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 to him, his long trouble now is passing Out of this world; tell him, in death I blessed him, For so I will.-Mine eyes grow dim.-Farewell, Let me be used with honour: strew me over 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? Boy. It hath struck. 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, What's the Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. matter? It seems you are in haste: an if there be No great offence belongs to 't, give your friend Affairs that Some touch of your late business. walk As they say spirits do-at midnight, have That seeks despatch by day. They say, in great extremity; and feared, She 'll with the labour end. Gar. The fruit she goes with I pray for heartily that it may find Good time, and live: but for the stock, Sir Thomas, I wish it grubbed up now. Lov. Methinks, I could Cry the Amen; and yet my conscience says Gar. But, sir, sir, Hear me, Sir Thomas: you are a gentleman 'T will not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take 't of me, Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two The most remarked 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 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 ventured To speak my mind of him: and, indeed, this day, Sir, I may tell it you, I think,-I have Incensed 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 Lofty and sour to them that loved him not; But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer: And though he were unsatisfied in getting, Which was a sin,-yet in bestowing, madam, Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, Now in his ashes honour. Peace be with him !--- |