_Henry._ Resemble God perfectly and easily! Do vile creatures talk thus of the Creator? _Anne._ No, Henry, when His creatures talk thus of Him, they are no longer vile creatures! When they know that He is good, they love Him; and, when they love Him, they are good themselves. O Henry! my husband and king! the judgments of our Heavenly Father are righteous; on this, surely, we must think alike. _Henry._ And what, then? Speak out; again I command thee, speak plainly! thy tongue was not so torpid but this moment. Art ready? Must I wait? _Anne._ If any doubt remains upon your royal mind of your equity in this business: should it haply seem possible to you that passion or prejudice, in yourself or another, may have warped so strong an understanding--do but supplicate the Almighty to strengthen and enlighten it, and He will hear you. _Henry._ What! thou wouldst fain change thy quarters, ay? _Anne._ My spirit is detached and ready, and I shall change them shortly, whatever your Highness may determine. _Henry._ Yet thou appearest hale and resolute, and (they tell me) smirkest and smilest to everybody. _Anne._ The withered leaf catches the sun sometimes, little as it can profit by it; and I have heard stories of the breeze in other climates that sets in when daylight is about to close, and how constant it is, and how refreshing. My heart, indeed, is now sustained strangely; it became the more sensibly so from that time forward, when power and grandeur and all things terrestrial were sunk from sight. Every act of kindness in those about me gives me satisfaction and pleasure, such as I did not feel formerly. I was worse before God chastened me; yet I was never an ingrate. What pains have I taken to find out the village-girls who placed their posies in my chamber ere I arose in the morning! How gladly would I have recompensed the forester who lit up a brake on my birthnight, which else had warmed him half the winter! But these are times past: I was not Queen of England. _Henry._ Nor adulterous, nor heretical. _Anne._ God be praised! _Henry._ Learned saint! thou knowest nothing of the lighter, but perhaps canst inform me about the graver, of them. _Anne._ Which may it be, my liege? _Henry._ Which may it be? Pestilence! I marvel that the walls of this tower do not crack around thee at such impiety. _Anne._ I would be instructed by the wisest of theologians: such is your Highness. _Henry._ Are the sins of the body, foul as they are, comparable to those of the soul? _Anne._ When they are united, they must be worse. _Henry._ Go on, go on: thou pushest thy own breast against the sword. God hath deprived thee of thy reason for thy punishment. I must hear more: proceed, I charge thee.