Henry VIII quotes

I come no more to make you laugh: things now, That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, We now present. Those that can pity, here May, if they think it well, let fall a tear; The subject will deserve it.

Therefore, for goodness’ sake, and as you are known The first and happiest hearers of the town,

Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see The very persons of our noble story As they were living; think you see them great,

And follow’d with the general throng and sweat Of thousand friends; then in a moment, see How soon this mightiness meets misery: And, if you can be merry then, I’ll say A man may weep upon his wedding-day.

All this was order’d by the good discretion Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.

The devil speed him! no man’s pie is freed From his ambitious finger.

What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder That such a keech can with his very bulk Take up the rays o’ the beneficial sun And keep it from the earth.

Be advised;

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself

: we may outrun, By violent swiftness, that which we run at, And lose by over-running. Know you not, The fire that mounts the liquor till’t run o’er, In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised:

Sir, My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I Arrest thee of high treason, in the name Of our most sovereign king.

Lo, you, my lord, The net has fall’n upon me! I shall perish Under device and practice.

I am sorry To see you ta’en from liberty, to look on The business present: ’tis his highness’ pleasure You shall to the Tower.

My surveyor is false; the o’er-great cardinal Hath show’d him gold; my life is spann’d already:

I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on, By darkening my clear sun.

My lord, farewell. Exeunt.

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!

Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, Place you that side; I’ll take the charge of this: His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze;

Two women placed together makes cold weather:

My Lord Sands, you are one will keep ’em waking; Pray, sit between these ladies.

Your grace is noble:

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks, And save me so much talking.

My Lord Sands, I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours. Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen, Whose fault is this?

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 loved most, A most unnatural and faithless service!

Heaven has an end in all

: yet, you that hear me, This from a dying man receive as certain: Where you are liberal of your loves and counsels Be sure you be not loose;

Sir, I desire you do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me: for

I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions

; having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you?

Go thy ways, Kate:

That man i’ the world who shall report he has A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, For speaking false in that

: thou art, alone, If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, Obeying in commanding, and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out, The queen of earthly queens: she’s noble born;

Tanta est erga te mentis integritas, regina serenissima—

O, good my lord, no Latin;

I am not such a truant since my coming, As not to know the language I have lived in: A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English:

A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, suspicious; Pray, speak in English: here are some will thank you, If you speak truth, for their poor mistress’ sake; Believe me, she has had much wrong: lord cardinal,

The willing’st sin I ever yet committed May be absolved in English.

Noble lady, I am sorry my integrity should breed, And service to his majesty and you, So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.

Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!

Ye have angels’ faces, but heaven knows your hearts.

What will become of me now, wretched lady! I am the most unhappy woman living. Alas, poor wenches, where are now your fortunes! Shipwreck’d upon a kingdom, where no pity, No friends, no hope; no kindred weep for me; Almost no grave allow’d me:

alas, our places, The way of our profession is against it: We are to cure such sorrows, not to sow ’em. For goodness’ sake, consider what you do; How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly Grow from the king’s acquaintance, by this carriage.

The hearts of princes kiss obedience, So much they love it; but to stubborn spirits They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.

I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A soul as even as a calm: pray, think us Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants.

What’s this? “To the Pope!” The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to’s holiness. Nay then, farewell! I have touch’d the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting:

I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.

Reenter to Wolsey, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.

I know ’twill stir him strongly; yet I know A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune Will bring me off again. What’s this? “To the Pope!” The letter, as I live, with all the business I writ to’s holiness. Nay then, farewell!

I have touch’d the highest point of all my greatness; And, from that full meridian of my glory, I haste now to my setting

: I shall fall Like a bright exhalation in the evening, And no man see me more.

So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.

So farewell to the little good you bear me.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

my high-blown pride At length broke under me and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new open’d.

O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have:

I feel my heart new open’d. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have:

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

Enter Cromwell, and stands amazed.

Serve the king; And—prithee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; ’tis the king’s: my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!

Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.

So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. Exeunt.

A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me.

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels

; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.

Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O Cromwell, Thou fall’st a blessed martyr! Serve the king;

Heaven bless thee! Looking on the Queen.

Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look’d on.

Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel; Our king has all the Indies in his arms, And more and richer, when he strains that lady: I cannot blame his conscience.

Noble madam,

Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water.

May it please your highness To hear me speak his good now?

O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;

’Tis like a pardon after execution:

That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me; But now I am past an comforts here, but prayers. How does his highness?

with which they moved Have broken with the king: who hath so far Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded To-morrow morning to the council-board He be convented.

He’s a rank weed, Sir Thomas, And we must root him out.

From your affairs I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas.

My mind gave me, In seeking tales and informations Against this man, whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at,

Ye blew the fire that burns ye

: now have at ye!

One that, in all obedience, makes the church The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen That holy duty, out of dear respect, His royal self in judgment comes to hear The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

You were ever good at sudden commendations, Bishop of Winchester.

But know, I come not To hear such flattery now, and in my presence; They are too thin and bare to hide offences. To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;

Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

The spoons will be the bigger, sir.

There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o’ my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in’s nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance: