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Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear

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

me.

Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!

Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench This is the state of man; To-day he puts forth Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal.

Wol. How much, methinks, I could despise this

The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him :
The third day, comes a frest, a killing frost ;
And, - when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root,
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;

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me; and now has left me,
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
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 opened: O, how wretched
Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspéct 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.

man,

But that I am bound in charity against it!

Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's
hand:

But, thus much, they are foul ones.
Wol.
And spotless, shall mine innocence arise,
When the king knows my truth.
This cannot save you:

Sur.

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.

Wol.
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

at you.

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.
Suf.
Then, that, without the knowledge
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.

Suf. 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 conscience,)
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.

O my lord,
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.

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Sur.

I forgive him.

Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure
is,
Because all those things, you have done of late
By your power legatine within this kingdom,
Fall into the compass of a præmunire, ·
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 you.
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal.
[Exeunt all but WOLSEY.

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.

How does your grace?
Why, well;

Crom.
Wol.
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?

Crom.

The heaviest, and the wo
Is your displeasure with the king.

Wol.
God bless him!
Crom. The next is, that sir Thomas More is chosen
Lord chancellor in your place.

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 orphan's tears wept on 'em!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
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. O Cromwell,

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: Seek 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 use 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.

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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,—
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.
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;
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,

ACT IV.

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

customs,

I should have been beholden to your paper.
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager? how goes her business?

1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The archbishop

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.

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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
She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not:
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
Two Judges.

1.

2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace before

him.

3. Choristers singing.

[Musick.

4.

Mayor of London bearing the mace. Then Garter, in his coat of arms, and, on his head, a gilt copper crown.

5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a demi-coronal of gold. With him, the Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet. Collars of SS.

6.

Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet on his head, bearing a long white wand, as high-steward. With him, the Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of SS.

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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 and Winchester.
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.

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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.
2 Gent.

paces Came to the altar: where she kneel'd, and, saint-like, Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.

2 Gent. A royal train, believe me. — These I Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people :

know;

Who's that, that bears the scepter?

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 musick of the kingdom,
Together sung Te Deum. So she parted,
And with the same full state pac'd back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.
1 Gent.
Sir, you

Must no more call it York-place, that is past:
For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost;
'Tis now the king's, and call'd-Whitehall.
3 Gent.

1 Gent. Marquis Dorset : And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman: And that should be The duke of Suffolk. 1 Gent.

'Tis the same; high-steward. 2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk ? 1 Gent.

2 Gent.

Yes.
Heaven bless thee!
[Looking on the QUEEN.
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.

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1 Gent.

They, that bear
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports.

2 Gent. Those men are happy; and so are all, (Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,)

are near her.

finger Could not be wedg'd in more; and I am stifled With the mere rankness of their joy.

2 Gent.

You saw

The ceremony?

3 Gent.

But, 'pray, what follow'd? 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest

That I did.

1 Gent.

How was it?

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
To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her while her grace sat down
To rest a while, 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 tempest,
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.
I never saw before. Great-bellied women,
That had not half a week to go, like rams

Such joy

But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
Is fresh about me.

I know it;

2 Gent. What two reverend bishops Were those that went on each side of the queen? 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of

Winchester,

The other, London.

2 Gent.

He of Winchester

Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's,
The virtuous Cranmer.

3 Gent.

All the land knows that: However, yet there's no great breach; when it

comes, Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you? 3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell; A man in much esteem with the king, and truly A worthy friend. The king Has made him master o'the jewel-house 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.
[Exeunt.

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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 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.

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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! 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.

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 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 reverend 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 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 they vanish, carrying the garland with them. The musick 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 promis'd 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 musick 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. Heaven comfort her!

Pat.

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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?

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; (She is young, and of a noble modest nature; Ì hope, she will deserve well;) and a little To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,

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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 To waste these times.

Good hour of night, sir

Lov. I must to him too, Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. matter?

Thomas! Whither so late? Lov.

Came you from the king, my lord? Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero With the duke of Suffolk.

ACT V.

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.

What's the

It seems, you are in haste; an if there be
No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
Some touch of your late business: Affairs, that

walk

By heaven, I will; Or let me lose the fashion of a man!

Cap.

Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me In all humility unto his highness:

Say, his long trouble now is passing

- Mine eyes grow dim.

Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him,
For so I will.
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. [Exeunt, leading Katharine.

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