ACT II.

SCENE I. A Street.

Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.

1 Gent. Whither away so fast?

2 Gent. 0,-God save you! Even to the hall, to hear what shall become Of the great duke of Buckingham.

1 Gent.

I'll save you

That labour, sir. All's now done, but the cere

mony

Of bringing back the prisoner.

2 Gent.

1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 2 Gent.

Were you there?

Pray, speak, what has happen'd?

1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 2 Gent. Is he found guilty? 1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it. 2 Gent. I am sorry for❜t.

1 Gent.

So are a number more.

2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it?

1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke Came to the bar; where, to his accusations, He pleaded still, not guilty, and alleg'd Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. The king's attorney, on the contrary,

Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions Of divers witnesses; which the duke desir'd To have brought, viva voce, to his face:

At which appear'd against him, his surveyor; Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Court, Confessor to him; with that devil-monk, Hopkins, that made this mischief.

2 Gent.

That was he,

The same.

That fed him with his prophecies?
1 Gent.
All these accus'd him strongly; which he fain
Would have flung from him, but, indeed he could

not:

And so his peers, upon this evidence,
Have found him guilty of high treason.
He spoke, and learnedly, for life: but all
Was either pitied in him, or forgotten.

Much

2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself?

1 Gent. When he was brought again to the

bar,-to hear

His knell rung out, his judgment,-he was stirr'd
With such an agony, he sweat extremely,
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty:
But he fell to himself again, and, sweetly,
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.
2 Gent. I do not think, he fears death.
1 Gent.
Sure, he does not,
He never was so womanish; the cause
He may a little grieve at.

2 Gent.

The cardinal is the end of this.

1 Gent.

Certainly,

'Tis likely,

By all conjectures: First, Kildare's attainder, Then deputy of Ireland; who remov❜d,

Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too, Lest he should help his father.

2 Gent.

That trick of state

Was a deep envious one.
1 Gent.
At his return,
No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted,
And generally: whoever the king favours,
The cardinal instantly will find employment,
And far enough from court too.

2 Gent.
All the commons
Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
Wish him ten fathom deep: this duke as much
They love and dote on; call him bounteous
Buckingham,

The mirror of all courtesy ;

1 Gent. Stay there, sir, And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of.

Enter BUCKINGHAM from his arraignment; Tipstaves before him, the axe with the edge towards him; halberds on each side: with him, SIR THOMAS LOVELL, SIR NICHOLAS VAUX, SIR WILLIAM SANDS, and common People.

2 Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. Buck. All good people, You that thus far have come to pity me, Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, And by that name must die; Yet, heaven bear witness,

And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me,
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful!
The law I bear no malice for my death,
It has done, upon the premises, but justice:
But those, that sought it, I could wish more
christians:

Be what they will, I heartily forgive them :
Yet let them look they glory not in mischief,
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men;
For then my guiltless blood must cry against
them.

For further life in this world I ne'er hope,
Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies
More than I dare make faults. You few that
lov'd me,

And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying,

Go with me, like good angels, to my end;
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me,
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to heaven.-Lead on, o' God's

name.

Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity, If ever any malice in your heart

Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you, As I would be forgiven: I forgive all;

There cannot be those numberless offences 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with: no black envy

Shall make my grave.-Commend me to his grace;

And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him You met him half in heaven: my vows and prayers

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

Lov. To the water side I must conduct your

grace;

Then give my charge up to Sir Nicholas Vaux, Who undertakes you to your end.

Vaux.

Prepare there,

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

Buck.

Nay, Sir Nicholas, Let it alone; my state now will but mock me. When I came hither, I was lord high constable, And duke of Buckingham; now, poor Edward Bohun:

Yet I am richer than my base accusers,

That never knew what truth meant: I now seal it; And with that blood will make them one day groan for't.

My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant Banister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray'd,
And without trial fell; God's peace be with him!
Henry the Seventh, succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins,
Made my name once more noble. Now his son,
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all
That made me happy, at one stroke has taken
For ever from the world. I had my trial,
And, must needs say, a noble one; which makes

me

A little happier than my wretched father:
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes,-Both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most;
A most unnatural and faithless service!
Heaven has an end in all: Yet, you that bear me,
This from a dying man receive as certain:
Where you are liberal of your loves, and coun-
sels,
[friends,
Be sure, you be not loose; for those you make
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortuues, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
Pray for me! I must now forsake ye; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewell:

And when you would say something that is sad, Speak how I fell.-I have done; and God forgive [Exeunt BUCKINGHAM and Train.

me!

1 Gent. O, this is full of pity!-Sir, it calls, I fear, too many curses on their heads, That were the authors.

2 Gent.

If the duke be guiltless,

"Tis full of woe: yet I can give you inkling Of an ensuing evil, if it fall,

Greater than this.

1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us! Where may it be? You do not doubt my faith, sir. 2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require A strong faith to conceal it.

1 Gent.

I do not talk much.

2 Gent.

Let me have it.

I am confident:

You shall, sir: Did you not of late days hear A buzzing, of a separation

Between the king and Katharine?

1 Gent. Yes, but it held not: For when the king once heard it, out of anger He sent command to the lord mayor, straight To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues That durst disperse it.

2 Gent.

But that slander, sir, Is found a truth now; for it grows again Fresher than e'er it was; and, held for certain, The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal, Or some about him near, have, out of malice To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple That will undo her: To confirm this too, Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately; As all think, for this business.

1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal; And merely to revenge him on the emperor, For not bestowing on him, at his asking, The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 2 Gent. I think you have hit the mark: But is't not cruel,

That she should feel the smart of this? The car

dinal

Will have his will, and she must fall.

1 Gent.

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

'Tis woful.

[Exeunt.