“I say so with you!” said Jane, with ill-concealed vexation.
“And you, King Henry, do you not say it too?”
“Of course, fool!”
“Ah, why am I not King Henry?” sighed John Heywood. “King, I envy you, not your crown, or your royal mantle; not your attendants or your money. I envy you only this, that you can say, ‘God be praised that my wife is still alive!’ while I never know but one phrase, ‘God have pity, my wife is still alive!’ Ah, it is very seldom, king, that I have heard a married man speak otherwise! You are in that too, as in all things else, an exception, King Henry; and your people have never loved you more warmly and purely than when you say, ‘I thank God that my consort is alive!’ Believe me, you are perhaps the only man at your court who speaks after this manner, however ready they may be to be your parrots, and re-echo what the lord high-priest says.”
“The only man that loves his wife?” said Lady Richmond. “Behold now the rude babbler! Do you not believe, then, that we women deserve to be loved?”
“I am convinced that you do not.”
“And for what do you take us, then?”
“For cats, which God, since He had no more cat-skin, stuck into a smooth hide!”
“Take care, John, that we do not show you our claws!” cried the duchess, laughing.
“Do it anyhow, my lady! I will then make a cross, and ye will disappear. For devils, you well know, cannot endure the sight of the holy cross, and ye are devils.”