Cromwell.† ^note
How does your grace?

Kath.
O Cromwell, sick to death:
My legs, like loaded branches bow to th' earth,
Willing to leave their burden. [Sitting down.
Didst thou not tell me, Cromwell, as thou led'st me,
That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead?

Crom.
Yes, madam; but I think your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

Kath.
Pr'ythee, good Cromwell, tell me how he died.
If well, he stept before me happily,
For my example.

Crom.
Well, the voice goes, madam;
For after the stout Earl of 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!

Crom.
At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the rev'rend 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 Heav'n, and slept in peace.* ^note

Kath.
So may he rest, his faults lie bury'd with him!
Yet thus far, Cromwell, give me leave to speak him,
And yet with charity; he was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes.
His promises were, as he then was, mighty;
But his performance, as he now is, nothing.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.

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

Kath.
Yes, good Cromwell.
I were malicious else.

Crom.
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 unsatisfy'd 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 he did it.
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 Heav'n.

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 Cromwell.
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me,
With thy religious truth and modesty,
Now in his ashes, honour.* ^note Peace be with him!
Patience, be near me still.
I have not long to trouble thee. Good Cromwell,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note,
I nam'd my knell; while I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to. [Sad and solemn Music.† ^note

Kath.
Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye gone?
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?

Crom.
Madam, we're here.

Kath.
It is not you I call for—
Saw ye none enter, since I slept?

Crom.
None, madam.

Kath.
No? saw you not ev'n 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, Cromwell, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear.

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

Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
And't like your grace—

Kath.
You are a saucy fellow;
Deserve we no more rev'rence?

Crom.
You're to blame,
Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.

Mes.
I humbly do intreat your highness' pardon:
My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
A gentleman sent from the king to see you.

Cath.
Admit him entrance, Cromwell. 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.

Cap.
Madam, the same, your servant ever.

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 intreats you take good comfort.

Kath.
O my good lord, that comfort comes too late,
'Tis like a pardon after execution;
That gentle physic giv'n in time, had cur'd me;
But now I'm past all comforts here, but prayers.
How does his highness?

Cap.
Madam, in good health.

Kath.
So may he ever be, 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.

Kath.
Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.

Cap.
Most willingly, madam.

Kath.
In which I have commended to his goodness,
The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter,
(The dews of heav'n fall thick in blessings on her!)
Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding,
And a little
To love her, for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,
Heav'n 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;
The last is for my men; they are the poorest,
But poverty could never draw 'em from me;
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 heav'n I will.

Kath.
I thank you, honest lord. Remember me,
In all humility, to his highness;
And tell him his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world. Tell him, in death I blest him,
For so I will—mine eyes grow dim. Farewel,
My lord—Cromwell, farewel—nay, Patience,
You must not leave me, yet. I must to bed—
When I am dead let me be us'd with honour,
Strew me o'er
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave.
And tho' unqueen'd, interr me like a queen,
And pay respect to that which I have been. [Exeunt.* ^note End of the Fourth Act.

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