Not for that neither. Here’s the pang that pinches:
His Highness having lived so long with her, and she
So good a lady that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonour of her—by my life,
She never knew harm-doing—O, now, after
So many courses of the sun enthroned,
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, the which
To leave a thousandfold more bitter than
’Tis sweet at first t’ acquire—after this process,
To give her the avaunt, it is a pity
Would move a monster.
That's not it. Here's what really hurts: the King has lived with her for so long, and she's such a good woman that no one could ever say anything bad about her - by my life, she never did anything wrong - and now, after so many years of being honored and elevated in position, growing more and more majestic and powerful, which would be more than a thousand times worse to lose than it is sweet to gain at first - after all this, to send her away is such a tragedy that it would make even a monster weep.
That's not the issue. What kills me is this: the King has been with her all this time, and she's such a good woman that nobody could ever find fault with her - I swear, she never did anything wrong - and now, after all these years of being treated like royalty and honored more and more, all that power and status has become part of her, and losing it would be a thousand times worse than the joy of gaining it was - so to just send her away? It's heartbreaking.
hes lived with her so long shes never done anything wrong after all these years as queen sending her away would destroy her
The Old Lady is the play's most acerbic minor voice — she refuses all polite fictions about ambition, marriage, and power, speaking with the frank cynicism of someone who has watched court life too long to be deceived. Watch for how her jokes always have a cutting observation underneath them.
Hearts of most hard temper
Melt and lament for her.
The hardest hearts break and cry for her.
Even the coldest people are heartbroken for her.
even cruel people are crying for her
O, God’s will! Much better
She ne’er had known pomp; though’t be temporal,
Yet if that quarrel, Fortune, do divorce
It from the bearer, ’tis a sufferance panging
As soul and body’s severing.
God's will! It would be much better if she had never known power at all; even though it's just temporary, still if fortune, that turning wheel, strips it away from whoever has it, it's a suffering as painful as if the soul was being torn from the body.
God's will! She would've been so much better off never having power in the first place. Even though it's temporary anyway, but when fortune takes it away from someone, it's as agonizing as having your soul ripped out of your body.
shed be better off never being queen losing it now is like death
Alas, poor lady,
She’s a stranger now again.
Oh dear, now she's cast out and unknown once more.
Poor thing, she's nobody now.
shes a stranger all over again
So much the more
Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
I swear, ’tis better to be lowly born
And range with humble livers in content
Than to be perked up in a glist’ring grief,
And wear a golden sorrow.
All the more reason pity should fall on her. I swear, it's better to be born into nothing and live contentedly with humble people than to be lifted up into a glittering grief and wear a golden sorrow.
Which means she deserves even more sympathy. I'm telling you, it's better to be born poor and live happily with ordinary people than to be raised up and then face this shining, beautiful misery - wearing sorrow like it's jeweled.
better to be born poor and happy than high and then lose everything
Our content
Is our best having.
Our best possession is our own contentment.
The only wealth that matters is being happy with what you have.
happiness is all we need
By my troth and maidenhead,
I would not be a queen.
By my truth and my virginity, I would not be a queen.
I swear on everything, I would never want to be queen.
id never be queen i swear
The Old Lady has no name, no position, no power — and she is the most honest character in the entire first half of the play. Everyone else in the world of Henry VIII speaks a version of the truth filtered through what they need the world to believe about them. Norfolk and Suffolk speak boldly against Wolsey — but only among themselves. Katherine defends herself with dignity — but always using the language of submission. Anne insists three times she doesn't want to be queen — while accepting the title and money that say the opposite. The Old Lady alone says what everyone knows: eminence and wealth are blessings, ambition is normal, and Anne's 'cheveril conscience' is stretchy enough to accommodate a crown. She's laughed at and dismissed — the play treats her as comic relief. But every single thing she says is true. Watch for how Shakespeare consistently places this kind of frank, ignored honesty in the mouths of women with no institutional power: Emilia in Othello, the Fool in Lear, the Old Lady here. The people who can't afford polite fictions are the ones who see clearly.
Beshrew me, I would,
And venture maidenhead for’t; and so would you,
For all this spice of your hypocrisy.
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,
Have too a woman’s heart, which ever yet
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty;
Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts,
Saving your mincing, the capacity
Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive,
If you might please to stretch it.
Damn me, I would, and I'd risk my virginity for it; and you would too, underneath all your fake virtue. You, who have such beautiful woman's qualities, also have a woman's heart that has always wanted power, wealth, and sovereignty; which, to be honest, are blessings; and which gifts, if you'd just stop being so prudish, your tender conscience would gladly accept, if you'd just stretch it a bit.
Curse me if I wouldn't, and I'd give up my virginity to be queen, and so would you, despite all your pretense. You've got all the beautiful qualities of a woman, but you've also got a woman's heart that's always wanted power and wealth and to rule - which are actually blessings, let's be honest; and you would totally accept those blessings if you'd just drop the act and let yourself want them.
youre lying you want power just like everyone you just pretend youre too good for it
Nay, good troth.
No, really, I mean it.
No, I'm serious.
im serious
Yes, troth and troth. You would not be a queen?
Yes, really and truly. You would not be a queen?
Really and truly. You're telling me you don't want to be queen?
really? you dont want the crown?
No, not for all the riches under heaven.
No, I wouldn't be queen even if I owned every treasure in the heavens.
No, not for all the money in the world.
nah not for anything
’Tis strange. A threepence bowed would hire me,
Old as I am, to queen it. But I pray you,
What think you of a duchess? Have you limbs
To bear that load of title?
That's strange. Even a bent threepence coin would be enough to get me, old as I am, to act like a queen. But I ask you, what do you think of being a duchess? Do you have the strength to carry that weight of title?
That's crazy. For just three pence I'd pretend to be queen right now, and I'm old! But tell me, how about being a duchess? Could you handle that?
id be queen for three pence what about duchess?
No, in truth.
No, in truth.
no, in truth.
no, in truth.
Then you are weakly made. Pluck off a little.
I would not be a young count in your way
For more than blushing comes to. If your back
Cannot vouchsafe this burden, ’tis too weak
Ever to get a boy.
Then you're not strong enough. Drop the act a little. I wouldn't be a young nobleman in your way for anything more than what comes from blushing. If your back can't handle this burden, it's too weak to ever have a child.
Then you're not strong enough for it. Cut the modesty act. I wouldn't trade places with some young nobleman just for the shame of it. If you can't carry that title, your back's too weak to ever have children.
youre not strong enough your too pure to even have kids
How you do talk!
I swear again I would not be a queen
For all the world.
You're so funny! I swear again I would not be a queen for all the world.
You're hilarious! I'm telling you again, I would never be queen, not for anything.
youre funny i really wouldnt be queen
The question of whether Anne Bullen is ambitious, innocent, or both is one of the most deliberately unanswered questions in all of Shakespeare's late works. In this scene alone, she refuses the crown three times while accepting the title that leads to it. Her final line — 'it faints me to think what follows' — could be either genuine moral horror at the cost to Katherine, or a performed display of the correct emotional response for a young woman being elevated. The play was written in 1613, during the reign of Anne's grandson James I. Anne had been executed as an adulteress and traitor in 1536 — a verdict that later historians have debated ever since. Elizabeth I, Anne's daughter, had died in 1603 having never permitted public questioning of her mother's honor. Shakespeare's Anne is deliberately ambiguous because making her clearly ambitious and calculating would be a posthumous insult to Elizabeth; making her clearly innocent would be historically indefensible. The ambiguity is not a failure of characterization — it is an act of diplomatic art.
In faith, for little England
You’d venture an emballing. I myself
Would for Caernarfonshire, although there longed
No more to th’ crown but that. Lo, who comes here?
Honestly, for just little England you'd risk having yourself crowned. I myself would do it for just Caernarfonshire, even if that's all the crown meant. Look, who's coming here?
Honestly, you'd jump at the chance to be queen of just England. I'd do it for just one Welsh county, even if that's all it meant. Oh, look who's here.
youd jump at england i'd take one county whos that?
Good morrow, ladies. What were’t worth to know
The secret of your conference?
Good morning, ladies. What would it be worth to know what you've been talking about in private?
Good morning, ladies. What's the secret you two have been discussing?
morning whats the secret?
My good lord,
Not your demand; it values not your asking.
Our mistress’ sorrows we were pitying.
My good lord, it's not worth asking about and it's not valuable enough for your questions. We were just feeling sorry for our mistress and her troubles.
My lord, it's not even worth asking about. We were just feeling bad for the Queen and what she's going through.
just feeling bad for the queen
It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women. There is hope
All will be well.
That was a kind thing to do, and it's right for good women to do. There's hope that everything will turn out well.
That's good of you, and it's what good women do. I hope things work out okay.
thats kind things will be ok
Now, I pray God, amen!
Now, I pray to God, yes, let it be so!
Yes, I really hope so!
i hope so too
You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly blessings
Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady,
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note’s
Ta’en of your many virtues, the King’s Majesty
Commends his good opinion of you, and
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
Than Marchioness of Pembroke, to which title
A thousand pound a year annual support
Out of his grace he adds.
You have a gentle nature, and heavenly blessings follow such people. So you know that I'm being sincere, and so that you know how much the King values your many virtues, his Majesty wants me to tell you that he thinks very highly of you, and he wants to give you honor - a reward as great as being made Marchioness of Pembroke, to which title he adds a thousand pounds a year from his treasury.
You have a kind heart, and heaven blesses people like you. I want you to know I'm being honest, and to show you how much the King respects you and your virtues, he's asked me to tell you he thinks you're wonderful, and he's going to make you Marchioness of Pembroke and give you a thousand pounds a year to go with it.
the king respects you making you marchioness of pembroke thousand pounds a year
I do not know
What kind of my obedience I should tender.
More than my all is nothing; nor my prayers
Are not words duly hallowed, nor my wishes
More worth than empty vanities; yet prayers and wishes
Are all I can return. Beseech your lordship,
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks and my obedience,
As from a blushing handmaid, to his Highness,
Whose health and royalty I pray for.
I don't know what kind of obedience I should offer in return. More than everything I have is nothing; and my prayers are not words properly blessed, and my wishes are worth less than empty nothing; yet prayers and wishes are all I can give back. I ask you, lord, to tell his Highness my thanks and my loyalty, as if from a shy servant girl, and tell him that I pray for his health and his kingdom.
I don't know how to properly show my gratitude. Everything I have isn't enough; my prayers aren't even proper prayers, and my good wishes aren't worth much of anything - but that's all I can offer. Please tell the King for me that I'm grateful and loyal to him, and that I pray for his health and his success.
i have nothing to offer but prayers and loyalty and hope for his health
The Marchioness of Pembroke that Henry creates for Anne in 1532 — the historical date, slightly compressed here — was an unprecedented honor. It was the first time in English history that a woman received a peerage in her own right, not through a husband. She was granted the title Anne Bullen, Marchioness of Pembroke, not 'wife or widow of the Marquess' — a genuinely remarkable constitutional innovation. The thousand pounds a year (the Old Lady is right that it 'promises more thousands') was extraordinary income — roughly equivalent to a substantial landed nobleman's estate income. The grant was made explicitly before Anne accompanied Henry to France for his meeting with Francis I, which suggests it was partly about ensuring she was received with appropriate dignity at the French court. Henry was, in effect, publicly signaling that this woman was to be treated as future queen — without yet saying so. The Old Lady's sarcasm is not just comedy: the Old Lady is reading the situation correctly.
Lady,
I shall not fail t’ approve the fair conceit
The King hath of you. [_Aside_.] I have perused her well.
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled
That they have caught the King; and who knows yet
But from this lady may proceed a gem
To lighten all this isle? I’ll to the King,
And say I spoke with you.
Lady, I will make sure the King knows the good opinion I have of you. [Aside] I've looked at her carefully. Beauty and honor are so mixed together in her that they've captured the King's heart; and who knows whether from this lady might come a son or daughter to bring glory to all this country? I'll go to the King and tell him I've spoken with you.
Lady, I'll make sure the King hears what I think of you. [To himself] I've studied her carefully. She's got so much beauty and nobility mixed together that she's totally captured the King. And who knows - maybe she'll give the King a child who brings glory to England? I should go tell the King I spoke with her.
beauty and honor in one shell give the king a child and bring glory to england
My honoured lord.
My honoured lord.
my honoured lord.
my honoured lord.
Why, this it is: see, see!
I have been begging sixteen years in court,
Am yet a courtier beggarly, nor could
Come pat betwixt too early and too late
For any suit of pounds; and you, O fate!
A very fresh fish here—fie, fie, fie upon
This compelled fortune!—have your mouth filled up
Before you open it.
This is what it is - see! I've been begging at court for sixteen years, and I'm still a poor courtier, I couldn't even catch the right moment to ask for money from anyone with any success; and you, fate! A completely new girl here - curse this sudden fortune! - have your mouth already filled with rewards before you even open it to ask.
This is how it works - look! I've been at court for sixteen years begging for scraps, and I still haven't gotten anything decent; and you just show up out of nowhere - damn this crazy luck - and you're already getting loaded with rewards without even asking.
ive been begging sixteen years and youve been here five minutes and already winning
This is strange to me.
I find this hard to believe.
This is unbelievable.
wild
How tastes it? Is it bitter? Forty pence, no.
There was a lady once—’tis an old story—
That would not be a queen, that would she not,
For all the mud in Egypt. Have you heard it?
How does it taste? Is it bitter? Not at all. There was a lady once - it's an old story - who said she would never be a queen, absolutely would not, not for all the dirt in Egypt. Have you heard it?
How's it taste? Is it bitter? No way. I remember a lady once - old story - who said she'd never be queen, no way, not for anything. Ever hear it?
remember that lady who wouldnt be queen? told you
Come, you are pleasant.
Come now, you're joking.
Oh, you're funny.
youre funny
With your theme, I could
O’ermount the lark. The Marchioness of Pembroke?
A thousand pounds a year for pure respect?
No other obligation? By my life,
That promises more thousands; honour’s train
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time
I know your back will bear a duchess. Say,
Are you not stronger than you were?
With your kind of modesty, I could out-sing a lark! The Marchioness of Pembroke? A thousand pounds a year just for being respected? No other obligation? By my life, that promises even more thousands! The train of honor is longer than the front edge of the robe. By this time I know your back will be strong enough to be a duchess. Tell me, are you stronger than you were?
With your kind of pretense, I'd out-sing a bird! Marchioness of Pembroke? A thousand a year just for respect? Nothing else? On my life, that means tens of thousands to come! Honor brings everything after it. By now I know your back's strong enough for a duchess. Are you feeling stronger?
thousand a year just for respect your back's getting strong for duchess status
Good lady,
Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
And leave me out on’t. Would I had no being
If this salute my blood a jot. It faints me
To think what follows.
The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
In our long absence. Pray do not deliver
What here you’ve heard to her.
Good lady, you enjoy yourself with your own private thoughts and leave me out of it. I wish I had no life if this news thrills me even slightly. It makes me faint to think about what comes next. The Queen is without comfort, and we're forgetting her while we're away. Please don't tell her what you've heard here.
Good woman, you can keep teasing yourself, just leave me alone. I hope I don't exist if this actually excited me. The thought of what happens next makes me sick. The Queen is suffering, and here I am away from her. Please don't tell her any of this.
the queen is suffering dont tell her about this it makes me sick
What do you think me?
What kind of person do you take me for?
Do you think I'd go around gossiping?
you think im a gossip?
The Reckoning
The scene is a wonderful trap. Anne insists she'd never want to be a queen — three times, with increasing emphasis — and then is immediately given a title and money that points in exactly that direction. The Old Lady, who refuses to pretend about ambition, is the most honest person in the scene. But Anne's final line — 'I think what follows / The Queen is comfortless, and we forgetful' — is the play's most enigmatic moment: she either feels genuine guilt about what she's starting, or she's performing it. Shakespeare won't tell you which.
If this happened today…
Two women in the office kitchen. The junior one has just been promoted over someone they both work for. She says, three times, that she would never have wanted that. The senior woman — who's been there fifteen years without getting anywhere — keeps calmly pointing out that the junior one is getting everything she claims not to want. Then HR arrives to say the CEO is giving the junior woman a bonus, a new title, and a salary bump. The junior one says: 'I don't know how to express my gratitude.' The senior woman watches with an expression that could be read in many ways.