Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady. An. Not for that neither; here's the pang that pinches. His Highnesse, hauing liu'd so long with her, and she So good a Lady, that no Tongue could euer Pronounce dishonour of her; by my life, She neuer knew harme-doing: Oh, now after So many courses of the Sun enthroaned, Still growing in a Maiesty and pompe, the which To leaue, a thousand fold more bitter, then 'Tis sweet at first t' acquire. After this Processe. To giue her the auaunt, it is a pitty Would moue a Monster Old La. Hearts of most hard temper Melt and lament for her An. Oh Gods will, much better She ne're had knowne pompe; though't be temporall, Yet if that quarrell. Fortune, do diuorce It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging As soule and bodies seuering Old L. Alas poore Lady, Shee's a stranger now againe An. So much the more Must pitty drop vpon her; verily I sweare, tis better to be lowly borne, And range with humble liuers in Content, Then to be perk'd vp in a glistring griefe, And weare a golden sorrow Old L. Our content Is our best hauing Anne. By my troth, and Maidenhead, I would not be a Queene Old.L. Beshrew me, I would, And venture Maidenhead for't, and so would you For all this spice of your Hipocrisie: You that haue so faire parts of Woman on you, Haue (too) a Womans heart, which euer yet Affected Eminence, Wealth, Soueraignty; Which, to say sooth, are Blessings; and which guifts (Sauing your mincing) the capacity Of your soft Chiuerell Conscience, would receiue, If you might please to stretch it Anne. Nay, good troth Old L. Yes troth, & troth; you would not be a Queen? Anne. No, not for all the riches vnder Heauen Old.L. Tis strange; a threepence bow'd would hire me Old as I am, to Queene it: but I pray you, What thinke you of a Dutchesse? Haue you limbs To beare that load of Title? An. No in truth Old.L. Then you are weakly made; plucke off a little, I would not be a young Count in your way, For more then blushing comes to: If your backe Cannot vouchsafe this burthen, tis too weake Euer to get a Boy An. How you doe talke; I sweare againe, I would not be a Queene, For all the world Old.L. In faith, for little England You'ld venture an emballing: I my selfe Would for Carnaruanshire, although there long'd No more to th' Crowne but that: Lo, who comes here? Enter Lord Chamberlaine. L.Cham. Good morrow Ladies; what wer't worth to know The secret of your conference? An. My good Lord, Not your demand; it values not your asking: Our Mistris Sorrowes we were pittying Cham. It was a gentle businesse, and becomming The action of good women, there is hope All will be well An. Now I pray God, Amen Cham. You beare a gentle minde, & heau'nly blessings Follow such Creatures. That you may, faire Lady Perceiue I speake sincerely, and high notes Tane of your many vertues; the Kings Maiesty Commends his good opinion of you, to you; and Doe's purpose honour to you no lesse flowing, Then Marchionesse of Pembrooke; to which Title, A Thousand pound a yeare, Annuall support, Out of his Grace, he addes An. I doe not know What kinde of my obedience, I should tender; More then my All, is Nothing: Nor my Prayers Are not words duely hallowed; nor my Wishes More worth, then empty vanities: yet Prayers & Wishes Are all I can returne. 'Beseech your Lordship, Vouchsafe to speake my thankes, and my obedience, As from a blushing Handmaid, to his Highnesse; Whose health and Royalty I pray for Cham. Lady; I shall not faile t' approue the faire conceit The King hath of you. I haue perus'd her well, Beauty and Honour in her are so mingled, That they haue caught the King: and who knowes yet But from this Lady, may proceed a Iemme, To lighten all this Ile. I'le to the King, And say I spoke with you. Exit Lord Chamberlaine. An. My honour'd Lord Old.L. Why this it is: See, see, I haue beene begging sixteene yeares in Court (Am yet a Courtier beggerly) nor could Come pat betwixt too early, and too late For any suit of pounds: and you, (oh fate) A very fresh Fish heere; fye, fye, fye vpon This compel'd fortune: haue your mouth fild vp, Before you open it An. This is strange to me Old L. How tasts it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no: There was a Lady once (tis an old Story) That would not be a Queene, that would she not For all the mud in Egypt; haue you heard it? An. Come you are pleasant Old.L. With your Theame, I could O're-mount the Larke: The Marchionesse of Pembrooke? A thousand pounds a yeare, for pure respect? No other obligation? by my Life, That promises mo thousands: Honours traine Is longer then his fore-skirt; by this time I know your backe will beare a Dutchesse. Say, Are you not stronger then you were? An. Good Lady, Make your selfe mirth with your particular fancy, And leaue me out on't. Would I had no being If this salute my blood a iot; it faints me To thinke what followes. The Queene is comfortlesse, and wee forgetfull In our long absence: pray doe not deliuer, What heere y'haue heard to her Old L. What doe you thinke me - Exeunt.