Despite this mark of royall favour, a grave matter like the divorcement of a royall spouse to wed a maide, suited not with fayre Anne’s notions of justice, and with a sweete grace she made answere when the King sued for favour:—“I am not high in birth as would befit a Queene, but I am too good to become your mistresse.” So there was no waye to compasse his desires save to wring a decree out o’ th’ Pope and wed th’ maide, not a jot regarding her answer unlesse to bee the more eager to have his waye.
Th’ love Lord Percy shew’d my lady, although so frankly return’d, kept the wish turning, turning as a restless mill. Soone he resolv’d on proof of his owne spirit, doe th’ Pope how he might, and securing a civill decree, privately wedded th’ too youthfull Anne, and hid her for space of severall daies untill th’ skies could somewhat cleare; but when th’ earlie sumer came, in hope that there might soone bee borne to them an heyre of th’ desir’d kinde, order’d willinglie her coronation sparing noe coste to make it outvie anie other.
And when she was borne along, surrounded by soft white tissew, shielded by a canopie of white, whilst she is wafted onwards, you would say an added charme were to paint the lillie, or give the rose perfume.
This was onely th’ beginning of a triumph, bright as briefe,—in a short space ’twas ore. Henry chose to consider th’ infant princesse in the light of great anger of a just God brought upon him for his sinnes, but bearing this with his daring spirit, he compelleth the Actes of Supremacy and Succession, which placed him at the head of the Church of England, in th’ one case, and made his heires by Queene Anne th’ successours to th’ throne. Untill that time, onely male heyres had succeeded to th’ roiall power and the act occasioned much surprise amongst our nobilitie.
But Henry rested not the’. The lovelinesse of Anne and her natural opennesse of manner, so potent to winne th’ weake heart o’ th’ King, awaken’d suspition and much cruell jealousie when hee saw th’ gay courtiers yielding to th’ spell of gracefull gentility,—heighten’d by usage forrayn, as also at th’ English Court. But if truth be said, th’ fancy had taken him to pay lovi’g court unto the faire Jane Seymour, who was more beautifull, and quite young,—but also most ordinary as doth regard personall manner, and th’ qualitie that made th’ Queene so pleasing,—Lady Jane permitting marks of gracious favour t’ be freelie offered.
And the Queene, unfortunately for her secret hope, surpris’d them in a tender scene. Sodaine griefe orewhelming her so viole’tlie, she swound before them, and a little space thereafter the infant sonne so constantly desir’d, borne untimely, disappointed once more this selfish monarch. This threw him into great fury, so that he was cruellie harsh where [he] should give comfort and support, throwing so much blame upon the gentle Queene, that her heart dyed within her not long after soe sadde ending of a mother, her hopes.
Under pretexte of beleeving gentle Queene Anne to be guilty of unfaithfullnesse, Henry had her convey’d to London Tower, and subjected her to such ignominy as one can barelie beleeve, ev’n basely laying to her charge the gravest sins, and summoning a jury of peeres delivered the Queene for tryal and sentence. His act doth blacken pitch. Ev’n her father, sitting amidst the peeres before whom shee was tried, exciteth not so much astonishment since hee was forc’d thereto.
Henry’s will was done, but hardly could hee restraine the impatience that sent him forth from his pallace at th’ hour of her execution to an eminence neare by, in order to catche th’ detonation (ation) of th’ field peece whose hollow tone tolde the moment at which th’ cruell axe fell, and see the blacke flag, that signall which floated wide to tell the world she breath’d no more.
Th’ hast with which hee then went forward with his marriage, proclaym’d the reall rigor or frigidity of his hart. It is by all men accompted strange, this subtile power by which soe many of the peeres could be forc’d to passe sentence upon this lady, when proofes of guilt were nowhere to bee produced. In justice to a memorie dear to myselfe, I must aver that it is far from cleare yet, upon what charge shee was found worthie of death. It must of neede have beene some quiddet of th’ lawe, that chang’d some harmlesse words into anything one had in minde, for in noe other waye could speech of hers be made wrongfull. Having fayl’d to prove her untrue, nought could bring about such a resulte, had this not (have) beene accomplish’d.
Thus was her good fame made a reproache, and time hath not given backe that priceles treasure. If my plaie shal shew this most clearly, I shall be co’tente. And as for my roiall grandsire, whatever honour hath beene lost by such a course, is re-gain’d by his descendants from the union, through this lovi’g justification of Anne Bulle’, his murther’d Queene.