1. A lively flourish of trumpets.

2. Then two Judges.

3. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace before him.

4. Choristers singing.

5. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then Garter, in his coat of arms, and on his head a gilt copper crown.

6. Marquis Dorset, bearing a scepter of gold, on his head a demi-coronal of gold. With him, the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crown'd with an earl's coronet. Collars of SS.

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 SS.

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 Dutchess 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.

They pass over the stage in order and state.

2 Gen.
A royal train, believe me.—These I know;—
Who's that, that bears the scepter?

1 Gen.
Marquis Dorset:
And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod.

2 Gen.
A bold brave gentleman. That should be
The duke of Suffolk.

1 Gen.
'Tis the same; high-steward.

2 Gen.
And that my lord of Norfolk.

1 Gen.
Yes.

2 Gen.
Heaven bless thee! [Looking on the queen.
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.

1 Gen.
They, that bear
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports,

2 Gen.
Those men are happy; so are all, are near her.
I take it, she that carries up the train,
Is that old noble lady, dutchess of Norfolk.

1 Gen.
It is; and all the rest are countesses.

2 Gen.
Their coronets say so. These are stars, indeed;
And, sometimes, falling ones.

1 Gen.
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?

3 Gen.
Among the croud i' the abbey; where a finger
Could not be wedg'd in more: I am stifled,
With the mere rankness of their joy.

2 Gen.
You saw the ceremony?

3 Gen.
That I did.

1 Gen.
How was it?

3 Gen.
Well worth the seeing.

2 Gen.
Good sir, speak it to us.

3 Gen.
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 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-belly'd women,
That had not half a week to go, ^{2 note}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.

2 Gen.
But, what follow'd?

3 Gen.
At length her grace rose, and with modest paces
Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and, saint-like,
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
Lay'd nobly on her: which perform'd, the choir,
With all the choicest musick 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 Gen.
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 Gen.
I know it;
But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
Is fresh about me.

2 Gen.
What two reverend bishops
Were those that went on each side of the queen?

3 Gen.
Stokesly, and Gardiner; the one, of Winchester,
(Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary)
The other, London.

2 Gen.
He of Winchester
Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's,
The virtuous Cranmer.

3 Gen.
All the land knows that:
However, yet there's no great breach; when it comes,
Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.

2 Gen.
Who may that be, I pray you?

3 Gen.
Thomas Cromwell;
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 Gen.
He will deserve more.

3 Gen.
Yes, without all doubt.
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
Is to the court, and there shall be my guests;
Something I can command. As I walk thither,
I'll tell ye more.

Both.
You may command us, sir. [Exeunt.

3 ^noteSCENE II.

Kimbolton. Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick, led between Griffith her gentleman-usher, and Patience her woman.

Grif.
How does your grace?

Kath.
O, Griffith, sick to death:
My legs, like loaded branches, bow to the 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?

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

Kath.
Pry'thee, good Griffith, tell me how he dy'd:
If well, he step'd before me, happily^{4 note}
,
For my example.

Grif.
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.

Kath.
Alas, poor man!

Grif.
At last, with easy roads^{5 note}, he came to Leicester,
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,^{6 note}
ever ranking
Himself with princes; ^{7 note}

Ty'd 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^{8 note}



.
Of his own body he was ill^{9 note}, and gave
The clergy ill example.

Grif.
Noble madam,
Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues
We write in water^{1 note}

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 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 out-live the good he did it^{2 note}
;
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 dy'd, 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 musick.

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^{3 note}, 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 courtesies; 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 they vanish, carrying the garland with them. The musick 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:
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.

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

Kath.
Bid the musick leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me. [Musick 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.

Mes.
An't like your grace,—

Kath.
You are a sawcy fellow:
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.

Mes.
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.
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 entreats you take good comfort.

Kath.
O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;
'Tis like a pardon after execution:

That gentle physick, 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.

Kath.
Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king^{9 note}.

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,
(And now I should not lye) 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 me
In all humility unto his highness:
Say, 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.—Griffith, farewel.—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, interr me.
I can no more.— [Exeunt, leading Katharine.