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Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair.
So; now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st

me, That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wol

sey, Was dead?

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

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

Well, the voice goes, madam: For after the stout Earl Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him for

ward,
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 covent, 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, 25 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. 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, Tied 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.

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

Yes, good Griffith ; I were malicious else. Grif.

This Cardinal, 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 ; Lofty and sour to them that lov'd him not,

But to those men that sought him, sweet as And though he were unsatisfied in getting, Which was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely: ever witness for him Those twins of learning that he rais'd in you, Ipswich and Oxford I one of which fell with

him, Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 85 And found the blessedness of being little ; And, to add greater honours to his age Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, To keep mine honour from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 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, Cause the musicians play me that sad note I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating 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 sparé garland over her head; at which the other four make reverent curtsies. 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 ihe same garland to the last two, who likewise observe the same order; at which, as it were by inspiration, she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven: and so in their dancing 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.

It is not you I call for. s
Saw ye none enter since I slept ?
Grif.

None, madam. Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed

troop Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? They promis'd me eternal happiness, And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I

feel I am not worthy yet to wear, I shall, assuredly.

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Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair. But to those men that sought him, sveet =
So; now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
me,

Which was a sin, yet in bestowing, madam, That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wol- He was most princely: ever witness for him sey,

Those twins of learning that he rais'd in yon. Was dead ?

Ipswich and Oxford I one of which fell i Grif. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace, him, Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to 't. Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; Kath. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, died.

So excellent in art, and still so rising, If well, he stepp'd before me, happily

That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. For my example.

His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him; Grif.

Well, the voice goes, madam: For then, and not till then, he felt himself, E For after the stan. We

blessedness of being little ; ater honours to his age

give him, he died fearing God ny death I wish no other herald. r of my living actions, bnour from corruption, est chronicler as Griffith. ited living, thou hast made me. us truth and modesty, honour. Peace be with him. r me still, and set me lower ; o trouble thee. Good Griffith, ans play me that sad note 1, whilst I sit meditating harmony I go to.

[Sad and solemn musie. sleep. Good wench, let's si her; softly, gentle Patience r, solemnly tripping one ate Tsonages, clad in white robes rheads garlands of bays, am on their faces ; branches of bass hands. They first congee sat*

and, at certain changes, th: sparé garland over her head; y four make reverent curtsies. it held the garland deliver the

next two, who observe the sun.

anges, and holding the garland Ti

hich done, they deliver the same Hi

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which, as it were by inspiration. Во

r sleep signs of rejoicing, and Bu

inds to heaven: and so in their Hii

carrying the garland with them. Bu

ues. Of

peace, where are ye? Are Th 6

in wretchedness behind ye? Mei

Fe are here. We

It is not you I call for. *

since I slept? To

None, madam. 6

you not, even now, a blessed I

quet; whose bright faces ns upon me, like the sun ? eternal happiness,

garlands, Griffith, which I --ves vaau wuv a nım not, | I am not worthy yet to wear. I shall, assuredls.

Tho Was He Exo Loft

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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 earthy cold! Mark 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. 100 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 stay

ing A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you. Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this

fellow Let me ne'er see again. [Exit Messenger.

Enter CAPUCIUS.

If my sight fail not, You should be lord ambassador from the Em

peror, My royal nephew, and your name Capucius. 110

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 Sends you his princely commendations, And heartily entreats you take good comfort. Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes

too late; 'T is 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 Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter, I caused you write, yet sent away? Pat.

No, madam.

[Giving it to Katherine.] 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

goodness

The model of our chaste loves, his young

daughter; The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on

her! Beseeching him to give her virtuous breed

ing, She is young,,

and of a noble modest nature, 186 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 peti

tion Is, that his noble Grace would have some pity Upon my wretched women, that so long 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 be a noble ; And, sure, those men are happy that shall have

'em. The last is, for my men, they are the poorest, But poverty could never draw 'em from me That they may have their wages duly paid 'em, 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 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, 185 You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; Call in more women. When I am dead, good

wench, Let me be us'd with honour. Strew me over With maiden flowers, that all the world may

know I 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. I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katherine.

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ACT V

SCENE I. (London. 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 ?
Page.

It hath struck.

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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 belongs to 't, give your friend
Some touch of your late business. Affairs, that

walk,
As they say spirits do, at midnight, have
In them a wilder nature than the business
That seeks dispatch by day:
Lov.

My lord, I love you;
And durst commend a secret to your ear
Much weightier than this work. The Queen 's

in labour,
They say in great extremity; and fear'd
She'll with the labour end.
Gar.

The fruit she goes with pray for heartily, that it may find Good time, and live; but for the stock, Sir

Thomas,
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, sweet lady, does 25
Deserve our better wishes.
Gar.

But, sir, sir, Hear me, Sir Thomas. You ’re a gentleman Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious; And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, 'T will not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take 't of me, 20 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

Cromwell, Beside that of the jewel house, is made master O'the rolls, and the King's secretary; further,

sir, Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments, With which the time will load him. The Arch

bishop 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 ven

tur'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 forseeing those fell mischiets
Our reasons laid before him, 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. "

Enter the King and SUFFOLK. King. 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.

King. 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 great'st humbleness, and desir'd your

Highness
Most heartily to pray for her.
King.

What say'st thou, ha?
To pray for her? What, is she crying out?
Lov. So said her woman; and that her saf-

ferance made Almost each pang a death. King.

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

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

I wish your Highness A quiet night; and my good mistress will Remember in my prayers. King.

Charles, good-night.

(Erit Sutfak. Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY. Well, sir, what follows? Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the Arch

bishop, As you commanded me.

Ha! Canterbury ? Den. Ay, my good lord. King. 'T is true ; where is he, Denny ? Den. He attends your Highness' pleasure. King.

Bring him to us.

[Erit Denny.) Lov. (Aside.] This is about that which the

bishop spake. I am happily come hither.

Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER. King. Avoid the gallery. (Lovell seems to

stay.) Ha! I have said. Be gone. What!

[Ereunt Lovell and Denny. Cran. (Aside.) I am fearful; wherefore

frowns he thus ? 'T is his aspect of terror. All's not well.

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