KING.
It grieves many.
The gentleman is learned 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 disposed, 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 enrolled ’mongst wonders, and when we,
Almost with ravished 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 besmeared 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.
WOLSEY.
Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,
Most like a careful subject, have collected
Out of the Duke of Buckingham.
KING.
Speak freely.
SURVEYOR.
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 menaced
Revenge upon the Cardinal.
WOLSEY.
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.
QUEEN KATHERINE.
My learned Lord Cardinal,
Deliver all with charity.
KING.
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?
SURVEYOR.
He was brought to this
By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton.
KING.
What was that Henton?
SURVEYOR.
Sir, a Chartreux friar,
His confessor, who fed him every minute
With words of sovereignty.