Sur. I had 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.
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.
Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's farther 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.
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 hopes, 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
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,
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 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.-
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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.
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 orphans' tears wept on 'em! What more?
Crom. That Cranmer is returned 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 pulled 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.
Wol. 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,
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!
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.
SCENE I.-A Street in Westminster.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.
1 Gent. You're well met once again.
2 Gent. So are you.
THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION.
A lively flourish of Trumpets.
2. Lord Chancellor, with purse and mace before him.
1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and 3. Choristers singing. behold
The lady Anne pass from her coronation?
2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter, The duke of Buckingham came from his trial.
1 Gent. 'Tis very true; but that time offer'd sorrow,
This, general joy.
2 Gent. 'Tis well: the citizens,
I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds;
As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward
In celebration of this day with shows,
Pageants, and sights of honour.
Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.
2 Gent. May I be bold to ask what that contains, That paper in your hand?
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 beholding 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
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 was often 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.
Alas, good lady!— [Trumpets.
4. Mayor of London bearing the mace. Then, Garter
in his coat of arms; and on his head he wore a gilt copper crown. Marquess 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 highsteward. With him, the Duke of Norfolk, with the rod of marshalship; a coronet on his head. Collars of SS.
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 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. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets of
The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming. I take it, she that carries up the train [Hautboys. Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk.
1 Gent. It is; and all the rest are countesses. 2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars, indeed; And sometimes falling ones.
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 [Exit Procession, with a great flourish of A worthy friend.—The king has made him
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God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling? 3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey; where a finger
Could not be wedg'd in more: I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy.
2 Gent. You saw the ceremony?
3 Gent. 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. 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 them reel before them. No man living
Could say, "This is my wife," there; all were woven
So strangely in one piece.
2 Gent. But, 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:
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 pac'd back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.
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.
3 Gent.
But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
Is fresh about me.
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.
SCENE II-Kimbolton.
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.
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
I know it; Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion
Tied 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:
What two reverend bishops
Were those that went on each side of the queen?
3 Gent. Stokesley and Gardiner; the one of Win-
chester,
Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary;
The other, London.
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? Kath.
[Music ceases. Do you note,
Yes, good Griffith; I were malicious else. This cardinal, 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: 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 man 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 to. go
[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 reverend curtesies: 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 they vanish, carrying the garland with them. The music continues. Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all [Waking. 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
They are harsh and heavy to me.
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,
Mark her eyes!
And of an earthy coldness?
Grif. She is going, wench. Pray, pray.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. An't like your grace,
Kath.
Deserve we no more reverence?
You are to blame,
Grif.
Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour: go to; kneel.
Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
[Kneeling.
My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king to see you.
Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: but this fellow
Let me ne'er see again.
[Exeunt GRIFFITH and Messenger.
Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUS.
If my sight fail not,
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
My royal nephew; and your name Capucius.
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant.
Kath.
O my The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely But, I pray you, With me, since first you knew me. What is your pleasure with me? Cap. 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 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 physic, 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, 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,
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.
Cap.
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 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.
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 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.
Lov.
I must to him too,
Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.
Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter?
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
(As, they say, spirits do) at midnight have
In them a wilder nature, than the business
That seeks despatch by day.
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 Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd up now.
Methinks, I could Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does Deserve our better wishes.
Gar.
Hear me, sir Thomas: y'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.
Lov.
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; farther, sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,
With which the time will load him. Th' archbishop
Is the king's hand, and tongue; and who dare speak
One syllable against him?
Yes, yes, sir Thomas,
There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd
Sir, (I may tell it you) I think, I have
To speak my mind of him: and, indeed, this day,
Incens'd the lords o' the counsel, that he is
(For so I know he is, they know he is)
A most arch heretic, 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) 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
[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 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
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