2. Kath. Take thy lute, wench: my foul troubles; Sing, and difperfe them, if thou canft: lea SONG. Orpheus with his lute made trees, Every thing that beard him play, Hung their heads, and then lay by Enter a Gentleman. 2. Kath. How now? Gent. An't please your grace, the two g Wait in the presence. Q; Kath. Would they speak with me? Gent. They will'd me fay fo, madam. 2. Kath. Pray their graces To come near. [Exit Gent.] What can be their business Enter WOLSEY and CAMPEIUS. Wol. Peace to your highness ! 2. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a housewife; I would be all, against the worst may happen. What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords? Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to withdraw Into your private chamber, we shall give you The full cause of our coming. 2: Kath. Speak it here; There's nothing I have done yet, o' my confcience, Were tried by every tongue, every eye faw them, Seek me out, and that way I am wife in, Out with it boldly; Truth loves open dealing. 2. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; I am not such a truant fince my coming, A ftrange tongue makes my cause more ftrange, fufpicious; Pray, We come not by the way of accufation, Cam. Moft honour'd My lord of York,-out of his noble nature, Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace; Forgetting, like a good man, your late cenf Both of his truth and him, (which was too Offers, as I do, in a fign of peace, His fervice and his counfel. 2. Kath. To betray My lords, I thank you both for your good For her fake that I have been, (for I feel The laft fit of my greatnefs,) good your graces, Wol. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these fears; Your hopes and friends are infinite. 2. Kath. Cam. I would, your graçe Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 2. Kath. How, fir? Cam. Put your main cause into the king's protection ; He's loving, and moft gracious: 'twill be much Both for your honour better, and your caufe; For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you, You'll part away difgrac'd, Wol. He tells you rightly. 2. Kath. Ye tell me what ye with for both, my ruin: Is this your chriftian counsel ? out upon ye! Heaven is above all yet; there fits a judge, That no king can corrupt. Cam. Your rage mistakes us. 2. Kath. The more shame for ye; holy men I thought ye, Upon my foul, two reverend cardinal virtues ; Mend pleat eft) ds, rej race How, fr otection ruin: ought And all fuch false profeffors! Would ye If ye be any thing but churchmen's habi Cam. Your fears are 2. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long—(let n |