Enter CROMWELL, standing amazed  


    Why, how now, Cromwell!
  CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir.
  WOLSEY. What, amaz'd
    At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder
    A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,
    I am fall'n indeed.
  CROMWELL. How does your Grace?
  WOLSEY. Why, well;
    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!
  CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.
  WOLSEY. 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?
  CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst
    Is your displeasure with the King.
  WOLSEY. God bless him!
  CROMWELL. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen
    Lord Chancellor in your place.
  WOLSEY. 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 him!
    What more?
  CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
    Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.
  WOLSEY. That's news indeed.
  CROMWELL. 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.
  WOLSEY. 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 fall'n 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.  
  CROMWELL. O my lord,
    Must I then leave you? Must I needs forgo
    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.
  WOLSEY. 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 it?
    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--prithee 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.
  CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience.
  WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell
    The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.          
Exeunt






<>




ACT IV. SCENE 1.


A street in Westminster


Enter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another


  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y'are well met once again.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you.
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and
      behold
    The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter
    The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd
      sorrow;
    This, general joy.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. '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.
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater,  
    Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains,
    That paper in your hand?
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 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.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known
      those customs,
    I should have been beholding to your paper.
    But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
    The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 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 of
    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.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady!                      
[Trumpets]
    The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming.
[Hautboys]


              THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION.


    1. A lively flourish of trumpets.
    2. Then two JUDGES.
    3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him.
    4. CHORISTERS singing.                                   
[Music]
    5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in
       his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper
       crown.
    6. 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 Esses.
    7. 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 Esses.
    8. 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.
    9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold
       wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S train.
   10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold
       without flowers.


             Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and
state, and then a great flourish of trumpets


  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know.  
    Who's that that bears the sceptre?
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset;
    And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be
    The Duke of Suffolk?
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the same--High Steward.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk?
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN.  [Looking on the QUEEN]  Heaven
      bless thee!
    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 GENTLEMAN. They that bear
    The cloth of honour over her are four barons
    Of the Cinque-ports.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. 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 GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars
indeed,
    And sometimes falling ones.
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that.
                   Exit Procession, with a great flourish of
trumpets


               Enter a third GENTLEMAN


    God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i' th' Abbey, where a finger
    Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled
    With the mere rankness of their joy.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw
    The ceremony?
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did.
  FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it?
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us.  
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. 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, 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 'em reel before 'em. No man living
    Could say 'This is my wife' there, all were woven
    So strangely in one piece.  
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow'd?
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. 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 GENTLEMAN. 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 called Whitehall.
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it;  
    But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name
    Is fresh about me.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops
    Were those that went on each side of the Queen?
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester,
    Newly preferr'd from the King's secretary;
    The other, London.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester
    Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop's,
    The virtuous Cranmer.
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that;
    However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes,
    Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you?
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell,
    A man in much esteem with th' King, and truly
    A worthy friend. The King has made him Master
    O' th' jewel House,
    And one, already, of the Privy Council.
  SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more.  
  THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt.
    Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
    Is to th' 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






ACT IV. SCENE 2.


Kimbolton


Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her
Gentleman Usher, and PATIENCE, her woman


  GRIFFITH. How does your Grace?
  KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death!
    My legs like loaden branches bow to th' earth,
    Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair.
    So--now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
    Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,
    That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,
    Was dead?
  GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace,
    Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
  KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.
    If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,
    For my example.
  GRIFFITH. 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.
  KATHARINE. Alas, poor man!
  GRIFFITH. 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.  
  KATHARINE. 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,
    Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair play;
    His own opinion was his law. I' th' 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.
  GRIFFITH. 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?
  KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith;
    I were malicious else.  
  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.
  KATHARINE. 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]
  GRIFFITH. 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 reverent curtsies.
      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 vanish,
      carrying the garland with them. The music continues.


  KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?
    And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
  GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.
  KATHARINE. It is not you I call for.  
    Saw ye none enter since I slept?
  GRIFFITH. None, madam.
  KATHARINE. 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.
  GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
    Possess your fancy.
  KATHARINE. Bid the music leave,
    They are harsh and heavy to me.                    [Music
ceases]
  PATIENCE. 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 her eyes.
  GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray.
  PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her!


             Enter a MESSENGER  


  MESSENGER. An't like your Grace--
  KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow.
    Deserve we no more reverence?
  GRIFFITH. You are to blame,
    Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,
    To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.
  MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness' pardon;
    My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying
    A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you.
  KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow
    Let me ne'er see again.                        Exit MESSENGER


              Enter LORD CAPUCIUS


    If my sight fail not,
    You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor,
    My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
  CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same--your servant.
  KATHARINE. 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?
  CAPUCIUS. Noble lady,
    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.
  KATHARINE. 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?
  CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health.
  KATHARINE. 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?
  PATIENCE. No, madam.                       [Giving it to
KATHARINE]  
  KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
    This to my lord the King.
  CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.
  KATHARINE. 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 'em.  
    The last is for my men--they are the poorest,
    But poverty could never draw 'em from me--
    That they may have their wages duly paid 'em,
    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.
  CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will,
    Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
  KATHARINE. 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






<>




ACT V. SCENE 1.


London. A gallery in the palace


Enter GARDINER, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a torch before
him, met by SIR THOMAS LOVELL


  GARDINER. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?
  BOY. It hath struck.
  GARDINER. 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?
  LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord?
  GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primero
    With the Duke of Suffolk.
  LOVELL. I must to him too,
    Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.
  GARDINER. 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.
  LOVELL. My lord, I love you;
    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.
  GARDINER. 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.
  LOVELL. Methinks I could
    Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says
    She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
    Deserve our better wishes.
  GARDINER. But, sir, sir--
    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.
  LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two
    The most remark'd i' th' kingdom. As for Cromwell,
    Beside that of the Jewel House, is made Master
    O' th' Rolls, and the King's secretary; further, sir,
    Stands in the gap and trade of moe 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?
  GARDINER. 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' th' Council, 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.
  LOVELL. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your servant.
                                       Exeunt GARDINER and PAGE


         Enter the KING and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK


  KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
    My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.
  SUFFOLK. Sir, I did never win of you before.
  KING. But little, Charles;
    Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.
    Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?  
  LOVELL. 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 great'st humbleness, and desir'd your Highness
    Most heartily to pray for her.
  KING. What say'st thou, ha?
    To pray for her? What, is she crying out?
  LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff'rance made
    Almost each pang a death.
  KING. Alas, good lady!
  SUFFOLK. God safely quit her of her burden, and
    With gentle travail, to the gladding of
    Your Highness with an heir!
  KING. 'Tis midnight, Charles;
    Prithee to bed; and in thy pray'rs remember
    Th' estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone,
    For I must think of that which company
    Will not be friendly to.
  SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness
    A quiet night, and my good mistress will  
    Remember in my prayers.
  KING. Charles, good night.            Exit SUFFOLK


         Enter SIR ANTHONY DENNY


    Well, sir, what follows?
  DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,
    As you commanded me.
  KING. Ha! Canterbury?
  DENNY. Ay, my good lord.
  KING. 'Tis true. Where is he, Denny?
  DENNY. He attends your Highness' pleasure.
  KING. Bring him to us.                Exit DENNY
  LOVELL.  [Aside]  This is about that which the bishop spake.
    I am happily come hither.


         Re-enter DENNY, With CRANMER


  KING. Avoid the gallery.           [LOVELL seems to stay]
    Ha! I have said. Be gone.  
    What!                               Exeunt LOVELL and DENNY
  CRANMER.  [Aside]  I am fearful--wherefore frowns he thus?
    'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.
  KING. How now, my lord? You do desire to know
    Wherefore I sent for you.
  CRANMER.  [Kneeling]  It is my duty
    T'attend your Highness' pleasure.
  KING. Pray you, arise,
    My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.
    Come, you and I must walk a turn together;
    I have news to tell you; come, come, give me your hand.
    Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
    And am right sorry to repeat what follows.
    I have, and most unwillingly, of late
    Heard many grievous--I do say, my lord,
    Grievous--complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
    Have mov'd us and our Council that you shall
    This morning come before us; where I know
    You cannot with such freedom purge yourself
    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 Tow'r. You a brother of us,
    It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
    Would come against you.
  CRANMER. I humbly thank your Highness
    And am right glad to catch this good occasion
    Most throughly to be winnowed where my chaff
    And corn shall fly asunder; for I know
    There's none stands under more calumnious tongues
    Than I myself, poor man.
  KING. Stand up, good Canterbury;
    Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
    In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up;
    Prithee let's walk. Now, by my holidame,
    What manner 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.  
  CRANMER. 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 weigh not,
    Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
    What can be said against me.
  KING. Know you not
    How your state stands i' th' world, with the whole world?
    Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices
    Must bear the same proportion; and not ever
    The justice and the truth o' th' question carries
    The due o' th' 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. Ween 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.
  CRANMER. God and your Majesty
    Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
    The trap is laid for me!
  KING. 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
    Th' 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 you gone,
    And do as I have bid you.
                                                         Exit
CRANMER  
    He has strangled his language in his tears.


           Enter OLD LADY


  GENTLEMAN.  [Within]  Come back; what mean you?
  OLD LADY. I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring
    Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels
    Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
    Under their blessed wings!
  KING. Now, by thy looks
    I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver'd?
    Say ay, and of a boy.
  OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege;
    And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven
    Both now and ever bless her! 'Tis a girl,
    Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen
    Desires your visitation, and to be
    Acquainted with this stranger; 'tis as like you
    As cherry is to cherry.
  KING. Lovell!  


           Enter LOVELL


  LOVELL. Sir?
  KING. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen.           
Exit
  OLD LADY. An hundred marks? By this light, I'll ha' more!
    An ordinary groom is for such payment.
    I will have more, or scold it out of him.
    Said I for this the girl was like to him! I'll
    Have more, or else unsay't; and now, while 'tis hot,
    I'll put it to the issue.                                 
Exeunt






ACT V. SCENE 2.


Lobby before the Council Chamber


Enter CRANMER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY


  CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman
    That was sent to me from the Council pray'd me
    To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho!
    Who waits there? Sure you know me?


           Enter KEEPER


  KEEPER. Yes, my lord;
    But yet I cannot help you.
  CRANMER. Why?
  KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call'd for.


           Enter DOCTOR BUTTS


  CRANMER. So.
  BUTTS.  [Aside]  This is a piece of malice. I am glad  
    I came this way so happily; the King
    Shall understand it presently.                              
Exit
  CRANMER.  [Aside]  'Tis Butts,
    The King's physician; as he pass'd along,
    How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
    Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace! For certain,
    This is of purpose laid by some that hate me--
    God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice--
    To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me
    Wait else at door, a fellow councillor,
    'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures
    Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.


         Enter the KING and BUTTS at window above


  BUTTS. I'll show your Grace the strangest sight--
  KING. What's that, Butts?
  BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day.
  KING. Body a 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.
  KING. Ha, 'tis he indeed.
    Is this the honour they do one another?
    'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought
    They had parted so much honesty among 'em--
    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 'em alone, and draw the curtain close;
    We shall hear more anon.                                  
Exeunt






ACT V. SCENE 3.


The Council Chamber


A Council table brought in, with chairs and stools, and placed
under the state. Enter LORD CHANCELLOR, places himself at the
upper end of the table on the left band, a seat being left void
above him,
as for Canterbury's seat. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, DUKE OF NORFOLK,
SURREY, LORD CHAMBERLAIN, GARDINER, seat themselves in 
order on each side; CROMWELL at lower end, as secretary. 
KEEPER at the door


  CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary;
    Why are we met in council?
  CROMWELL. Please your honours,
    The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.
  GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it?
  CROMWELL. Yes.
  NORFOLK. Who waits there?
  KEEPER. Without, my noble lords?
  GARDINER. Yes.  
  KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop;
    And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.
  CHANCELLOR. Let him come in.
  KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now.


      CRANMER approaches the Council table


  CHANCELLOR. 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.
  GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too,  
    My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses
    Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
    But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur 'em
    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.
  CRANMER. 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 malice 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.
  SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord,
    That cannot be; you are a councillor,
    And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.
  GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment,
    We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure
    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.
  CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;
    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,
    But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
  GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary;
    That's the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers,
    To men that understand you, words and weakness.
  CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, y'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.
  GARDINER. Good Master Secretary,
    I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst  
    Of all this table, say so.
  CROMWELL. Why, my lord?
  GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer
    Of this new sect? Ye are not sound.
  CROMWELL. Not sound?
  GARDINER. Not sound, I say.
  CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest!
    Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
  GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language.
  CROMWELL. Do.
    Remember your bold life too.
  CHANCELLOR. This is too much;
    Forbear, for shame, my lords.
  GARDINER. I have done.
  CROMWELL. And I.
  CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,
    I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
    You be convey'd to th' Tower a prisoner;
    There to remain till the King's further pleasure
    Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?  
  ALL. We are.
  CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy,
    But I must needs to th' Tower, my lords?
  GARDINER. What other
    Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.
    Let some o' th' guard be ready there.


           Enter the guard


  CRANMER. For me?
    Must I go like a traitor thither?
  GARDINER. Receive him,
    And see him safe i' th' Tower.
  CRANMER. 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.
  CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King's ring.
  SURREY. 'Tis no counterfeit.  
  SUFFOLK. 'Tis the right ring, by heav'n. I told ye all,
    When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,
    'Twould fall upon ourselves.
  NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords,
    The King will suffer but the little finger
    Of this man to be vex'd?
  CHAMBERLAIN. 'Tis now too certain;
    How much more is his life in value with him!
    Would I were fairly out on't!
  CROMWELL. My mind gave me,
    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 the KING frowning on them; he takes his seat


  GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven
    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
    That holy duty, out of dear respect,
    His royal self in judgment comes to hear
    The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
  KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations,
    Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not
    To hear such flattery now, and in my presence
    They are too thin and bare to hide offences.
    To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel,
    And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
    But whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure
    Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.
    [To CRANMER]  Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest
    He that dares most but wag his finger at thee.
    By all that's holy, he had better starve
    Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
  SURREY. May it please your Grace--
  KING. No, sir, it does not please me.
    I had thought I had had men of some understanding  
    And wisdom of my Council; but I find none.
    Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
    This good man--few of you deserve that title--
    This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
    At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
    Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
    Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
    Power as he was a councillor to try him,
    Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see,
    More out of malice than integrity,
    Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
    Which ye shall never have while I live.
  CHANCELLOR. Thus far,
    My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace
    To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
    Concerning his imprisonment was rather--
    If there be faith in men--meant for his trial
    And fair purgation to the world, than malice,
    I'm sure, in me.
  KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him;  
    Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
    I will say thus much for him: if a prince
    May be beholding to a subject,
    Am for his love and service so to him.
    Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
    Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury,
    I have a suit which you must not deny me:
    That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism;
    You must be godfather, and answer for her.
  CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
    In such an honour; how may I deserve it,
    That am a poor and humble subject to you?
  KING. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons. You
      shall have
    Two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk
    And Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you?
    Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,
    Embrace and love this man.
  GARDINER. With a true heart
    And brother-love I do it.  
  CRANMER. And let heaven
    Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.
  KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.
    The common voice, I see, is verified
    Of thee, which says thus: 'Do my Lord of Canterbury
    A shrewd turn and he's your friend for ever.'
    Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long
    To have this young one made a Christian.
    As I have made ye one, lords, one remain;
    So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.                 
Exeunt






ACT V. SCENE 4.


The palace yard


Noise and tumult within. Enter PORTER and his MAN


  PORTER. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you
    take the court for Paris garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your
    gaping.
    [Within: Good master porter, I belong to th' larder.]
  PORTER. Belong to th' gallows, and be hang'd, ye rogue! Is
    this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves,
    and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em. I'll scratch
    your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look
    for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?
  MAN. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossible,
    Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons,
    To scatter 'em as 'tis to make 'em sleep
    On May-day morning; which will never be.
    We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.
  PORTER. How got they in, and be hang'd?
  MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in?  
    As much as one sound cudgel of four foot--
    You see the poor remainder--could distribute,
    I made no spare, sir.
  PORTER. You did nothing, sir.
  MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
    To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any
    That had a head to hit, either young or old,
    He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
    Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again;
    And that I would not for a cow, God save her!
    [ Within: Do you hear, master porter?]
  PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.
    Keep the door close, sirrah.
  MAN. What would you have me do?
  PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by th'
    dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some
    strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the
    women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication
    is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening
    will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather,  
    and all together.
  MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow
    somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his
    face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now
    reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line,
    they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three
    times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged
    against me; he stands there like a mortar-piece, to blow us.
    There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that
    rail'd upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her head,
    for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the
    meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out 'Clubs!'
    when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw
    to her succour, which were the hope o' th' Strand, where
    she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place.
    At length they came to th' broomstaff to me; I defied 'em
    still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot,
    deliver'd such a show'r of pebbles that I was fain to draw
    mine honour in and let 'em win the work: the devil was
    amongst 'em, I think surely.  
  PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse
    and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the
    tribulation of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their
dear
    brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo
    Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days;
    besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.


          Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN


  CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here!
    They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
    As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,
    These lazy knaves? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows.
    There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
    Your faithful friends o' th' suburbs? We shall have
    Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
    When they pass back from the christening.
  PORTER. An't please your honour,
    We are but men; and what so many may do,
    Not being torn a pieces, we have done.  
    An army cannot rule 'em.
  CHAMBERLAIN. As I live,
    If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
    By th' heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
    Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves;
    And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when
    Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
    Th' are come already from the christening.
    Go break among the press and find a way out
    To let the troops pass fairly, or I'll find
    A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.
  PORTER. Make way there for the Princess.
  MAN. You great fellow,
    Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.
  PORTER. You i' th' camlet, get up o' th' rail;
    I'll peck you o'er the pales else.                        
Exeunt