SURREY. I would 'twere something that would fret the string,

The master-cord on's heart!

SUFFOLK. The King, the King!

KING. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated

To his own portion! And what expense by th' hour

Seems to flow from him! How, i' th' name of thrift,

Does he rake this together?-Now, my lords,

Saw you the Cardinal?

NORFOLK. My lord, we have

Stood here observing him. Some strange commotion

Is in his brain: he bites his lip and starts,

Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,

Then lays his finger on his temple; straight

Springs out into fast gait; then stops again,

Strikes his breast hard; and anon he casts

His eye against the moon. In most strange postures

We have seen him set himself.

KING. It may well be

There is a mutiny in's mind. This morning

Papers of state he sent me to peruse,

As I requir'd; and wot you what I found

There-on my conscience, put unwittingly?

Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing

The several parcels of his plate, his treasure,

Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; which

I find at such proud rate that it outspeaks

Possession of a subject.

NORFOLK. It's heaven's will;

Some spirit put this paper in the packet

To bless your eye withal.

KING. If we did think

His contemplation were above the earth

And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still

dwell in his musings; but I am afraid

His thinkings are below the moon, not worth

His serious considering.

[The KING takes his seat and whispers LOVELL,

who goes to the CARDINAL]

WOLSEY. Heaven forgive me!

Ever God bless your Highness!

KING. Good, my lord,

You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory

Of your best graces in your mind; the which

You were now running o'er. You have scarce time

To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span

To keep your earthly audit; sure, in that

I deem you an ill husband, and am glad

To have you therein my companion.

WOLSEY. Sir,

For holy offices I have a time; a time

To think upon the part of business which

I bear i' th' state; and nature does require

Her times of preservation, which perforce

I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,

Must give my tendance to.

KING. You have said well.

WOLSEY. And ever may your Highness yoke together,

As I will lend you cause, my doing well

With my well saying!

KING. 'Tis well said again;

And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well;

And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you:

He said he did; and with his deed did crown

His word upon you. Since I had my office

I have kept you next my heart; have not alone

Employ'd you where high profits might come home,

But par'd my present havings to bestow

My bounties upon you.

WOLSEY. [Aside] What should this mean?

SURREY. [Aside] The Lord increase this business!

KING. Have I not made you

The prime man of the state? I pray you tell me

If what I now pronounce you have found true;

And, if you may confess it, say withal

If you are bound to us or no. What say you?

WOLSEY. My sovereign, I confess your royal graces,

Show'r'd on me daily, have been more than could

My studied purposes requite; which went

Beyond all man's endeavours. My endeavours,

Have ever come too short of my desires,

Yet fil'd with my abilities; mine own ends

Have been mine so that evermore they pointed

To th' good of your most sacred person and

The profit of the state. For your great graces

Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I

Can nothing render but allegiant thanks;

My pray'rs to heaven for you; my loyalty,

Which ever has and ever shall be growing,

Till death, that winter, kill it.

KING. Fairly answer'd!

A loyal and obedient subject is

Therein illustrated; the honour of it

Does pay the act of it, as, i' th' contrary,

The foulness is the punishment. I presume

That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you,

My heart dropp'd love, my pow'r rain'd honour, more

On you than any, so your hand and heart,

Your brain, and every function of your power,

Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,

As 'twere in love's particular, be more

To me, your friend, than any.

WOLSEY. I do profess

That for your Highness' good I ever labour'd

More than mine own; that am, have, and will be-

Though all the world should crack their duty to you,

And throw it from their soul; though perils did

Abound as thick as thought could make 'em, and

Appear in forms more horrid-yet my duty,

As doth a rock against the chiding flood,

Should the approach of this wild river break,

And stand unshaken yours.

KING. 'Tis nobly spoken.

Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,

For you have seen him open 't. Read o'er this;

[Giving him papers]

And after, this; and then to breakfast with

What appetite you have.

Exit the KING, frowning upon the CARDINAL; the NOBLES

throng after him, smiling and whispering

WOLSEY. What should this mean?

What sudden anger's this? How have I reap'd it?

He parted frowning from me, as if ruin

Leap'd from his eyes; so looks the chafed lion

Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him-

Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;

I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;

This paper has undone me. 'Tis th' account

Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together

For mine own ends; indeed to gain the popedom,

And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,

Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil

Made me put this main secret in the packet

I sent the King? Is there no way to cure this?

No new device to beat this from his brains?

I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I know

A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune,

Will bring me off again. What's this? 'To th' Pope.'

The letter, as I live, with all the business

I writ to's Holiness. Nay then, farewell!

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness,

And from that full meridian of my glory

I haste now to my setting. I shall fall

Like a bright exhalation in the evening,

And no man see me more.

Re-enter to WOLSEY the DUKES OF NORFOLK and

SUFFOLK, the EARL OF SURREY, and the LORD

CHAMBERLAIN

NORFOLK. Hear the King's pleasure, Cardinal, who commands you

To render up the great seal presently

Into our hands, and to confine yourself

To Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's,

Till you hear further from his Highness.

WOLSEY. Stay:

Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carry

Authority so weighty.

SUFFOLK. Who dares cross 'em,

Bearing the King's will from his mouth expressly?

WOLSEY. Till I find more than will or words to do it-

I mean your malice-know, officious lords,

I dare and must deny it. Now I feel

Of what coarse metal ye are moulded-envy;

How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,

As if it fed ye; and how sleek and wanton

Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin!

Follow your envious courses, men of malice;

You have Christian warrant for 'em, and no doubt

In time will find their fit rewards. That seal

You ask with such a violence, the King-

Mine and your master-with his own hand gave me;

Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,

During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,

Tied it by letters-patents. Now, who'll take it?

SURREY. The King, that gave it.

WOLSEY. It must be himself then.

SURREY. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.

WOLSEY. Proud lord, thou liest.

Within these forty hours Surrey durst better

Have burnt that tongue than said so.

SURREY. Thy ambition,

Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land

Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.

The heads of all thy brother cardinals,

With thee and all thy best parts bound together,

Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!

You sent me deputy for Ireland;

Far from his succour, from the King, from all

That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him;

Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,

Absolv'd him with an axe.

WOLSEY. This, and all else

This talking lord can lay upon my credit,

I answer is most false. The Duke by law

Found his deserts; how innocent I was

From any private malice in his end,

His noble jury and foul cause can witness.

If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you

You have as little honesty as honour,

That in the way of loyalty and truth

Toward the King, my ever royal master,

Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be

And an that love his follies.

SURREY. By my soul,

Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel

My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords

Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?

And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,

To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,

Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward

And dare us with his cap like larks.

WOLSEY. All goodness

Is poison to thy stomach.

SURREY. Yes, that goodness

Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,

Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion;

The goodness of your intercepted packets

You writ to th' Pope against the King; your goodness,

Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.

My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,

As you respect the common good, the state

Of our despis'd nobility, our issues,

Whom, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen-

Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles

Collected from his life. I'll startle you

Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench

Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.

WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man,

But that I am bound in charity against it!

NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King's hand;

But, thus much, they are foul ones.

WOLSEY. So much fairer

And spotless shall mine innocence arise,

When the King knows my truth.

SURREY. This cannot save you.

I thank my memory I yet remember

Some of these articles; and out they shall.

Now, if you can blush and cry guilty, Cardinal,

You'll show a little honesty.

WOLSEY. Speak on, sir;

I dare your worst objections. If I blush,

It is to see a nobleman want manners.

SURREY. I had rather want those than my head. Have at you!

First, that without the King's assent or knowledge

You wrought to be a legate; by which power

You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.

NORFOLK. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else

To foreign princes, 'Ego et Rex meus'

Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the King

To be your servant.

SUFFOLK. Then, that without the knowledge

Either of King or Council, when you went

Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold

To carry into Flanders the great seal.

SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission

To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,

Without the King's will or the state's allowance,

A league between his Highness and Ferrara.

SUFFOLK. That out of mere ambition you have caus'd

Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's coin.

SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance,

By what means got I leave to your own conscience,

To furnish Rome and to prepare the ways

You have for dignities, to the mere undoing

Of all the kingdom. Many more there are,

Which, since they are of you, and odious,

I will not taint my mouth with.

CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord,

Press not a falling man too far! 'Tis virtue.

His faults lie open to the laws; let them,

Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him

So little of his great self.

SURREY. I forgive him.

SUFFOLK. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is-

Because all those things you have done of late,

By your power legatine within this kingdom,

Fall into th' compass of a praemunire-

That therefore such a writ be sued against you:

To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,

Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be

Out of the King's protection. This is my charge.

NORFOLK. And so we'll leave you to your meditations

How to live better. For your stubborn answer

About the giving back the great seal to us,

The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you.

So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.

Exeunt all but WOLSEY

WOLSEY. So farewell to the little good you bear me.

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth

The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd,

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory;

But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride

At length broke under me, and now has left me,

Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye;

I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin

More pangs and fears than wars or women have;

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed

Why, how now, Cromwell!

CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir.

WOLSEY. What, amaz'd

At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder

A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,

I am fall'n indeed.

CROMWELL. How does your Grace?

WOLSEY. Why, well;

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.

I know myself now, and I feel within me

A peace above all earthly dignities,

A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur'd me,

I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders,

These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken

A load would sink a navy-too much honour.

O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!

CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.

WOLSEY. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks,

Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,

To endure more miseries and greater far

Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.

What news abroad?

CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst

Is your displeasure with the King.

WOLSEY. God bless him!

CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen

Lord Chancellor in your place.

WOLSEY. That's somewhat sudden.

But he's a learned man. May he continue

Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice

For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones

When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings,

May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on him!

What more?

CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,

Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

WOLSEY. That's news indeed.

CROMWELL. Last, that the Lady Anne,

Whom the King hath in secrecy long married,

This day was view'd in open as his queen,

Going to chapel; and the voice is now

Only about her coronation.

WOLSEY. There was the weight that pull'd me down.

O Cromwell,

The King has gone beyond me. All my glories

In that one woman I have lost for ever.

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,

Or gild again the noble troops that waited

Upon my smiles. Go get thee from me, Cromwell;

I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now

To be thy lord and master. Seek the King;

That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him

What and how true thou art. He will advance thee;

Some little memory of me will stir him-

I know his noble nature-not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,

Neglect him not; make use now, and provide

For thine own future safety.

CROMWELL. O my lord,

Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo

So good, so noble, and so true a master?

Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,

With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.

The King shall have my service; but my prayers

For ever and for ever shall be yours.

WOLSEY. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me,

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.

Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell,

And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention

Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee-

Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,

Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in-

A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.

Mark but my fall and that that ruin'd me.

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:

By that sin fell the angels. How can man then,

The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?

Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;

Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not;

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!

Serve the King, and-prithee lead me in.

There take an inventory of all I have

To the last penny; 'tis the King's. My robe,

And my integrity to heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!

Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal

I serv'd my King, he would not in mine age

Have left me naked to mine enemies.

CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience.

WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell

The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell. Exeunt

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ACT IV. SCENE 1.

A street in Westminster

Enter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y'are well met once again.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and

behold

The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter

The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd

sorrow;

This, general joy.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis well. The citizens,

I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds-

As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward-

In celebration of this day with shows,

Pageants, and sights of honour.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater,

Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains,

That paper in your hand?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes; 'tis the list

Of those that claim their offices this day,

By custom of the coronation.

The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims

To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,

He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known

those customs,

I should have been beholding to your paper.

But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,

The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. That I can tell you too. The Archbishop

Of Canterbury, accompanied with other

Learned and reverend fathers of his order,

Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles of

From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which

She was often cited by them, but appear'd not.

And, to be short, for not appearance and

The King's late scruple, by the main assent

Of all these learned men, she was divorc'd,

And the late marriage made of none effect;

Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,

Where she remains now sick.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady! [Trumpets]

The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming.

[Hautboys]

THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION.

1. A lively flourish of trumpets.

2. Then two JUDGES.

3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him.

4. CHORISTERS singing. [Music]

5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in

his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper

crown.

6. MARQUIS DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a

demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY,

bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an

earl's coronet. Collars of Esses.

7. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on

his head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward.

With him, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, with the rod of

marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of Esses.

8. A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE-PORTS; under it

the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with

pearl, crowned. On each side her, the BISHOPS OF LONDON

and WINCHESTER.

9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold

wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S train.

10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold

without flowers.

Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and state,

and then a great flourish of trumpets

SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know.

Who's that that bears the sceptre?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset;

And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be

The Duke of Suffolk?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the same-High Steward.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. [Looking on the QUEEN] Heaven

bless thee!

Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.

Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;

Our king has all the Indies in his arms,

And more and richer, when he strains that lady;

I cannot blame his conscience.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. They that bear

The cloth of honour over her are four barons

Of the Cinque-ports.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Those men are happy; and so are all

are near her.

I take it she that carries up the train

Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed,

And sometimes falling ones.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that.

Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets

Enter a third GENTLEMAN

God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?

THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i' th' Abbey, where a finger

Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled

With the mere rankness of their joy.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw

The ceremony?

THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it?

THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us.

THIRD GENTLEMAN. As well as I am able. The rich stream

Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen

To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell of

A distance from her, while her Grace sat down

To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,

In a rich chair of state, opposing freely

The beauty of her person to the people.

Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman

That ever lay by man; which when the people

Had the full view of, such a noise arose

As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,

As loud, and to as many tunes; hats, cloaks-

Doublets, I think-flew up, and had their faces

Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy

I never saw before. Great-bellied women,

That had not half a week to go, like rams

In the old time of war, would shake the press,

And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living

Could say 'This is my wife' there, all were woven

So strangely in one piece.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow'd?

THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with

modest paces

Came to the altar, where she kneel'd, and saintlike

Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.

Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people;

When by the Archbishop of Canterbury

She had all the royal makings of a queen:

As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,

The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems

Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir,

With all the choicest music of the kingdom,

Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted,

And with the same full state pac'd back again

To York Place, where the feast is held.

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sir,

You must no more call it York Place: that's past:

For since the Cardinal fell that title's lost.

'Tis now the King's, and called Whitehall.

THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it;

But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name

Is fresh about me.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops

Were those that went on each side of the Queen?

THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester,

Newly preferr'd from the King's secretary;

The other, London.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester

Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop's,

The virtuous Cranmer.

THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that;

However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes,

Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you?

THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell,

A man in much esteem with th' King, and truly

A worthy friend. The King has made him Master

O' th' jewel House,

And one, already, of the Privy Council.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more.

THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt.

Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which

Is to th' 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. Exeunt

ACT IV. SCENE 2.

Kimbolton

Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her Gentleman Usher, and PATIENCE, her woman

GRIFFITH. How does your Grace?

KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death!

My legs like loaden branches bow to th' earth,

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 Wolsey,

Was dead?

GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace,

Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.

If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,

For my example.

GRIFFITH. Well, the voice goes, madam;

For after the stout Earl 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.

KATHARINE. Alas, poor man!

GRIFFITH. 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,

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.

KATHARINE. 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' th' 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.

GRIFFITH. Noble madam,

Men's evil manners live in brass: their virtues

We write in water. May it please your Highness

To hear me speak his good now?

KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith;

I were malicious else.

GRIFFITH. 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 summer.

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! 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,

And found the blessedness of being little.

And, to add greater honours to his age

Than man could give him, he died fearing God.

KATHARINE. 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]

GRIFFITH. 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 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 the 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

KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?

And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?

GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.

KATHARINE. It is not you I call for.

Saw ye none enter since I slept?

GRIFFITH. None, madam.

KATHARINE. 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.

GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams

Possess your fancy.

KATHARINE. Bid the music leave,

They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases]

PATIENCE. 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 her eyes.

GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray.

PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her!

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. An't like your Grace-

KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow.

Deserve we no more reverence?

GRIFFITH. You are to blame,

Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,

To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.

MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness' pardon;

My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying

A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you.

KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow

Let me ne'er see again. Exit MESSENGER

Enter LORD CAPUCIUS

If my sight fail not,

You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor,

My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.

CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same-your servant.

KATHARINE. 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?

CAPUCIUS. 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.

KATHARINE. 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?

CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health.

KATHARINE. 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?

PATIENCE. No, madam. [Giving it to KATHARINE]

KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver

This to my lord the King.

CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.

KATHARINE. 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 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

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.

CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will,

Or let me lose the fashion of a man!

KATHARINE. 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,

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 KATHARINE

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ACT V. SCENE 1.

London. A gallery in the palace

Enter GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a torch before him, met by SIR THOMAS LOVELL

GARDINER. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?

BOY. It hath struck.

GARDINER. 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?

LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord?

GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero

With the Duke of Suffolk.

LOVELL. I must to him too,

Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.

GARDINER. 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 despatch by day.

LOVELL. 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.

GARDINER. 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 grubb'd up now.

LOVELL. Methinks I could

Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says

She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does

Deserve our better wishes.

GARDINER. But, sir, sir-

Hear me, Sir Thomas. Y'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.

LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two

The most remark'd i' th' kingdom. As for Cromwell,

Beside that of the Jewel House, is made Master

O' th' Rolls, and the King's secretary; further, sir,

Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments,

With which the time will load him. Th' Archbishop

Is the King's hand and tongue, and who dare speak

One syllable against him?

GARDINER. 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' th' 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, foreseeing those fell mischiefs

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.

LOVELL. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant.

Exeunt GARDINER and PAGE

Enter the KING and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK

KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night;

My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.

SUFFOLK. 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?

LOVELL. 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?

LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff'rance made

Almost each pang a death.

KING. Alas, good lady!

SUFFOLK. 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 pray'rs remember

Th' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone,

For I must think of that which company

Will not be friendly to.

SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness

A quiet night, and my good mistress will

Remember in my prayers.

KING. Charles, good night. Exit SUFFOLK

Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY

Well, sir, what follows?

DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,

As you commanded me.

KING. Ha! Canterbury?

DENNY. Ay, my good lord.

KING. 'Tis true. Where is he, Denny?

DENNY. He attends your Highness' pleasure.

KING. Bring him to us. Exit DENNY

LOVELL. [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! Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY

CRANMER. [Aside] I am fearful-wherefore frowns he thus?

'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.

KING. How now, my lord? You do desire to know

Wherefore I sent for you.

CRANMER. [Kneeling] It is my duty

T'attend your Highness' pleasure.

KING. 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, 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 consider'd,

Have mov'd us and our Council that you shall

This morning come before us; where I know

You cannot with such freedom purge yourself

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 Tow'r. You a brother of us,

It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness

Would come against you.

CRANMER. I humbly thank your Highness

And am right glad to catch this good occasion

Most throughly to be winnowed where my chaff

And corn shall fly asunder; for I know

There's none stands under more calumnious tongues

Than I myself, poor man.

KING. Stand up, good Canterbury;

Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted

In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up;

Prithee let's walk. Now, by my holidame,

What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd

You would have given me your petition that

I should have ta'en some pains to bring together

Yourself and your accusers, and to have heard you

Without indurance further.

CRANMER. 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,

Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing

What can be said against me.

KING. Know you not

How your state stands i' th' world, with the whole world?

Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices

Must bear the same proportion; and not ever

The justice and the truth o' th' question carries

The due o' th' verdict with it; at what ease

Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt

To swear against you? Such things have been done.

You are potently oppos'd, and with a malice

Of as great size. Ween you of better luck,

I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master,

Whose minister you are, whiles here He liv'd

Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to;

You take a precipice for no leap of danger,

And woo your own destruction.

CRANMER. God and your Majesty

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into

The trap is laid for me!

KING. Be of good cheer;

They shall no more prevail than we give way to.

Keep comfort to you, and this morning see

You do appear before them; if they shall chance,

In charging you with matters, to commit you,

The best persuasions to the contrary

Fail not to use, and with what vehemency

Th' occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties

Will render you no remedy, this ring

Deliver them, and your appeal to us

There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!

He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest Mother!

I swear he is true-hearted, and a soul

None better in my kingdom. Get you gone,

And do as I have bid you.

Exit CRANMER

He has strangled his language in his tears.

Enter OLD LADY

GENTLEMAN. [Within] Come back; what mean you?

OLD LADY. I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring

Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels

Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person

Under their blessed wings!

KING. Now, by thy looks

I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver'd?

Say ay, and of a boy.

OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege;

And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven

Both now and ever bless her! 'Tis a girl,

Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen

Desires your visitation, and to be

Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you

As cherry is to cherry.

KING. Lovell!

Enter LOVELL

LOVELL. Sir?

KING. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen. Exit

OLD LADY. An hundred marks? By this light, I'll ha' more!

An ordinary groom is for such payment.

I will have more, or scold it out of him.

Said I for this the girl was like to him! I'll

Have more, or else unsay't; and now, while 'tis hot,

I'll put it to the issue. Exeunt