The Poetical Works of Howitt, Milman, and Keats

Sprang up, and call'd to horse, while tumult wild
Broke up the marr'd and frighted ceremony.

GARDINER.

Something of this I augur'd: as the King
Swept furious by, he beckon'd me; yet seem'd
Too busied with his wrathful thoughts to heed
Whom thus he summon'd; and I heard him mutter
The saucy groom!" and terms, which to repeat
Were not o'erfitting priestly lips, but coupled

Sate upon
brows that turn'd aside to avoid me.
The menials are infected: not a groom,
As I descended from my litter, lent
His hand to aid me; and my ante-rooms
Are mute and empty, even as though the plague
Had tainted all the air. Well, what of this?
Oh, God of Grace! thou 'rt bounteous still! Fall off
The cumbrous trappings and appendages
Of mine uneasy state, thou leavest me yet

With the Queen's name most strangely. Seeing this, One far too old and one too young to change:

I thought it in mine office to administer

Grave ghostly admonition, mingled well
With certain homily and pulpit phrases
Of man's ingratitude, and gracious Kings

Whose bounties are abused; the general looseness
Of the age. The more I spake, the more he madden'd,
As though my words were oil on fire.

My child, my Mother, and my Innocence,
Shall make me up a blest society,

An Empress girt about with handmaid-queens
Might envy. At her charge I left my Mother,
Her charge, whose joy renews her youth, and makes her
Like some fond nurse o'er her first-born-

Of the King's Grace with such a dangerous doubt. Your Highness!

QUEEN.

Start ye thus to see me laugh? There's laughter that is grief's most bitter language, Laughter that hath no mirth-and such is mine. Lieutenant of the Tower, I tell thee this:

Most true; yet know'st thou not the worst: the King
Has changed to such a deadly hate against her,
That she must die-

MARK.

Die! die!-No, Sir, no soul Will load itself with such a deep damnation : Earth would break out in execration, Heaven

I've done, Sir, in my days, some good, through Christ; With unexampled thunders interdict

If they misjudge my cause, yea, but a jot, The fiery indignation from above

Shall blast the bosom of this land, the skies Shall be as brass, nor rain nor drop of dew Shall moisten the adust and gaping earth.

KINGSTON.

I would beseech your Highness to compose Your too distemper'd mind.

QUEEN.

Where are the Bishops, The holy Bishops? They will plead my cause, And make my enemies kneel at my footstool. I needs must laugh, Sir, but I'll weep anon, Weep floods, weep life-blood, weep till every heart Shall ache and burst to see me. Now I'll kneel— Behold me kneel!-and imprecate Heaven's vengeance If I'm not guiltless. Come-away-awayIs your barge ready? Sooner to my judgment, Sooner to my deliverance.-So, back

To those I dare not name, I dare not think of.

The horrible sentence!

ANGELO.

Youth, I'll trust thee farther.

Come hither, close-thy love to thy lost mistress
Warrants my somewhat dangerous confidence:
She stands between the King and a new lust-
He must be widow'd, e'er his guilty heart
Glut its foul appetite.

MARK.

Oh! reverend Father, Does not thy flesh grow cold, thy holy heart Sicken still more and more at this bad world? For me, for me, she will so hallow deathShe will so darken and make void this earth At her departure-I and all true servants Will seek out our untimely graves, to attend, Adore her, in a better world; at least, Not live in this, when sunless of her presence.

ANGELO.

Now, as a heretic I love her not,

But yet my charity would not she were cast,
Where she must perish body and soul in hell;
I'd have her live-live on, in shame and sorrow;
For sorrow is the mother of true penitence.

MARK.

Is there no way to save her?

ANGELO.

None.

MARK.

Then, farewell

All hope, all joy in this world's wilderness, A barren waste of sand, the fountain dried That was its life and gladness.—

ANGELO.

None, but that At which our nature shudders, which would damn The name to blackest branded infamy, Would peril the eternal soul, would give The fiends such awful vantage, by a crime, A wilful crime, so like th' accursed Judas, That good men would not stay to seek the cause, But heap the head with merciless execration. Where shall we find, in these degenerate days, Devotion more than Roman?-Who will risk His fame, his soul, to save a woman's life, And give a heretic time to pluck the brand Of her lost soul out of hell fire?

Do with me as thou wilt-I'll speak, I'll swear,
I'll pull down good men's imprecations, Heaven's—
No, Heaven will pardon if I save the heavenly!
Upon my head rain curses, contumelies,
She will erewhile be taught to bless me; ways
Will sure be found to teach her why I've dared
Thus 'gainst my nature, bold and false-she 'll know it,
She'll know it all-my pains, my hopes, my truth!—

ANNE BOLEYN landing at the Tower. SIR WILLIAM KINGSTON, Guards.

QUEEN.

Here-here, then, all is o'er!-Oh! awful walls,
Oh! sullen towers, relentless gates, that open
Like those of Hell, but to receive the doom'd,
The desperate-Oh! ye black and massy barriers,
But broken by yon barr'd and narrow loop-holes,
How do ye coop from this God's sunshine world
Of freedom and delight, your world of woe,
Your midnight world, where all that live, live on
In hourly agony of death! Vast dungeon,
Populous as vast, of your devoted tenants!
Long ere our bark had touch'd the fatal strand,
I felt your ominous shadows darken o'er me,
And close me round; your thick and clammy air,
As though 't were loaded with dire imprecations,
Wailings of dying and of tortured men,
Tainted afar the wholesome atmosphere.
KINGSTON (to the Guard).

Advance your halberds.

QUEEN.

Oh! Sir, pause-one look, One last long look, to satiate all my senses. Oh! thou blue cloudless canopy, just tinged With the faint amber of the setting sun, Where one by one steal forth the modest stars To diadem the sky-thou noble river, Whose quiet ebb, not like my fortune, sinks With gentle downfall, and around the keels Of those thy myriad barks makest passing music:Oh! thou great silent city, with thy spires And palaces, where I was once the greatest, The happiest-I, whose presence made a tumult In all your wondering streets and jocund marts:But most of all, thou cool and twilight air, That art a rapture to the breath! The slave, The beggar, the most base down-trodden outcast, The plague-struck livid wretch, there's none so vile. So abject, in your streets, that swarm with life— They may inhale the liquid joy Heaven breathesThey may behold the rosy evening skyThey may go rest their free limbs where they will: But I-but I, to whom this summer world Was all bright sunshine; I, whose time was noted But by succession of delights-Oh! Kingston, Thou dost remember, thou wert then Lieutenant, "T is now-how many years?-my memory wanders Since I set forth from yon dark low-brow'd porch, A bride-a monarch's bride-King Henry's bride? Oh! the glad pomp, that burn'd upon the watersOh! the rich streams of music that kept time

With oars as musical-the people's shouts,

That call'd Heaven's blessings on my head, in sounds That might have drown'd the thunders- -I've more need

Of blessing now, and not a voice would say it.

KINGSTON.

Your Grace, no doubt, will long survive this trial.

QUEEN.

Sir, Sir, it is too late to flatter me:

Time was I trusted each fond possibility,
For hope sate queen of all my golden fortunes;
But now-

KINGSTON.

Day wears, and our imperious mandate Brooks no delay-advance.

QUEEN.

Back, back, I say!I will not enter! Whither will ye plunge me? Into what chamber, but the sickly air

Smells all of blood-the black and cobweb'd walls

Are all o'ertraced by dying hand, who've noted

In the damp dews indelible their tale

Of torture-not a bed nor straw-laid pallet

But bears th' impression of a wretch call'd forth

To execution. Will ye place me there,

Whitehall.

KING HENRY and Attendants.

KING.

'Sdeath! ye're all traitors: the King's bed defiled,
And by his grooms, and ye must pause and parley
For proof and witness! Find me demonstration,
Or I'll be law, witness, and judge. A King
Not to cast off a wanton from his bed,

But must be trammel'd, thwarted, check'd, control'd
By quirks of law, old formal statutes, rolls
Of parchment scribled o'er with musty phrases!
I'll let you know our will's this kingdom's law.
Where's Norreys?

ATTENDANT.

He awaits your Highness' pleasure.

KING.

Come hither, Norreys: we have loved, have trusted

you

Could you find out no nobler way than this

Of being a traitor? could your daring lust
Stoop to no humbler paramour than our Queen?

NORREYS.

Your pardon, Sire, but save your Highness' presence,
Show me the man dare taint my name with treason,

Where those poor babes, their crook-back'd uncle I'd dash my gauntlet in his face, and choke

murder'd,

Still haunt?-Inhuman hospitality!

Look there! look there! fear mantles o'er my soul

As with a prophet's robe, the ghostly walls

Are sentinel'd with mute and headless spectres,
Whose lank and grief-attenuated fingers
Point to their gory and dissever'd necks,

The least and lordly noble, some like princes:
Through the dim loop-holes gleam the haggard faces
Of those, whose dark unutterable fate

Lies buried in your dungeons' depths; some wan
With famine, some with writhing features fix'd
In the agony of torture.-Back! I say:
They beckon me across the fatal threshold,
Which none may pass and live.

KINGSTON.

The deaths of traitors, If such have died within these gloomy towers, Should not appal your Grace with such vain terrors; The chamber is prepared where slept your Highness When last within the Tower.

QUEEN.

Oh! 't is too good For such a wretch-a death-doom'd wretch, as me. My Lord, my Henry-he that call'd me forth Even from that chamber, with a voice more gentle Than flutes o'er calmest waters-will not wrong Th'eternal Justice-the great law of Kings! Let him arraign me-bribe as witnesses The angels that behold our inmost thoughts, He'll find no crime but loving him too fondly; And let him visit that with his worst vengeance. Come, Sir, your wearied patience well may fail : On to that chamber, where I slept so sweetly, When guiltier far than now. On-on, good Kingston.

Th'audacious lie within his venomous throat.
And more, excepting still my Liege's person,
Whoe'er hath slander'd the Queen's honour, be it
With me, or Knight far worthier of her favour,
I do defy that man to mortal battle,

Body to body, as a Knight-I'll prove him
The most convicted, recreant, foulest slanderer,
Whose breath e'er soil'd a Lady's spotless name!

KING.

Thou hast done us service, Norreys; for that reason,
Though we impeach our honour by our mercy,
Confess, if treacherous opportunity

Or her too easy virtue did allure thee,
(For in the heat and wild distemperature
Of passion, noblest souls forget themselves).
Be bold, be dauntless, but be true: we pledge
The honour of a king, to give thee back
Thy forfeit life; for look ye, she shall die-
She and her minions!-Stand thou forth our witness,
Perchance, beside thy life, our grace may find
Some meet return.

NORREYS.

I do beseech your Highness, What act of mine in all my life avouches The slanderous hope, to buy or life, or what I value more, my Sov'reign's gracious favour, I'd perjure mine own soul, accuse the blameless? My Liege, you are abused-foully abused! Some devil hath beset your easy ear. If you strike off this unoffending head, Your Majesty will lose a faithful servantThat's soon replaced; but for the Queen, I say, And will maintain it with my life, the best, The chastest Queen, the closest nun in Europe, Is Messalina to a Vestal

KING.

Off!

Away with him to the Tower.-What! have we stoop'd

Thus to be gracious, to be scorn'd and rated,

And by our slaves?

The above. WINCHESTER.

KING.

Why how now, Winchester?

Another Churchman come t' impeach his King,
And with mock charitable incredulity
Arraign his justice? I'd but now a missive
From Cranmer ;-he, forsooth, good blameless man,
Knowing no sin himself, believes there's none
In others.-'Sdeath! I'll hear no more excuses;
The fact's as clear, or shall be, as yon Sun.
Thou think'st her guiltless?

GARDINER.

Till this hour, my Liege,
I could have pledged my life, sworn strongest oaths
That such a monstrous sin-a sin that darkens
The annals of mankind, makes us suspect
Some moral plague broke out in human nature-
Had been impossible. Oh! best and greatest,
That best and greatest to ungrateful men
Should be a license thus to wrong the bounties
By which they lived!—And that the Queen-raised up
From a Knight's daughter to the throne of England
A partner of King Henry's bed—the strange,
Th' unnatural act doth give itself the lie!
It doth outargue closest demonstration,
And make us rather deem our senses traitors
Than trust the assurance of most damning proofs.

KING.

Now, by St. Paul! thou wear'st our patience.-Speak,
How got ye this? look ye confirm it.

GARDINER.

Sire,

May 't please your Highness, that a holy Friar,
Albeit I know your Grace for weightiest reasons
Mistrusts their order, hath perpetual access
Unto the prisoner Smeaton.

KING.

Ha! a priest

I' the plot—why then 't
We are bound to thee.
Look thou make good this charge against our Queen,
Or, by St. Paul! thou shalt have cause to rue it.
So, back to Greenwich; we'll go hunt the deer!
Blow horns-yell dogs-we 'll have a gorgeous day!
The sun is in the Heavens, and our high heart
Is mounting with him. Off-to horse-to horse.

is ripe and pregnant. Gardiner
My Lord of Winchester,

The Tower.
QUEEN.

"Blessed are those that weep."-Oh! truth of truths,
Not understood till felt-thou grace of Heaven,
Spirit of Christ, thou didst not all forsake me,
When my whole life was like a banquet-served
By Pride and Luxury-dangerous cup-bearers.
Prayers, all unwonted on the dainty couch,
Where Queens are lapt in purple, fail'd not me;
Mine heart, a place forbid to pain or sorrow,
Thou didst incline to other's grief: I read
In the deep lines of woe-worn cheeks, the bliss
Of resignation to the Eternal will;
And felt, admired, adored the Christian beauty
Of graces that I had no scope to practise.
But now,
oh Christ! that thou vouchsafest me
The mercy of affliction-oh! the warmth
Would there were none, my Liege, who bears Of prayer that burns upon my lips, the deep,

Ha! proofs ?

KING.

GARDINER.

Tidings of shame to an abused husband,
That husband too a King, a glorious King—
Sire, my ungracious presence still will seem
A base remembrancer of these foul deeds,
Odious as they—

KING.

Your proofs, good Prelate, proofs.

GARDINER.

Is the confession of the guilty, forced
By no stern tension of the searching rack,
Nor laceration of the bleeding flesh,
But free, unbribed, unsought-

KING.

Ha! which!

GARDINER.

The full religion that o'erflows my heart.
My cited thoughts stand ready at my call,
And undistracted memory ranges o'er
My map of life-where it is wilderness

Or weed-o'ergrown, pour streams of penitence;
But where the sunshine of Heaven's grace, though
cross'd

By hasty clouds of earthly passion, gleams
Upon the golden harvest of good deeds,
It glorifies that Sun in humblest thankfulness.
Thee, therefore, amiable prison, thee-
Oh! Solitude-dreadful in apprehension;
When present, to the friendless, the best friend!
Henceforth will I esteem, as much beyond
The pride and press of courts, as I feel nearer

My Liege, To Heaven within you.

'Tis that outdoes all record of old crime,
Makes true all tales of fabulous wantonness;
It is the boy-ae beardless boy!-Oh! lust,
Blind as unbridled, frantic as impure,
That no discrimination knows, nor choice
Of base from noble, foul from fair-to fall
From the allow'd embrace of such a king-

QUEEN, CRANMER.

QUEEN.

Good my Lord Archbishop,

I will not wrong thee by the idle question
Why here? "Tis sorrow's dwelling, and thou art here
But in obedience to thy heart and function.

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The Poetical Works of Howitt, Milman, and Keats: Complete in One Volume