The Life of Henry the Eighth. Уильям Шекспир

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      And for me,

      I have no further gone in this than by

      A single voice; and that not pass'd me but

      By learned approbation of the judges. If I am

      Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know

      My faculties nor person, yet will be

      The chronicles of my doing, let me say

      'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake

      That virtue must go through. We must not stint

      Our necessary actions, in the fear

      To cope malicious censurers; which ever,

      As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow

      That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further

      Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,

      By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is

      Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft,

      Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up

      For our best act. If we shall stand still,

      In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,

      We should take root here where we sit, or sit

      State-statues only.

      Things done well,

      And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;

      Things done without example, in their issue

      Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent

      Of this commission? I believe, not any.

      We must not rend our subjects from our laws,

      And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?

      A trembling contribution! Why, we take

      From every tree lop, bark, and part o' the timber;

      And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,

      The air will drink the sap. To every county

      Where this is question'd send our letters, with

      Free pardon to each man that has deni'd

      The force of this commission. Pray, look to't;

      I put it to your care.

      A word with you. [To the Secretary, aside.]

      Let there be letters writ to every shire,

      Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons

      Hardly conceive of me; let it be nois'd

      That through our intercession this revokement

      And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you

      Further in the proceeding.

      I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham

      Is run in your displeasure.

      It grieves many.

      The gentleman is learn'd, and a most rare speaker;

      To nature none more bound; his training such

      That he may furnish and instruct great teachers,

      And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,

      When these so noble benefits shall prove

      Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt,

      They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly

      Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,

      Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,

      Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find

      His hour of speech a minute; he, my lady,

      Hath into monstrous habits put the graces

      That once were his, and is become as black

      As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear —

      This was his gentleman in trust – of him

      Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount

      The fore-recited practices, whereof

      We cannot feel too little, hear too much.

      Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,

      Most like a careful subject, have collected

      Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

      Speak freely.

      First, it was usual with him, every day

      It would infect his speech, that if the King

      Should without issue die, he'll carry it so

      To make the sceptre his. These very words

      I've heard him utter to his son-in-law,

      Lord Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menac'd

      Revenge upon the Cardinal.

      Please your Highness, note

      This dangerous conception in this point.

      Not friended by his wish, to your high person

      His will is most malignant; and it stretches

      Beyond you, to your friends.

      My learn'd Lord Cardinal,

      Deliver all with charity.

      Speak on.

      How grounded he his title to the crown?

      Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him

      At any time speak aught?

      He was brought to this

      By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton.

      What was that Henton?

      Sir, a Chartreux friar,

      His confessor; who fed him every minute

      With words of sovereignty.

      How know'st thou this?

      Not long before your Highness sped to France,

      The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish

      Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand

      What was the speech among the Londoners

      Concerning the French journey. I repli'd,

      Men fear the French would prove perfidious,

      To the King's danger. Presently the Duke

      Said, 'twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted

      'Twould prove the verity of certain words

      Spoke by a holy monk, "that oft," says he,

      "Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit

      John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour

      To hear from him a matter of some moment;

      Whom after under the confession's seal

      He СКАЧАТЬ