Grif.
How does your grace?

Kath.
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.

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

Kath.
Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died;
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,
For my example.

Grif.
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!

Grif.
At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, honourably received 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!(2)8Q0047
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,* ^note ever ranking
Himself with princes.
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,
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?

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:(3)8Q0048 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 heaven.

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—QUEEN KATHARINE'S DREAM.

Kath. (awaking.)
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 promised 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 music leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music 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 earthly cold? Mark you her eyes?

Grif.
She is going, wench; pray, pray.

Pat.
Heaven comfort her!

Enter a Messenger. L. 2 E.

Mess.
An't like your grace,—

Kath.
You are a saucy 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.

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, L. 2 E. [Re-enter Griffith, with Capucius,* ^note L. 2 E.
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 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?(4)8Q0049

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;
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;
The last is, for my men;—they are the poorest,
But poverty could never draw them from me;—
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.—(5)8Q0050 END OF ACT FOURTH.

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