Enter a third gentleman.

God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling? 3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey; where a finger

Could not be wedg'd in more: I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy.

2 Gent. You saw the ceremony?

3 Gent. That I did.

1 Gent. How was it?

3 Gent. Well worth the seeing.

2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us.

3 Gent. 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 off

A distance from her; while her grace sat down
To rest a while, 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

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.

1 Gent. 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 call'd-Whitehall. 3 Gent.

I know it;

But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name Is fresh about me.

A man in much esteem with the king, and truly

A worthy friend. The king,

Has made him, master o' the jewel-house,
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.

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.
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,

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.
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 spare garland over her head; at which, the other four make reverend curt'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 observe the same order: at which, (as it were by inspiration,) she makes in

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 GRIFFITH, and Messenger. 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.

The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely

O my lord!

You are a saucy fellow:

With me, since first you knew me.

But, I pray

What is your pleasure with me?

Mess. An't like your grace,Kath. Deserve we no more reverence? Grif.

Noble lady,

Cap. 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 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,

42

(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

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,

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.

ACT

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?
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, 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 despatch 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 I pray for heartily; that it my 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 Deserve our better wishes.

Gar. 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,

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, 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.
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.