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

Caft thousand beams upon me, like the fun?

They promis'd me eternal happiness ;

And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall,

Affuredly.

Grif. I am moft joyful, madam, fuch good dreams Poffefs your fancy.

Kath.

Bid the mufick leave,

They are harsh and heavy to me.

Pat.

[Mufick ceafes.

Do you note,

How much her grace is alter'd on the fudden?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,
And of an earthy cold? Mark you her eyes?

Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray.

Pat.

Heaven comfort her!

Enter a Meffenger.

You are a faucy fellow:

You are to blame,

Meff. An't like your grace,—

Kath.

Deferve we no more reverence?

Grif.
Knowing, the will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel.

Me. I humbly do entreat your highnefs' pardon;
My hafte made me unmannerly: There is staying
A gentleman, fent from the king, to see you.

Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this fellow Let me ne'er fee again. [Exeunt GRIFFITH and Messenger. Re-enter

7

Re-enter GRIFFITH with CAPUCIUS.

If my fight fail not,

You should be lord ambaffador from the emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.

Cap. Madam, the fame, your fervant.

Kath.

O my lord, The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely With me, fince first you knew me. But, I pray you, What is your pleasure with me?

Сар.

Noble lady,

First, mine own fervice to your grace; the next,
The king's request that I would visit you ;

Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you 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 physick, 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 fhall dwell with worms, and my poor name

Banish'd the kingdom!--Patience, is that letter,

I caus'd you write, yet fent away?

Pat.

No, madam.

[Giving it to KATHARINE.

Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver This to my lord the king.

Cap.

Moft willing, madam.

Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness The model of our chafte loves, his young daughter :

The dews of heaven fall thick in bleffings on her !—
Befeeching 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 fake, 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 deferve,
For virtue, and true beauty of the foul,
For honesty, and decent carriage,

A right good husband, let him be a noble ;
And, fure, those men are happy that shall have them,
The laft 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 fomething 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 with christian peace to fouls departed,
Stand thefe poor people's friend, and urge the king
To do me this last right.

Cap.

By heaven, I will; Or let me lofe 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 paffing

Out of this world: tell him, in death I blefs'd him,
For fo I will.-Mine eyes grow dim.-Farewell,
My lord.-Griffith, farewell.-Nay, Patience,

You

hem.

ACT V. SCENE I.

A Gallery in the Palace.

Enter GARDINER Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a torch before him, met by Sir THOMAS LOVELL.,

It hath ftruck.

Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?
Boy.
Gar. These fhould be hours for neceffities,
Not for delights; times to repair our nature
With comforting repose, and not for us

To waste these times.-Good hour of night, fir Thomas!
Whither fo late?

Lov.

Came you from the king, my lord? Gar. I did, fir 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, fir 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 fay, fpirits do,) at midnight, have

In them a wilder nature, than the business

That seeks despatch by day.

Lov.

My lord, I love you;

And durft commend a fecret to your ear

Much weightier than this work. The queen's in labour, They fay, in great extremity; and fear'd,

She'll with the labour end.

Gar.

The fruit, fhe goes with,