he asserts her own conjugal truth and merit, and insists upon her
rights.

Have I liv'd thus long, (let me speak myself,
Since virtue finds no friends,) a wife, a true one
A woman, (I dare say, without vain-glory,)
Never yet branded with suspicion?
Have I, with all my full affections,
Still met the king--lov'd him next heaven, obey'd him
Been out of fondness superstitious to him--
Almost forgot my prayers to content him,
And am I thus rewarded? 'tis not well, lords, &c.

My lord, I dare not make myself so guilty,
To give up willingly that noble title
Your master wed me to: nothing but death
Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

And this burst of unwonted passion is immediately followed by the
natural reaction; it subsides into tears, dejection, and a mournful
self-compassion.

Would I had never trod this English ground,
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it.
What will become of me now, wretched lady?
I am the most unhappy woman living.
Alas! poor wenches! where are now your fortunes?
[_To her women_
Shipwrecked upon a kingdom, where no pity,
No friends, no hope, no kindred weep for me!
Almost no grave allowed me! Like the lily that once
Was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head and perish.

Dr. Johnson observes on this scene, that all Katherine's distresses
could not save her from a quibble on the word _cardinal_.

Holy men I thought ye,
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues;
But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye!

When we read this passage in connection with the situation and
sentiment, the scornful play upon the words is not only appropriate and
natural, it seems inevitable. Katherine, assuredly, is neither an
imaginative nor a witty personage; but we all acknowledge the truism,
that anger inspires wit, and whenever there is passion there is poetry.
In the instance just alluded to, the sarcasm springs naturally out from
the bitter indignation of the moment. In her grand rebuke of Wolsey, in
the trial scene, how just and beautiful is the gradual elevation of her
language, till it rises into that magnificent image--

You have by fortune and his highness' favors,
Gone slightly o'er low steps, and now are mounted,
Where powers are your retainers, &c.

In the depth of her affliction, the pathos as naturally clothes itself
in poet