his neck, yet never lost her lustre;
Of her that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men
with; even of her
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls,
Will bless the king: and is not this course
Heaven keep me from such counsel! 'Tis most true
These news are every where; every tongue speaks
And every true heart weeps for't: all that dare
Look into these affairs see this main end,
king's sister. Heaven will one day open
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon
This bold bad man.
And free us from his slavery.
We had need pray,
And heartily, for our deliverance;
Or this imperious man will work us all
into pages: all men's honours
Lie like one lump before him, to be fashion'd
Into what pitch he please.
For me, my lords,
I love him not, nor fear him; there's my creed:
As I am made without him, so I'll stand,
the king please; his curses and his blessings
Touch me alike, they're breath I not believe in.
I knew him,
and I know him; so I leave him
To him that made him proud, the pope.
And with some other business put the king
From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon
My lord, you'll bear us company?
The king has sent me otherwhere: besides,
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him:
to your lordships.
Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.
Exit Chamberlain; and KING HENRY VIII draws the curtain, and sits reading pensively
How sad he looks! sure, he is much afflicted.
KING HENRY VIII
Who's there, ha?
Pray God he be not angry.
KING HENRY VIII
Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust yourselves
Into my private meditations?
Who am I? ha?
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