1. A lively Flourish of Trumpets.

2. Then two Judges.

3. Lord Chancellor, with the Purse and Mace before him.

4. Quiristers singing.

5. Mayor of London, bearing the Mace. Then Garter in his Coat of Arms, and on his Head a Gilt Copper Crown.

6. Marquess of 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 born 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, and then Exeunt, with a great Flourish of Trumpets.

2 Gen.
A Royal Train, believe me; these I know;
Who's that bears the Scepter?

1 Gen.
Marquess 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.
Heav'n 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.

1 Gen.
They that bear
The Cloth of Honour over her, are four Barons
Of the Cinque-Ports.

2 Gen.
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, the 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. Enter a third Gentleman.
God save you Sir. Where have you been broiling?

3 Gen.
Among the croud i'th' Abby, where a Finger
Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled
With the meer Rankness of their Joy.

2 Gen.
You saw the Ceremony?

3 Gen.
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 Quire, fell off
A distance from her; while her Grace sate 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 shrowds 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, 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 Heav'n, 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 Quire
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.
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 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,
The virtuous Cranmer

3 Gen.
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.

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

3 Gen,
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.

2 Gent.
He will deserve more.

3 Gent.
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. SCENE II. 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 Earth,
Willing to leave their Burthen: Reach a Chair—
So—now methinks I feel a little ease. [Sitting down.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou lead'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.
Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he dy'd.
If well, he stept before me happily
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 easie Roads he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the Abby; 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 lye bury'd with 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
Ty'd 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 now is, Nothing;
Of his own Body he was ill, and gave
The Clergy ill Example.

Grif.
Noble Madam,
Mens evil Manners live in Brass, their Virtues
We write in Water. May it please your Highness
To hear me speak his Good now?

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 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 out-live 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 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, six Personages, clad in white Robes, wearing on their Head 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 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 rejoycing, and holdeth up her Hands to Heaven. And so in their Dancing 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 a 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.
And'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 intreat 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. [Exit Messenger. Enter Lord Capucius.
If my sight fail me 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 intreats 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 must 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 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 well 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 Heav'n 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 peace to Christian Souls departed,
Stand these poor Peoples Friend, and urge the King
To do me this last Right.

Cap.
By Heaven I will,
Or let me loose 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 chast Wife to my Grave: Embalm me,
Then lay me forth, although un-Queen'd, yet like
A Queen, and Daughter to a King, inter me.
I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katharine. ACT V. SCENE I. Enter Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a Torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovel.

Gard.
It's one a Clock, Boy, is't not?

Boy.
It hath struck.

Gard.
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?

Gard.
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.

Gard.
Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovel; what's the matter?
It seems you are in haste: And 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 dispatch 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.

Gard.
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.

Lov.
Methinks I could
Cry the Amen, and yet my Conscience says,
She is a good Creature, and sweet Lady, does
Deserve our better Wishes.

Gard.
But, Sir, Sir—
Hear me, Sir Thomas,—y'are a Gentleman
Of mine own way, I know you are Wise, Religious,
And let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,
'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovel, tak't of me,
'Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two Hands, and she,
Sleep in their Graves.

Lov.
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 for more Preferments,
With which the Time will load him. Th' Archbishop
Is the King's Hand, or Tongue, and who dare speak
One Syllable against him?

Gard.
Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,
There are that dare; and I my self 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 of the Council, that he is,
(For so I know he is, they know he is)
A most Arch-heretick, a Pestilence
That does infect the Land; with which they mov'd,
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. [Exeunt Gardiner and Page.

Lov.
Many good Nights, my Lord, I rest your Servant. Enter King and Suffolk.

King.
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.

King.
But little, Charles,
Nor shall not, when my Fancy's on my Play.
Now, Lovel, 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 Highness
Most heartily to pray for her.

King.
What say'st thou? Ha!
To pray for her! What! is she crying out?

Lov.
So said her Woman, and that her suff'rance made
Almost each pang a death.

King.
Alas, good Lady.

Suf.
God safely quit her of her Burthen, and
With gentle Travel, to the gladding of
Your Highness with an Heir.

King.
'Tis midnight, Charles,
Prithee to Bed, and in thy Prayers remember
Th'estate of my poor Queen. Leave me alone,

For I must think of that, which Company
Would not be friendly to.

Suf.
I wish your Highness
A quiet Night, and my good Mistress will
Remember in my Prayers.

King.
Charles, Good Night: [Exit Suffolk.
Well, Sir, what follows? Enter Sir Anthony Denny.

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.

Lov.
This is about that which the Bishop spake.
I am happily come hither. [Aside. Enter Cranmer and Denny.

King.
Avoid the Gallery. [Lovel seemeth to stay.
Ha!—I have said—be gone. [Exeunt Lovel and Denny.

Cran.
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.

Cran.
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, give 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 your self,
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 Tower; you, a Brother of us.
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.

Cran.
I humbly thank your Highness,
And am right glad to catch this good occasion,
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my Chaff
And Corn shall fly asunder. For I know
There's none stands under more calumnious Tongues
Than I my self, 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 holy Dame,
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
Your self and your Accusers, and to have heard you
Without indurance further.

Cran.
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 a 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.

Cran.
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 Intreaties
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 all his Language in his Tears. Enter old Lady.

Gent. within.
Come back; what mean you?

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.

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.

Lov.
Sir.

King.
Give her an hundred Marks.
I'll to the Queen. [Exit King.

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. [Exit Lady. SCENE II. Enter Cranmer.

Cran.
I hope I am not too late, and yet the Gentleman
That was sent to me from the Council, pray'd me
To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Hoa?
Who waits there? Sure you know me? Enter Keeper.

Keep.
Yes, my Lord;
But yet I cannot help you.

Cran.
Why?

Keep.
Your Grace must wait 'till you be call'd for. Enter Doctor Butts.

Cran.
So.

Butts.
This is a piece of Malice: I am glad
I came this way so haply. The King
Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts.

Cran.
'Tis Butts,
The King's Physician, as he past along,
How earnestly he cast his Eyes upon me;
Pray Heav'n he found not my Disgrace: for certain
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me,
(God turn their Hearts, I never sought their Malice)
To quench mine Honour; they would shame to make me
Wait else at Door: A Fellow-Councellor
'Mong Boys, Grooms, and Lackeys!
But their Pleasures
Must be fulfilled, and I attend with Patience. Enter the King and Butts at a Window above.

Butts.
I'll shew your Grace the strangest sight—

King.
What's that, Butts?

Butts.
I think your Highness saw this many a Day.

King.
Body a me: where is it?

Butts.
There, my Lord:
The high Promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,
Who holds his State at door 'mongst Pursevants,
Pages, and Foot-boys.

King.
Ha? 'tis he indeed.
Is this the Honour they do one another?
'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought
They had parted so much Honesty among 'em,
At least good Manners, as not thus to suffer
A Man of his Place, and so near our Favour,
To dance Attendance on their Lordships Pleasures,
And at the Door too, like a Post with Packets:
By holy Mary, Butts, there's Knavery;
Let 'em alone, and draw the Curtain close,
We shall hear more anon. A Council Table brought in with Chairs and Stools, and placed under the State. Enter Lord-Chancellor, places himself at the upper end of the Table, on the Left Hand: A Seat being left void above him, as for the Archbishop of Canterbury's Seat. Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord-Chamberlain, and Gardiner, seat themselves in Order on each side. Cromwel at the lower end, as Secretary.

Chan.
Speak to the Business, Mr. Secretary:
Why are we met in Council?

Crom.
Please your Honours,
The chief Cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.

Gard.
Has he knowledge of it?

Crom.
Yes.

Nor.
Who waits there?

Keep.
Without, my Noble Lords?

Gard.
Yes.

Keep.
My Lord Archbishop;
And has done half an hour, to know your Pleasures.

Chan.
Let him come in.

Keep.
Your Grace may enter now. [Cranmer approaches the Council Table.

Chan.
My good Lord Archbishop, I'm very sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That Chair stand empty: But we all are Men
In our own Natures frail, and capable
Of our Flesh, few are Angels; out of which Frailty
And want of Wisdom, you that best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd your self, and not a little:
Toward the King first, then his Laws, in filling
The whole Realm, by your teaching and your Chaplains,
(For so we are inform'd) with new Opinions
Divers and dangerous, which are Heresies;
And not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gard.
Which Reformation must be sudden too,
My noble Lords; for those that tame wild Horses,
Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
But stop their Mouths with stubborn Bits, and spur 'em
'Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,
Out of our Easiness and childish Pity
To one Man's Honour, this contagious Sickness,
Farewel all Physick: And what follows then?
Commotions, Uproars, with a general taint
Of the whole State: As of late Days our Neighbours,
The Upper Germany, can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our Memories.

Cran.
My good Lords; hitherto, in all the Progress
Both of my Life and Office, I have labour'd,
And with no little Study, that my Teaching,
And the strong Course of my Authority,
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever to do well: Nor is there living,
(I speak it with a single Heart, my Lords)
A Man that more detests, more stirs against,
Both in his private Conscience, and his Place,
Defacers of the publick Peace, than I do:
Pray Heav'n the King may never find a Heart
With less Allegiance in it. Men that make
Envy, and crooked Malice, Nourishment,
Dare bite the best. I do beseech your Lordships,
That in this case of Justice, my Accusers,
Be what they will, may stand forth Face to Face,
And freely urge against me.

Suf.
Nay, my Lord,
That cannot be; you are a Counsellor,
And by that Vertue no Man dare accuse you.

Gard.
My Lord, because we have Business of more moment,
We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness pleasure,
And our consent, for better Tryal of you,
From hence you be committed to the Tower,
Where being but a private Man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.

Cran.
Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you,
You are always my good Friend; if your Will pass,
I shall both find your Lordship Judge and Juror,
You are so merciful. I see your end,
'Tis my undoing. Love and Meekness, Lord,
Become a Church-man better than Ambition:
Win straying Souls with Modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear my self,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my Patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do Conscience
In doing daily Wrongs. I could say more,
But Reverence to your Calling makes me modest.

Gard.
My Lord, my Lord, you are a Sectary,
That's the plain truth; your painted Gloss discovers,
To Men that understand you, words and weakness.

Crom.
My Lord of Winchester, you're a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; Men so Noble,
How ever faulty, yet should find Respect
For what they have been: 'Tis a Cruelty
To load a falling Man.

Gard.
Good Mr. Secretary,
I cry your Honour's Mercy; you may, worst
Of all this Table, say so.

Crom.
Why, my Lord?

Gard.
Do not I know you for a Favourer
Of this new Sect? ye are not sound.

Crom.
Not sound?

Gard.
Not sound, I say.

Crom.
Would you were half so honest:
Mens Prayers then would seek you, not then Fears.

Gard.
I shall remember this bold Language.

Crom.
Do.
Remember your bold Life too.

Cham.
This is too much;
Forbear for shame, my Lords.

Gard.
I have done.

Crom.
And I.

Cham.
Then thus for you, my Lord, it stands agreed,
I take it, by all Voices; that forthwith
You be convey'd to th' Tower a Prisoner;
There to remain 'till the King's further Pleasure
Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, Lords?

All.
We are.

Cran.
Is there no other way of Mercy,
But I must needs to th'Tower, my Lords?

Gard.
What other
Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome:
Let some o'th' Guard be ready there. Enter the Guard.

Cran.
For me?
Must I go like a Traitor thither?

Gard.
Receive him.
And see him safe i'th' Tower.

Cran.
Stay, good my Lords,
I have a little yet to say. Look there, my Lords;
By vertue of that Ring, I take my Cause
Out of the gripes of cruel Men, and give it
To a most Noble Judge, the King my Master.

Cham.
This is the King's Ring.

Gard.
'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf.
'Tis his right Ring, by Heav'n. I told ye all,
When we first put this dang'rous Stone a rowling,
'Twould fall upon our selves.

Nor.
Do you think, my Lords,
The King will suffer but the little Finger
Of this Man to be vex'd?

Cham.
'Tis now too certain,
How much more is his Life in value with him?
Would I were fairly out on't.

Crom.
My Mind gave me,
In seeking Tales and Informations
Against this Man, whose Honesty the Devil
And his Disciples only envy at,
Ye blew the Fire that burns ye; now have at ye. Enter King frowning on them, takes his Seat.

Gard.
Dread Sovereign,
How much are we bound to Heaven,
In daily Thanks, that gave us such a Prince;
Not only Good and Wise, but most Religious:
One that in all Obedience, makes the Church
The chief aim of his Honour, and to strengthen
That holy Duty of our dear Respect,
His Royal Self in Judgment comes to hear
The Cause betwixt her and this great Offender.

King.
You were ever good at sudden Commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such Flattery now, and in my presence,
They are too thin and base to hide Offences.
To me you cannot reach; you play the Spaniel,
And think with wagging of your Tongue to win me:
But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure
Thou hast a cruel Nature, and a bloody.
Good Man, sit down; now let me see the proudest [To Cran.
He that dares most, but wag his Finger at thee.
By all that's Holy, he had better starve,
Then but once think, this place becomes thee not.

Sur.
May it please your Grace,—

King.
No, Sir, it does not please me,
I had had thought I had Men of some Understanding,
And Wisdom, of my Council; but I find none:
Was it discretion, Lords, to let this Man,
This good Men, (few of you deserve the Title,)
This honest Man, wait like a lowsie Foot-boy
At Chamber Door, and one, as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? Did my Commission
Bid ye so far forget your selves? I gave ye
Power, as he was a Counsellor, to try him,
Not as a Groom; there's some of ye, I see,
More out of Malice than Integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I do live.

Cham.
Thus far,
My most dread Sovereign, may it like your Grace,
To let my Tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
Concerning his Imprisonment, was rather,
If there be faith in Men, meant for his Trial,
And fair Purgation to the World, than Malice;
I'm sure in me.

King.
Well, well, my Lords, respect him;
Take him, and use him well; he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, if a Prince
May be beholding to a Subject, I
Am, for his Love and Service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be Friends for shame, my Lords. My Lord of Canterbury,
I have a Suit, which you must not deny me.
There is a fair young Maid that yet wants Baptism,
You must be Godfather, and answer for her.

Cran.
The greatest Monarch now alive may glory
In such an Honour; how may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble Subject to you?

King.
Come, come, my Lord, you'd spare your Spoons:

You shall have two noble Partners with you; the old Dutchess of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquess of Dorset?

Gard.
With a true Heart,
And Brother's love I do it.

Cran.
And let Heaven
Witness, how dear I hold this Confirmation.

King.
Good Man, those joyful Tears shew thy true Heart;
The common Voice I see is verified
Of thee, which says thus: Do my Lord of Canterbury
A shrewd turn, and he's your Friend for ever.
Come, Lords, we trifle time away: I long
To have this young one made a Christian.
As I have made ye one, Lords, one remain:
So I grow stronger, you more Honour gain. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Noise and Tumult within: Enter Porter and his Man.

Port.

You'll leave your noise anon, ye Rascals; do you take the Court for Paris Garden? ye rude Slaves, leave your gaping.

Within.

Good Mr. Porter, I belong to th'Larder.

Port.

Belong to the Gallows, and be hang'd, ye Rogue: Is this a Place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree Staves, and strong ones; these are but Switches to 'em: I'll scratch your Heads; you must be seeing Christnings? Do you look for Ale and Cakes here, you rude Rascals?

Man.
Pray, Sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible,
Unless we swept them from the Door with Cannons,
To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day Morning, which will never be:
We may as well push against Pauls, as stir 'em.

Port.
How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man.
Alas, I know not, how gets the Tide in?
As much as one sound Cudgel of four Foot,
You see the poor remainder, could distribute,
I made no spare, Sir.

Port.
You did nothing, Sir.

Man.
I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand,
To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any
That had a Head to hit, either young or old,
He or she, Cuckold, or Cuckold-maker;
Let me ne'er hope to see a Chine again,
And that I would not for a Cow, God save her.

Within.
Do you hear, Mr. Porter?

Port.
I shall be with you presently, good Mr. Puppy.
Keep the Door close, Sirrah.

Man.

What would you have me do?

Port.

What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to Muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the great Tool, come to Court, the Women so besiege us? Bless me! what a fry of Fornication is at the Door? On my Christian-Conscience, this one Christning will beget a thousand, here will be Father, God-father, and all together.

Man.

The Spoons will be the bigger, Sir; there is a Fellow somewhat near the Door, he should be a Brasier by his Face, for o' my Conscience twenty of the Dog-days now reign in's Nose; all that stand about him are under the Line, they need no other Penance; that Fire-Drake did I hit three times on the Head, and three times was his Nose discharged against me; he stands there like a Mortar-piece to blow us up. There was Haberdasher's Wife of small Wit, near him, that rail'd upon me, 'till her pinck'd Porringer fell off her Head, for kindling such a combustion in the State. I mist the Meteor once, and hit that Woman, who cry'd out Clubs, when I might see from far, some forty Truncheons draw to her Succour, which were the hope o'th' Strand, where she was quarter'd; they fell on, I made good my Place; at length they came to th' Broom-staff to me, I defy'd 'em still, when suddenly a File of Boys behind 'em, loose shot, deliver'd such a shower of Pibbles, that I was fain to draw mine Honour in, and let 'em win the Work; the Devil was amongst 'em, I think surely.

Port.

These are the Youths that thunder at a Play-house, and fight for bitten Apples, that no Audience but the Tribulation of Tower-Hill, or the Limbs of Lime-House, their dear Brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum; and there they are like to dance these three Days; besides the running Banquet of two Beadles, that is to come.

Cham.
Mercy o'me; what a Multitude are here?
They grow still too; from all Parts they are coming,
As if we kept a Fair here? where are these Porters?
These lazy Knaves? Ye've made a find Hand, Fellows?
There's a trim Rabble let in; are all these
Your faithful Friends o'th' Suburbs? We shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the Ladies,
When they pass back from the Christning?

Port.
And't please your Honour,
We are but Men, and what so many may do,
Not being torn in pieces, we have done:
An Army cannot rule 'em.

Cham.
As I live,
If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
By th'Heels, and suddenly; and on your Heads
Clap round Fines, for neglect: Y'are lazy Knaves,
And here ye lye baiting of Bombards, when
Ye should do Service. Hark, the Trumpets sound,
Th'are come already from the Christning;
Go break among the Press, and find a way out
To let the Troop pass fairly; or I'll find
A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two Months.

Port.
Make way there, for the Princess.

Man.
You great Fellow,
Stand close up, or I'll make your Head ake.

Port.
You i'th' Chamblet, get up o'th' Rail,
I'll peck you o'er the Pales else. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Enter Trumpets sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his Marshal's Staff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen, bearing great standing Bowls for the Christning Gifts: Then four Noblemen bearing a Canopy, under which the Dutchess of Norfolk, God-mother, bearing the Child richly habited in a Mantle, &c. Train born by a Lady: Then follows the Marchioness of Dorset, the other God-mother, and Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage, and Garter speaks.

Gart.
Heaven,
From thy endless Goodness send prosperous Life,
Long, and ever happy, to the high and mighty
Princess of England, Elizabeth. Flourish. Enter King and Guard.

Cran.
And to your Royal Grace, and the good Queen,
My Noble Partners, and my self thus pray,
All comfort, joy in this most gracious Lady,
Heaven ever laid up to make Parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye.

King.
Thank you good Lord Archbishop:
What is her Name?

Cran.
Elizabeth.

King.
Stand up, Lord;
With this Kiss, take my Blessing: God protect thee,
Into whose hand, I give thy Life.

Cran.
Amen.

King.
My noble Gossips, y'have been too Prodigal,
I thank ye heartily: So shall this Lady,
When she has so much English.

Cran.
Let me speak, Sir,
For Heav'n now bids me; and the words I utter,
Let none think Flattery; for they'll find 'em Truth.
This Royal Infant, Heav'n still move about her,
Though in her Cradle, yet now promises
Upon this Land, a thousand thousand Blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be,
(But few now living can behold that Goodness,)
A Pattern to all Princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Saba was never
More covetous of Wisdom, and fair Virtue,
Than this pure Soul shall be. All Princely Graces
That mould up such a mighty Piece as this is,
With all the Virtues that attend the Good,
Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall Nurse her,
Holy and Heavenly Thoughts still Counsel her:
She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her;
Her Foes shake like a Field of beaten Corn,
And hang their Heads with Sorrow:
Good grows with her.
In her days every Man shall eat in safety,
Under his own Vine what he plants; and sing
The merry Songs of Peace to all his Neighbours.
God shall be truly known, and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of Honour,
And by those claim their Greatness, not by Blood.
Nor shall this Peace sleep with her; But as when
The Bird of wonder dies, the Maiden Phœnix,
Her Ashes new create another Heir,
As great in admiration as her self;
So shall she leave her Blessedness to One,
(When Heav'n shall call her from this cloud of darkness,)
Who from the sacred Ashes of her Honour

Shall Star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fix'd. Peace, Plenty, Love, Truth, Terrour,
That were the Servants to this chosen Infant,
Shall then be his, and like a Vine grow to him;
Where ever the bright Sun of Heav'n shall shine,
His Honour, and the greatness of his Name,
Shall be, and make new Nations. He shall flourish,
And like a Mountain Cedar, reach his Branches,
To all the Plains about him: Our Children's Children
Shall see this, and bless Heav'n.

King.
Thou speakest Wonders.

Cran.
She shall be to the Happiness of England,
An aged Princess; many days shall see her,
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
Would I had known no more: But she must die,
She must, the Saints must have her; yet a Virgin,
A most unspotted Lilly shall she pass
To th' Ground, and all the World shall mourn her.

King.
O Lord Archbishop,
Thou hast made me now a Man; never, before
This happy Child, did I get any thing.
This Oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me,
That when I am in Heav'n, I shall desire
To see what this Child does, and praise my Maker.
I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,
And you good Brethren, I am much beholding:
I have receiv'd much Honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, Lords,
Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye,
She will be sick else. This day, no Man think
Has business at his House, for all shall stay:
This little One shall make it Holy-day. [Exeunt.

THE EPILOGUE.
'Tis ten to one this Play can never please
All that are here: Some come to take their ease,
And sleep out an Act or two; but those we fear
We've frighted with our Trumpets: so 'tis clear,
They'll say it's naught. Others, to hear the City
Abus'd extreamly, and to cry That's witty;
Which we have not done neither; that, I fear,
All the expected good w'are like to hear,
For this Play at this time, is only in
The merciful Construction of good Women;
For such a one we shew'd 'em: If they smile,
And say 'twill do; I know within a while,
All the best Men are ours; for 'tis ill hap,
If they hold, when their Ladies bid 'em clap.

Introductory matter