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Alas! poor man!
Grif. At last, with easy roads,3 he came to
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,4 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 presences
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?
Yes, good Griffith;
I were malicious else.
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd too 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 aleep: 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 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 garland
over her head: which done, they deliver the
same garland to the last two, who likewise ob-
serve the same oriler: at which (as it were by
inspiration,) she makes in her sleep signs of re-
joicing, 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
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
Grif. Madam, we are here.
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 (1) This scene is above any other part of Shak-Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces speare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun? of any other poet; tender and pathetic, without They promis'd me eternal happiness; gods, or furies, or poisons, or precipices; without the help of romantic circumstances, without improbable sallies of poetical lamentation, and without any throes of tumultuous misery. JOHNSON.
(3) By short stages.
(5) Of the king.
(6) Formed for.
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall,
Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Possess your fancy.
Bid the music leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me. [Music ceases.
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!
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. An't like your grace,-
You are a saucy fellow
Deserve we no more reverence?
You are to blame,
Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel.
Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon;
My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this
Let me ne'er see again. [Exeunt Grif. and Mess.
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.
O my lord,
The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you,
What is your pleasure with me?
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 you his princely commendations,
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.
Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too
[Giving it to Katharine.
Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.
'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?
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?
Most willing, madam.
Kath. In which I have commended to his good-
The model of our chaste loves, his young daugh
(1) Image. (2) Afterwards Queen Mary. (3) Even if he should be.
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.
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 be3 a noble ;
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have
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
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.
By heaven, I will;
Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
SCENE 1-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?
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
Whither so late?
Came you from the king, my lord?
Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primerot
With the duke of Suffolk.
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
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-(As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have
Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding; In them a wilder nature, than the business
(She is young, and of a noble modest nature; That seeks despatch by day.
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,
I must to him, too,
Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.
Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the
My lord, I love you;
And durst commend a secret to your ear
Much weightier than this work. The queen's in
They say, in great extremity; and fear'd,
She'll with the labour end.
(4) A game at cards.
Gar. But, sir, sir,Hear me, sir Thomas: You 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, Cromwel', her two hands, and she, Sleep in their graves.
Now, sir, you speak of two
The most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for Crom-
Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master
O'the rolls, and the king's secretary further, sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,
With which the time will load him: The archbishop
Is the king's hand, and tongue; And who dare
One syllable against him?
Yes, yes, sir Thomas,
There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd
To speak my mind of him: and, indeed, this day,
Sir (I may tell it you,) I think, I have
Incens'd the lords o'the council, that he is
(For so I know he is, they know he is,)
À 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) he 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
servant. [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 you commanded me, but by her woman I sent your message; who return'd her thanks In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your high
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 suffer-
Almost each pang a death.
Alas, good lady!
Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and
With gentle travail, to the gladding of
Your highness with an heir!
'Tis midnight, Charles,
Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
For I must think of that, which company
Will not be friendly to.
(1) Set on. (2) Told their minds.
Den. Ay, my good lord.
Tis true: Where is he, Denny?
Den. He attends your highness' pleasure.
Bring him to us.
Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake;
I am happily come hither.
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself,
This morning come before us; where, I know,
But that, till further trial, in those charges
Which will require your answer, you must take
Your patience to you, and be well contented
To make your house our Tower: You a brother
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.
I humbly thank your highness;
And am right glad to catch this good occasion
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know,
There's none stands under more calumnious tongues,
Than I myself, poor man.
Stand up, good Canterbury;
Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted
In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up;
Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame,
What mauner of man are you? My lord, I look'd
You would have given me your petition, that
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you
Without indurance, further.
Cran. Most dread liege, The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty; If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh5 not;
(4) One of the council,
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing What can be said against me.
K. Hen. Know you not how Your state stands i'the world, with the whole world? Your enemies Are many, and not small; their practices Must bear the same proportion: and not everl The justice and the truth o'the question carries The due o'the verdict with it: At what ease Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt To swear against you? such things have been done. You are potently oppos'd; and with a malice Of as great size. Ween2 you of better luck, I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your master, Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to; You take a precipice for no leap of danger, And woo your own destruction.
Cran. God, and your majesty, Protect mine innocence, or I fall into The is laid for me! trap K. Hen.
Be of good cheer; They shall no more prevail, than we give way to. Keep comfort to you; and this morning see You do appear before them; if they shall chance, In charging you with matters, to commit you, The best persuasions to the contrary Fail not to use, and with what vehemency The occasion shall instruct you: if entreaties Will render you no remedy, this ring Deliver them, and your appeal to us There make before them.-Look, the good man weeps! He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother! I swear, he is true-hearted; and a soul None better in my kingdom.-Get And do as I have bid you.
His language in his tears.
Exit Cranmer. He has strangled
Enter at a window above, the King and Butts. Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight,K. Hen. What's that, Butts? Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day. K. Hen. Body o'me, where is it? Butts. There, my lord: The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury; Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, Pages, and footboys.
Ha! 'Tis he, indeed: Is this the honour they do one another? 'Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought, They had parted so much honesty among them, (At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer A man of his place, and so near our favour, To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, And at the door too, like a post with packets. By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery: Let them alone, and draw the curtain close; We shall hear more anon.
D. Keep. My lord archbishop;|| But reverence to your calling makes me modest. And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, Chan. Let him come in. That's the plain truth; your painted gloss discovers, D. Keep. To men that understand you, words and weakness. Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little, By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble, However faulty, yet should find respect For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty, To load a falling man. Gar.
Your grace may enter now. [Cranmer approaches the council-table. Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty: But we all are men, In our own natures frail; and capable Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty, And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains,
(For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions, Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies, And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.
Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them,
Till they obey the manage. If we suffer
(Out of our easiness, and childish pity
To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell all physic: And what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours,
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.
Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
And with no little study, that my teaching,
And the strong course of my authority,
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever, to do well: nor is there living
(I speak it with a single heart, my lords,)
A man that more detests, more stirs against,
Both in his private conscience, and his place,
Defacers of a public peace, than I do.
Pray Heaven, the king may never find a heart
With less allegiance in it! Men, that make
Envy, and crooked inalice, nourishment,
Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.
Suf. Nay, my lord, That cannot be; you are a counsellor, And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. Gar. My lord, because we have business of more moment, We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' plea
And our consent, for better trial of you,
From hence you be committed to the Tower;
Where, being but a private man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.
Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank
You are always my good friend; if your will pass,
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror,
You are so merciful: I see your end,
'Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition;
Win straying souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
(1) 'In singleness of heart.' Acts ii. 46.
Good master secretary, I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst Of all this table, say so.
Crom. Why, my lord? Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer Of this new sect? ye are not sound. Crom.
Let some o'the guard be ready there. Enter Guard.
Gar. Not sound, I say. Crom. 'Would you were half so honest; Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language. Crom.
Remember your bold life too.
This is too much;
Forbear, for shame, my lords.
Chan. Then thus for you, my lord,-It stands
I have done.
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;
There to remain, till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords?
All. We are.
Is there no other way of mercy,
But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
Would you expect? You are strangely trouble-
Cran. Must I go like a traitor thither? Gar.
For me? Receive him,
Stay, good my lords, I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; By virtue of that ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it To a most noble judge, the king my master. Cham. This is the king's ring.
And see him safe i'the Tower. Cran.
Sur. "Tis no counterfeit. Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves.
Nor. Do you think, my lords, The king will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd?
Cham. 'Tis now too certain, How much more is his life in value with him. 'Would I were fairly out on't.
In seeking tales, and informations,
Against this man (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,)
Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.
Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen