For that prodigious bloody stigmatic[344]
Is never call’d unto his kingly sight,
But like a comet he portendeth still
Some innovation or some monstrous act,
Cruel, unkindly, horrid, full of hate;
As that vile deed at Windsor done of late. 
Gentle Matilda, somewhat I mistrust;
Yet thee I need not fear, such is his love. 
Again, the place doth give thee warrantise;
Yet I remember when his highness said,
The lustful monk of Bury should him aid. 
Ay, so it is:  if she have any ill,
Through the lewd shaveling will her shame be wrought. 
If it so chance, Matilda’s guiltless wrong
Will with the loss of many a life be bought. 
But Hubert will be still his dread lord’s friend,
However he deserves, his master serve;
Though he neglect, him will I not neglect: 
Whoever fails him, I will John affect;
For though kings fault[345] in many a foul offence,
Subjects must sue, not mend with violence.
          
                                 [Exit.

SCENE III.

Enter OXFORD, QUEEN.

OX.  Now, by my faith, you are to blame, madam,
Ever tormenting, ever vexing you: 
Cease of these fretting humours:  pray ye, do. 
Grief will not mend it; nought can pleasure you
But patient suffering; nor, by your grace’s leave,
Have you such cause to make such hue and cry
After a husband; you have not in good sooth. 
Yearly a child! this payment is not bad. 
Content, fair queen, and do not think it strange,
That kings do sometimes seek delight in change: 
For now and then, I tell you, poor men range. 
Sit down a little, I will make you smile. 
Though I be now like to the snowy Alps,
I was as hot as Aetna in my youth;
All fire, i’ faith, true heart of oak, right steel—­
A ruffian, lady.  Often for my sport
I to a lodge of mine did make resort,
To view my dear, I said; dear God can tell,
It was my keeper’s wife whom I lov’d well. 
My countess (God be with her) was a shrow,
As women be, your majesty doth know;
And some odd pick-thank put it in her head,
All was not well:  but such a life I led,
And the poor keeper and his smooth-fac’d wife,
That, will I, nill I, there she might not bide. 
But for the people I did well provide;
And by God’s mother, for my lady’s spite,
I trick’d her in her kind, I serv’d her right. 
Were she at London, I the country kept;
Come thither, I at London would sojourn;
Came she to court, from court I straightway stepp’d;
Return, I to the court would back return. 
So this way, that way, every way she went,
I still was retrograde, sail’d[346] opposite: 
Till at the last, by mildness and submission,
We met, kiss’d, joined, and here left all suspicion.

QUEEN.  Now out upon you, Vere:  I would have thought
The world had not contain’d a chaster man.