With thy religious truth, and modesty,
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
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.
Of his own body he was ill, and gave
The clergy ill example.
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?
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 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,
Now in his ashes honour: Peace be with him!
Patience, be near me still; and set me lower:
Good Griffith,
I have not long to trouble thee. -
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 heads gurlands 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
court'sies; then the two, that held the garland, de-
liver the same to the other next two, who observe the
stime order in their changes, and holding the gar-
land 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
The
they vanish, carrying the garland with them.
musick continues.
Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
Grif. Madam, we are here.
It is not you I call for :
Saw ye none enter, since I slept?
Grif.
Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed
Re-enter GRIFFITH, with Capucius.
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?
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,
(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.
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
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.
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
(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.
The fruit, she goes with, I pray for heartily; that it may find
To waste these times. Good hour of night, sir Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, Thomas!
I wish it grubb'd up now.
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: You 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, Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, Sleep in their graves.
Now, sir, you speak of two
The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell,
Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master
O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,
With which the time will load him: The archbishop
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 heretick, 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,) he 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 highness
Most heartily to pray for her.
What say'st thou? ha! To pray for her? what, is she crying out?
Lov. So said her woman; and that her sufferance made
Almost each pang a death.
Alas, good lady! Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and With gentle travail, to the gladding of Your highness with an heir!
'Tis midnight, Charles, Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone; For I must think of that, which company Will not be friendly to.
I wish your highness A quiet night, and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.
To attend your highness' pleasure.
'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 con-
sider'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 yourself,
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 broth..
of us,
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.
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 myself, poor man.
Stand up, good Canterbury; Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up; Pr'ythee, 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 Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you
Without indurance further.
Know you not how Your state stands i'the 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'the question carries
The due o'the 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 size. Ween you of better luck,
I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your master,
Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd
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
The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties
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's true-hearted; and a soul
None better in my kingdom.
And do as I have bid you.
has strangled
His language in his tears.
Get you gone, [Exit CRANMER.] He
D. Keep. Your grace must wait, till you be call'd for.
Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad, I came this way so happily: The king Shall understand it presently.
The king's physician; as he past along,
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain,
This is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate me.
(God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,)
To quench mine honour: they would shame to
Wait else at door; a fellow counsellor, Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. pleasures
Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.
Enter, at a window above, the KING and BUTTS.
Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight,-
K. Hen.
What's that, Butts?
Butts. I think your highness. saw this many a
K. Hen. Body o'me, where is it?
Butts.
There, my lord: The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, Pages and footboys.
K. Hen. Ha! 'Tis he, indeed: Is this the honour they do one another? 'Tis well there's one above them yet. I had thought, They had parted so much honesty among them, (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 them alone, and draw the curtain close; We shall hear more anon. —
Enter the Lord Chancellor, the DUKE OF SUFFOLK, EARL OF SURREY, Lord Chamberlain, GARDINER, and CROMWELL. The Chancellor places kimself at the upper end of the table on the left hand; a seat being left void above him, as for the AscHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY. The rest seat themselves in order on each side. CROMWELL at the lower
Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary: Why are we met in council?
Please your honours, The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. Gar. Has he had knowledge of it?
D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? ̧
Gar.
Yes.
D. Keep
My lord archbishop;
And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.
Chan. Let him come in.
D. Keep.
Your grace may enter now. [CRANMER approaches the council-table. Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am 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 yourself, and not a little,
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling!
The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chap-
lains,
(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions,
Divers and dangerous; which are heresies,
And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.
Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords: for those that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer
(Out of our easiness, and childish pity
To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell, 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 a publick peace, than I do.
'Pray heaven, 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.
Nay, my lord,
That cannot be; you are a counsellor,
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.
Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment,
We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness'
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 churchman better than ambition;
Win straying souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight yê 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.
Gar. 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 are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble,
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Tis no counterfeit. Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves.
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.
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. Gar. 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 strengthent
That holy duty, out of dear respect,
His royal self in judgment comes to hear,
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
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