And one, already, of the privy-council.
2 Gent. He will deserve more.
3 Gent.
Yes, without all doubt.
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests;
Something I can command. As I walk thither,
I'll tell ye more.
Both.

You may command us, sir. [Exe.
SCENE II.-Kimbolton. Enter Katharine, dow-
ager, sick; led between Griffith and Patience.
Grif. How does your grace?
Kath.
My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth,
O, Griffith, sick to death:
Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair ;-
So, now, methinks, I feel a little case.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead?

Grif. Yes, madam; but, I think, your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
Kath. Priythee, good Griffith, tell me how he
died:

If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,2
For my example.

Grif.

Well, the voice goes, madam:
For after the stout carl Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
(As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer,
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill,
He could not sit his mule.

Kath.

Alas! poor man!

Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to

Leicester,

Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him;
To whom he gave these words,-O father abbot,
An old man, broken with the storms of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye;
Give him a little earth for charity!
So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness
Pursu'd him still; and three nights after this,
About the hour of eight (which he himself
Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance,
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.

4

Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him!
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity,-He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes: one, that by suggestion
Ty'd all the kingdom: simony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law: I'the presence'
He would say untruths; and be ever double,
Both in his words and meaning: He was never,
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful :

His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.

Grif.

Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
Noble madam,
We write in water. May it please your highness
To hear me speak his good now?
Kath.

Yes, good Griffith;

This cardinal,

dat IV.

I were malicious else.
Grif.
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle,
He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one;
Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading:
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not;
(Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam,
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
He was most princely: Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you,
Ipswich, and Oxford! one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself,
And found the blessedness of being little:
Than man could give him, he died, fearing God.
And, to add greater honours to his age
Kath. After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
To keep mine honour from corruption,
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
With thy religious truth, and modesty,

Now in his ashes honour: Peace be with him!
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower:
I have not long to trouble thee.-Good Griffith,
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
On that celestial harmony I go to.

Sad and solemn music.

Grif. She is asleep: Good wench, let's sit down quiet,

For fear we wake her ;-Softly, gentle Patience.
The vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after
another, six personages, clad in white robes,
wearing on their heads garlands of bays, and
golden vizards on their faces; branches of bays,
or palm, in their hands. They first congee unto
her, then dance; and, at certain changes, the
first two hold a spare garland over her head; at
which, the other four make reverent court'sies;
then the two that held the garland, deliver the
same to the other next two, who observe the same
order in their changes, and holding the garland
over her head which done, they deliver the
same garland to the last two, who likewise ob-
serve the same order: at which (as it were by
inspiration,) she makes in her sleep signs of re-
joicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven:
and so in their dancing they vanish, carrying
the garland with them. The music continues.
Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye
all gone?

And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
Grif. Madam, we are here.
Kath.

Saw you none enter, since I slept?
It is not you I call for :
Grif.
Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed
None, madam.
troop

(1) This scene is above any other part of Shak-Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
speare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?
of any other poet; tender and pathetic, without They promis'd me eternal happiness;
gods, or furies, or poisons, or precipices; without
the help of romantic circumstances, without im-
probable sallies of poetical lamentation, and with-
out any throes of tumultuous misery. JOHNSON.

(2) Haply.
(4) Pride.

(3) By short stages.
(5) Of the king.

(6) Formed for.

(7) Ipswich.

And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall,

Assuredly.

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Possess your fancy.
Kath.

Bid the music leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases.
Pat.
Do you note,
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks,
And of an earthly cold? Mark you her eyes?
Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray.
Pat.
Heaven comfort her!

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. An't like your grace,-
Kath.

You are a saucy fellow:
Deserve we no more reverence?
Grif.
You are to blame,
Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel.

Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this
fellow

Let me ne'er see again. [Exeunt Grif. and Mess.

Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius.
If my sight fail not,
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant.
Kath.
O my lord,
The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
What is your pleasure with me?

Cap.
Noble lady,
First, mine own service to your grace; the next,
The king's request that I would visit you;
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his princely commendations,

And heartily entreats you take good comfort.

Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;

"Tis like a pardon after execution:

That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me;
But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.
How does his highness?
Cap.
Madam, in good health.
Kath. So may he ever do! and ever flourish,
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
Banish'd the kingdom!-Patience, is that letter,
I caus'd you write, yet sent away?
Pat.

No, madam.

[Giving it to Katharine.
Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.
Cap.

Most willing, madam.

Kath. In which I have commended to his good

ness

The model' of our chaste loves, his young daugh

Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully :
Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
(And now I should not lie,) but will deserve,
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul,
For honesty, and decent carriage,

A right good husband, let him be3 a noble ;
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have
them.

The last is, for my men:-they are the poorest,
But poverty could never draw them from me ;-
That they may have their wages duly paid them,
And something over to remember me by ;
If Heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life,
And able means, we had not parted thus.
These are the whole contents:-And, good my lord,
By that you love the dearest in this world,
As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king
To do me this last right.

Cap.
By heaven, I will;
Or let me lose the fashion of a man!

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me
In all humility unto his highness:
Say, his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him,
For so I will.-Mine eyes grow dim.-Farewell,
My lord.-Griffith, farewell.-Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed;
Call in more women.- When I am dead, good
wench,

I

Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me,
Then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
can no more.

I

[Exeunt, leading Katharine.

ACT V.

SCENE I-A gallery in the palace. Enter
Gardiner bishop of Winchester; a Page with a
torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovell.
Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?
It hath struck.
Boy.
Gar. These should be hours for necessities,
Not for delights; times to repair our nature
With comforting repose, and not for us
To waste these times.-Good hour of night, sir
Thomas!
Whither so late?

Lov.
Came you from the king, my lord?
Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero*
With the duke of Suffolk.

Lov.

I must to him, too,
Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.
Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the
matter?

It seems, you are in haste: an if there be No great offence belongst to't, give your friend Some touch of your late business: Affairs, that walk The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-(As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have

ter: 2

Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding;
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature;
I hope, she will deserve well; and a little
To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
Upon my wretched women, that so long,

Image. (2) Afterwards Queen Mary.
Even if he should be.

Gar.

The fruit, she goes with, I pray for heartily; that it may find

Suf.

I wish your highness A quiet night, and my good mistress will Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, Remember in my prayers. I wish it grubb'd up now.

Lov.

Methinks, I could
Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says,
She's a good creature, and, swet lady, does
Deserve our better wishes.

Gar.
1t, sir, sir,-
Hear me, sir Thomas: You are a gentleman
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,-
Twill not, sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me,—
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,
Sleep in their graves.

Lov.
Now, sir, you speak of two
The most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for Crom-
well,-

Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master
O'the rolls, and the king's secretary: further, sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,
With which the time will load him: The archbishop
Is the king's hand, and tongue; And who dare
speak

One syllable against him?

Gar.
Yes, yes, sir Thomas,
There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd
To speak my mind of him: and, indeed, this day,,
Sir (I may tell it you,) I think, I have
Incens'd' the lords o'the council, that he is
(For so I know he is, they know he is,)
A most arch heretic, a pestilence

That does infect the land: with which they moved,
Have broken with the king; who hath so far
Given ear to our complaint (of his great grace
And princely care; forescing those fell mischiefs
Our reasons laid before him) he hath commanded,
To-morrow morning to the council-board
He be convented. He's a rank weed, sir Thomas,
And we must root him out. From your affairs
I hinder you too long: good night, sir Thomas.
Lov. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your
servant. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page.
As Lovell is going out, enter the King, and the
Duke of Suffolk.

K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me.
Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before.
K. Hen. But little, Charles;
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.-
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news!
Lov. I could not personally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
I sent your message; who return'd her thanks
In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your high-

ness

Most heartily to pray for her.

K. Hen.
What say'st thou? ha!
To pray for her? what, is she crying out?
Lov. So said her woman; and that her suffer-
ance made

Almost each pang a death.

K. Hen.
Alas, good lady!
Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and
With gentle travail, to the gladding of
Your highness with an heir!

K. Hen.
'Tis midnight, Charles,
Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
For I must think of that, which company
Will not be friendly to.

I

K. Hen.

Charles, good night.-
[Exit Suffolk.

Den. He attends your highness' pleasure.

K. Hen.
Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake;
am happily come hither.

Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer.

[Aside.

It is my duty,

To attend your highness' pleasure.
K. Hen.

'Pray you, arise,
My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.
Come, you and I must walk a turn together;
I have news to tell you: Come, come, give me
your hand.

Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
And am right sorry to repeat what follows:
I have, and most unwillingly, of late
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,
Grievous complaints of you; which, being con-
sider'd,
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself,
This morning come before us; where, I know,
But that, till further trial, in those charges
Which will require your answer, you must take
Your patience to you, and be well contented
To make your house our Tower: You a brother
of us,*

It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.

Cran.

I humbly thank your highness;
And am right glad to catch this good occasion
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know,
There's none stands under more calumnious tongues,
Than I myself, poor man.
K. Hen.
Stand up, good Canterbury;
Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted
In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up;
Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame,
What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
You would have given me your petition, that

Cran.

I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you
Without indurance, further.
Most dread liege,
The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty;
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies,
Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh' not,

(5) Value.

K. Hen. Give her a hundred marks. I'll to [Exit King. Lady. A hundred marks! By this light, I'll

[Exeunt.

My lord archbishop; But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary,
That's the plain truth! your painted gloss discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.