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.

Sec. Gent. I thank you, sir: had I not known those customs,

I should have been beholding to your paper.

First Gent.

The Archbishop

But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager? how goes her business?
That I can tell you too.
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
Learnéd 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 remov'd to Kimbolton,
Where she remains now sick.

Sec. Gent.

Alas, good lady!— [Trumpets. The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming. [They look down on the Procession. A royal train, believe me.-These I know :

Who's that that bears the sceptre ?

First Gent.

Music approaches.

Marquess Dorset :

And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.

Sec. Gent. A bold brave gentleman.—That one should be

The Duke of Suffolk ?

First Gent.
Sec. Gent.

First Gent.

'Tis the same,—high-steward.

And that my Lord of Norfolk ?

Yes. The queen!

Sec. Gent. 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 o'er 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.
Sec. Gent.
First Gent.

Sec. Gent.

It is; and all the rest are countesses.
Their coronets say so.

First Gent. broiling?

These are stars indeed.

And sometimes falling ones.

Enter a third Gentleman.

No more of that. [Music dies away.

God save you, sir! where have you been

Third Gent. Among the crowd i' th' abbey ; where a finger Could not be wedg'd in more: I am stifled

With the mere rankness of their joy.

Third 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 awhile, some half an hour or so,
In a rich chair of state 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.

Such joy

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 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.

First Gent.
But, 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.

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.

Enter KATHARINE, sick; led between GRIFFITH and

PATIENCE.

Grif. How does your grace?

Kath.
My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth,
Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair :-
So, now, methinks, I feel a little ease.

O Griffith, sick to death!

Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou ledd'st me,
That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead?

Grif. Yes, madam; but I think your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

Kath. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died : If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,

For my example.

Grif.

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 covent, 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
Tith'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.

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.

I were malicious, else.

Grif.

Yes, good Griffith;

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 music. Grif. She is asleep: good wench, let's sit down quiet,

For fear we wake her :—softly, gentle Patience.

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye all gone,

And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?

Grif. Madam, we're here.
Kath.

Saw ye none enter since I slept ?

Grif.

It is not you I call for:

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;

VOL. II

2 H