Sec. Gent. And that my Lord of Norfolk?

First Gent.

Sec. Gent.

Yes.

[Looking on the Queen.]

Heaven 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.

First Gent.

They that bear The cloth of honour over her, are four

barons

Of the Cinque-ports.

Sec. Gent. 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, Duchess of Norfolk.
First Gent. It is; and all the rest are
countesses.

Sec. Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed,

And sometimes falling ones.

First Gent.

No more of that.

[exit procession; and then a great flourish of trumpets.

Enter a third Gentleman.

God save you, sir! where have you been broiling?

Third Gent. Among the crowd i' the

abbey; where a finger

Could not be wedged in more: I am stifled

With the mere rankness of their joy.

Of lords and ladies, having brought the queen
To a prepared place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her; while her grace sat

down

To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people.
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
That ever lay by man: which when the
people

Had the full view of, such a noise arose

As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tem

pest,

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-bellied 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

Third Gent. At length her grace rose,

and with modest paces

Came to the altar, where she kneel'd and saintlike

Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly ;

Then rose again and bow'd her to the peo

ple;

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 choir,

With all the choicest music of the kingdom,

Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted, And with the same full state paced back

again

To York-place, where the feast is held.

First Gent.

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.

Third Gent. I know it; But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name Is fresh about me.

Sec. Gent.

What two reverend bishops

Were those that went on each side of the

queen?