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 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 loved 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 raised in you, Ipswich and Oxford ! one of which fell with Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; Kath. After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, 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 named 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. 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 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 rejoicing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven: and so in their dancing 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. 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 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. Heaven comfort her! Pat. |