANNE  Not for that neither: here's the pang that pinches: 

 His highness having lived so long with her, and she 

 So good a lady that no tongue could ever 

 Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life, 

 She never knew harm-doing: O, now, after 

 So many courses of the sun enthroned, 

 Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which 

 To leave a thousand-fold more bitter than 

 'Tis sweet at first to acquire,--after this process, 

 To give her the avaunt! it is a pity 

 Would move a monster. 

 Old Lady  Hearts of most hard temper 

 Melt and lament for her. 

 ANNE  O, God's will! much better 

 She ne'er had known pomp: though't be temporal, 

 Yet, if that quarrel, fortune, do divorce 

 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance panging 

 As soul and body's severing. 

 Old Lady  Alas, poor lady! 

 She's a stranger now again. 

 ANNE  So much the more 

 Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 

 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 

 And range with humble livers in content, 

 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 

 And wear a golden sorrow. 

 Old Lady  Our content 

 Is our best having. 

 ANNE  By my troth and maidenhead, 

 I would not be a queen. 

 Old Lady  Beshrew me, I would, 

 And venture maidenhead for't; and so would you, 

 For all this spice of your hypocrisy: 

 You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, 

 Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet 

 Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 

 Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, 

 Saving your mincing, the capacity 

 Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive, 

 If you might please to stretch it. 

 ANNE  Nay, good troth. 

 Old Lady  Yes, troth, and troth; you would not be a queen? 

 ANNE  No, not for all the riches under heaven. 

 Old Lady:	'Tis strange: a three-pence bow'd would hire me, 

 Old as I am, to queen it: but, I pray you, 

 What think you of a duchess? have you limbs 

 To bear that load of title? 

 ANNE  No, in truth. 

 Old Lady  Then you are weakly made: pluck off a little; 

 I would not be a young count in your way, 

 For more than blushing comes to: if your back 

 Cannot vouchsafe this burthen,'tis too weak 

 Ever to get a boy. 

 ANNE  How you do talk! 

 I swear again, I would not be a queen 

 For all the world. 

 Old Lady  In faith, for little England 

 You'ld venture an emballing: I myself 

 Would for Carnarvonshire, although there long'd 

 No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here? 



 Enter Chamberlain  Chamberlain  Good morrow, ladies. What were't worth to know 

 The secret of your conference? 

 ANNE  My good lord, 

 Not your demand; it values not your asking: 

 Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 

 Chamberlain  It was a gentle business, and becoming 

 The action of good women: there is hope 

 All will be well. 

 ANNE  Now, I pray God, amen! 

 Chamberlain  You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings 

 Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady, 

 Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's 

 Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 

 Commends his good opinion of you, and 

 Does purpose honour to you no less flowing 

 Than Marchioness of Pembroke: to which title 

 A thousand pound a year, annual support, 

 Out of his grace he adds. 

 ANNE  I do not know 

 What kind of my obedience I should tender; 

 More than my all is nothing: nor my prayers 

 Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 

 More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes 

 Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship, 

 Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience, 

 As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness; 

 Whose health and royalty I pray for. 

 Chamberlain  Lady, 

 I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit 

 The king hath of you. 



 Aside  I have perused her well; 

 Beauty and honour in her are so mingled 

 That they have caught the king: and who knows yet 

 But from this lady may proceed a gem 

 To lighten all this isle? I'll to the king, 

 And say I spoke with you. 



 Exit Chamberlain  ANNE  My honour'd lord. 

 Old Lady  Why, this it is; see, see! 

 I have been begging sixteen years in court, 

 Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could 

 Come pat betwixt too early and too late 

 For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate! 

 A very fresh-fish here--fie, fie, fie upon 

 This compell'd fortune!--have your mouth fill'd up 

 Before you open it. 

 ANNE  This is strange to me. 

 Old Lady  How tastes it? is it bitter? forty pence, no. 

 There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, 

 That would not be a queen, that would she not, 

 For all the mud in Egypt: have you heard it? 

 ANNE  Come, you are pleasant. 

 Old Lady  With your theme, I could 

 O'ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke! 

 A thousand pounds a year for pure respect! 

 No other obligation! By my life, 

 That promises moe thousands: honour's train 

 Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time 

 I know your back will bear a duchess: say, 

 Are you not stronger than you were? 

 ANNE  Good lady, 

 Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy, 

 And leave me out on't. Would I had no being, 

 If this salute my blood a jot: it faints me, 

 To think what follows. 

 The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 

 In our long absence: pray, do not deliver 

 What here you've heard to her. 

 Old Lady  What do you think me? 



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