You were now running o'er; you have scarce time, What appetite you have.
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span,
To keep your earthly audit: Sure, in that
deem you an ill husband; and am glad
To have you therein my companion.
Wol.
And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well:
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you:
He said, he did; and with his deed did crown'
His word upon you. Since I had my office,
I have kept you next my heart; have not alone
Employ'd you where high profits might come home,
But par'd my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
Wol.
What should this mean?
Sur. The Lord increase this business!
K. Hen.
Have I not made you The prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me, If what I now pronounce, you have found true: And, if you may confess it, say withal, If you are bound to us, or no. What say you? Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could My studied purposes requite; which went Beyond all man's endeavours:--my endeavours Have ever come too short of my desires, Yet, fill'd with my abilities: Mine own ends Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed To the good of your most sacred person, and The profit of the state. For your great graces Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I Can nothing render but allegiant thanks; My prayers to heaven for you; my loyalty, Which ever has, and ever shall be growing, Till death, that winter, kill it.
Fairly answered; A loyal and obedient subject is Therein illustrated: The honour of it Does pay the act of it; as, i'the contrary, The foulness is the punishment. I presume, That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour,
On you, than any; so your hand, and heart,
Your brain, and every function of your power,
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,
As 'twere in love's particular, be more
To me, your friend, than any.
Wol.
I do profess,
That for your highness' good I ever labour'd
More than mine own; that am, have, and will be.
Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
And throw it from their soul: though perils did
Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty,
As doth the rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break,
And stand unshaken yours.
'Tis nobly spoken: Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, For you have seen him open't.-Read o'er this; [Giving him papers. And, after, this: and then to breakfast, with
[Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey: the Nobles throng after him, smiling, and whispering.
Wol.
What should this mean?
What sudden anger's this? how have I reap'd it?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
Leap'd from his eyes: So looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him;
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;
I fear, the story of his anger.-'Tis so;
This paper has undone me :-'Tis the account
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
For mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedom,
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,
Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet,
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?
No new device to beat this from his brains?
I know, 'twill stir him strongly; Yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune,
Will bring me off again. What's this-To the Pope?
The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell!
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting: I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.
Re-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the
Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.
Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal: who
commands you
To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands; and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's,
Till you hear further from his highness.
Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry Authority so weighty.
Suff. Who dare cross them? Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it (I mean, your malice,) know, officious lords, I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel Of what coarse metal ye are moulded,-envy. How eagerly ye follow my disgraces, As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin! Follow your envious courses, men of malice; You have Christian warrant for them, and, no doubt, In time will find their fit rewards. That seal, You ask with such a violence, the king (Mine, and your master,) with his own hand gave
Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, During my life; and, to confirm his goodness, Tied it by letters patents: Now, who'll take it? Sur. The king that gave it.
It must be himself then. Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. Wol. Proud lord, thou liest; Within these forty hours Surrey durst better Have burnt that tongue, than said so. Sur. Thy ambition, Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law: The heads of all thy brother cardinals, (With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,) Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy! You sent me deputy for Ireland;
Far from his succour, from the king, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st
him;
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Absolv'd him with an axe.
Wol
This, and all else
This talking lord can lay upon my credit,
I answer, is most false. The duke by law
Found his deserts; how innocent I was
From any private malice in his end,
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you,
You have as little honesty as honour;
That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal master,
Dare mate' a sounder man than Surrey can be,
And all that love his follies.
Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou should'st
feel
My sword i'the life-blood of thee else.-My lords,
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ?
And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,
To be thus jaded2 by a piece of scarlet,
Farewell nobility; let his grace go forward,
And dare us with his cap, like larks."
Wol.
Is poison to thy stomach.
All goodness
Yes, that goodness
Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion;
The goodness of your intercepted packets,
You writ to the pope, against the king: your good
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.-
My lord of Norfolk,- -as you are truly noble,
As you respect the common good, the state
Of our despis'd nobility, our issues,
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,-
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life :-I'll startle you
Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench
Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.
Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this
man,
But that I am bound in charity against it!
Either of king or council, when you went
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold
To carry into Flanders the great seal.
Sur. Item, you sent a large commission
To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude,
Without the king's will, or the state's allowance,
A league between his highness and Ferrara.
Suff. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.
Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub-
stance
(By what means got, I leave to your own con-
science,)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities; to the mere undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are;
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.
Cham.
Press not a falling man too far; 'tis virtue:
His faults lie open to the laws; let them,
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
So little of his great self.
Sur.
I forgive him.
Suff. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is,
Because all those things, you have done of late
By your power legatines within this kingdom,
Fall into the compass of a pramunire,—
That therefore such a writ be sued against you;
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
Out of the king's protection:-This is my charge.
Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations
How to live better. For your stubborn answer,
About the giving back the great seal to us,
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal.
Exeunt all but Wolsey.
Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: To-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms.
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost;
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's His greatness is a ripening,-nips his root,
But, thus much, they are foul ones.
Wol.
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, So much fairer, This many summers in a sea of glory;
And spotless shall mine innocence arise,
When the king knows my truth.
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, This cannot save you: Weary, and old with service, to the mercy I thank my memory, I yet remember Some of these articles; and out they shall. Now, if you can, blush, and cry guilty, cardinal, You'll show a little honesty.
Speak on, sir:
I dare your worst objections: if I blush,
It is, to see a nobleman want manners.
Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have
First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge,
You wrought to be a legate; by which power
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.
Nor Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes, Ego et Rex meus
Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the king
To be your servant.
Suff
Then, that, without the knowledge
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye;
I feel my heart new open'd: O, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.-
Enter Cromwell, amazedly.
Why, how now, Cromwell?
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
Wol.
What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder,
A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
I am fallen indeed.
Crom.
How does your grace?
Why, well; | Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels, how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate
thee;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders,
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honour:
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden,
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of it.
Wol. I hope I have: I am able now, methinks, (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)
To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?
The heaviest and the worst,
Is your displeasure with the king. Wol.
That's somewhat sudden; But he's a learned man.-May he continue Long in his highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears' wept on 'em! What more?
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O
Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king:
And,-pr'ythee, lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Crom. Good sir, have patience.
Wol.
So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. [Exeunt,
Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, SCENE I-A street in Westminster. Enter Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury,
Wol. That's news, indeed. Crom. Last, that the lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, This day was view'd in open, as his queen, Going to chapel; and the voice is now Only about her coronation.
Wol, There was the weight that pull'd me down.
The king has gone beyond me, all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever:
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell;
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master: seck the king;
That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him
What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee;
Some little memory of me will stir him
(I know his noble nature,) not to let
Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not; make use2 now, and provide
For thine own future safety.
Crom.
O my lord,
Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master?
Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron,
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.-
The king shall have my service; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.
two Gentlemen meeting.
1 Gent. You are well met once again. 2 Gent.
1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, aud behold
The lady Anne pass from her coronation?
2 Gent. 'Tis all my business, At our last en
am sure, have shown at full their royal minds; As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward In celebration of this day with shows, Pageants, and sights of honour.
Never greater,
Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.
2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains,
That paper in your hand?
1 Gent.
Yes; 'tis the list
Of those, that claim their offices this day,
By custom of the coronation,
The duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
To be high steward; next, the duke of Norfolk,
He to be earl-marshal; you may read the rest.
2 Gent. I thank you, sir; had I not known those
I should have been beholden to your paper.
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager? how goes her business?
Woi. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And,-when I am forgotten, as I shall be;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,-say, I taught thee.
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,-She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not:
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
(1) The chancellor is the guardian of orphans.
1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
Learned and reverend fathers of his order,
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
From Ampthill, where the princess lay; to which
And, to be short, for not appearance, and
The king's late scruple, by the main assent
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd,.
And the late marriage' made of none effect:
Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,
Where she remains now, sick."
2 Gent
Alas, good lady!-
[Trumpets.
The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is
coming.
THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION.
A lively flourish of trumpets; then enter
2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace before him.
3 Gent. Well worth the seeing.
2 Gent.
Good sir, speak it to us. 3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream Of lords, and ladies, having brought the queen 4. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off Garter, in his coat of arms, and on his A distance from her; while her grace sat down head, a gilt copper crown. To rest a while, some half an hour, or so, on In a rich chair of state, opposing freely his head a demi-coronal of gold. With The beauty of her person to the people. him the earl of Surrey, bearing the rod Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman of silver with the dove, crowned with an That ever lay by man: which when the people earl's coronet. Collars of SS. Had the full view of, such a noise arose
5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold,
8. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coro-As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, net on his head, bearing a long white As loud, and to as many tunes: hats, cloaks, wand, as high-steward. With him, the (Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces duke of Norfolk, with the rod of mar-Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy shalship, a coronet on his head. Collars I never saw before. Great-bellied women, of SS. That had not half a week to go, like rams In the old time of war, would shake the press, And make them reel before them. No man living Could say, This is my wife, there; all were woven So strangely in one piece.
7. 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 of her, the bishops of London
8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, wrought with flowers, bearing the Queen's train.
9. Certain ladies or countesses, with plain circlets of gold, without flowers.
But pray, what follow'd? 3 Gent. 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:
2 Gent. A royal train, believe mc.-These I When by the archbishop of Canterbury
Who's that, that bears the sceptre?
1 Gent. Marquis Dorset: And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman: And that
What two reverend bishops Were those that went on each side of the queen? 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of Winchester,
(Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,)
2 Gent. Those men are happy; and so are all, are The other, London.
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 the 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. [Exe.
SCENE II.-Kimbolton. Enter Katharine, dow-
ager, sick; led between Griffith and Patience.
Grif. How does your grace?
Kath.
O, Griffith, sick to death:
My legs, like loaden 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. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he
died:
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,"
For my example.
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.
Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to
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?
I were malicious else.
Grif
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.
(Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam,
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
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,
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.
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 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 reverent court'sies;
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 ob-
serve the same order: at which (as it were by
inspiration,) she makes in her sleep signs of re-
joicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven:
and so in their dancing they vanish, carrying
the garland with them. The music 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.
Saw you none enter, since I slept?
It is not you I call for :
Grif.
None, madam.
Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed
troop
(1) This scene is above any other part of Shak-Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces
speare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun?
of any other poet; tender and pathetic, without They promis'd me eternal happiness;
gods, or furies, or poisons, or precipices; without
the help of romantic circumstances, without im-
probable sallies of poetical lamentation, and with-
out any throes of tumultuous misery. JOHNSON.
(3) By short stages.
(5) Of the king.
|