The Life of Henry the Eighth

[Aside.] It shall be to the Duchess of Alencon,The French king's sister; he shall marry her.Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him;There's more in't than fair visage. Bullen!No, we'll no Bullens. Speedily I wishTo hear from Rome. The Marchioness of Pembroke!NORFOLKHe's discontented.SUFFOLKMay be, he hears the KingDoes whet his anger to him.SURREYSharp enough,Lord, for thy justice!WOLSEY[Aside.] The late queen's gentlewoman, a knight's daughter,To be her mistress' mistress! the Queen's queen!This candle burns not clear: 'tis I must snuff it;Then out it goes. What though I know her virtuousAnd well deserving? yet I know her forA spleeny Lutheran; and not wholesome toOur cause, that she should lie i' the bosom ofOur hard-rul'd King. Again, there is sprung upAn heretic, an arch one, Cranmer; oneHath crawl'd into the favour of the King,And is his oracle.NORFOLKHe's vex'd at something.

[Enter the King, reading a schedule, and Lovell.]

SURREYI would 'twere something that would fret the string,The master-cord on 's heart!SUFFOLKThe King, the King!KINGWhat piles of wealth hath he accumulatedTo his own portion! and what expense by the hourSeems to flow from him! How, i' the name of thrift,Does he rake this together! Now, my lords,Saw you the Cardinal?NORFOLKMy lord, we haveStood here observing him. Some strange commotionIs in his brain; he bites his lip, and starts;Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground,Then lays his finger on his temple; straightSprings out into fast gait; then stops again,Strikes his breast hard; and anon he castsHis eye against the moon. In most strange posturesWe have seen him set himself.KINGIt may well be;There is a mutiny in 's mind. This morningPapers of state he sent me to peruse,As I requir'd; and wot you what I foundThere, – on my conscience, put unwittingly?Forsooth, an inventory, thus importingThe several parcels of his plate, his treasure,Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household; whichI find at such proud rate, that it out-speaksPossession of a subject.NORFOLKIt's Heaven's will!Some spirit put this paper in the packet,To bless your eye withal.KINGIf we did thinkHis contemplation were above the earth ,And fix'd on spiritual object, he should stillDwell in his musings; but I am afraidHis thinkings are below the moon, not worthHis serious considering.

[King takes his seat; whispers Lovell, who goes to the Cardinal.]

WOLSEYHeaven forgive me!Ever God bless your Highness!KINGGood my lord,You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventoryOf your best graces in your mind; the whichYou were now running o'er. You have scarce timeTo steal from spiritual leisure a brief spanTo keep your earthly audit. Sure, in thatI deem you an ill husband, and am gladTo have you therein my companion.WOLSEYSir,For holy offices I have a time; a timeTo think upon the part of business whichI bear i' the state; and Nature does requireHer times of preservation, which perforceI, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal,Must give my tendance to.KINGYou have said well.WOLSEYAnd ever may your Highness yoke together,As I will lend you cause, my doing wellWith my well saying!KING'Tis well said again;And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well;And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you;He said he did; and with his deed did crownHis word upon you. Since I had my office,I have kept you next my heart; have not aloneEmploy'd you where high profits might come home,But par'd my present havings, to bestowMy bounties upon you.WOLSEY[Aside.] What should this mean?SURREY[Aside.] The Lord increase this business!KINGHave I not made youThe prime man of the state? I pray you, tell me,If what I now pronounce you have found trueAnd, if you may confess it, say withal,If you are bound to us or no. What say you?WOLSEYMy sovereign, I confess your royal graces,Shower'd on me daily, have been more than couldMy studied purposes requite, which wentBeyond all man's endeavours. My endeavoursHave ever come too short of my desires,Yet fil'd with my abilities. Mine own endsHave been mine so that evermore they pointedTo the good of your most sacred person andThe profit of the state. For your great gracesHeap'd upon me, poor undeserver, ICan nothing render but allegiant thanks,My prayers to heaven for you, my loyalty,Which ever has and ever shall be growing,Till death, that winter, kill it.KINGFairly answer'd.A loyal and obedient subject isTherein illustrated. The honour of itDoes pay the act of it, as i' the contrary,The foulness is the punishment. I presumeThat, as my hand has open'd bounty to you,My heart dropp'd love, my pow'r rain'd honour, moreOn you than any, so your hand and heart,Your brain, and every function of your power,Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty,As 'twere in love's particular, be moreTo me, your friend, than any.WOLSEYI do professThat for your Highness' good I ever labour'dMore than mine own, that am, have, and will be —Though all the world should crack their duty to you,And throw it from their soul; though perils didAbound, as thick as thought could make 'em, andAppear in forms more horrid, – yet my duty,As doth a rock against the chiding flood,Should the approach of this wild river break,And stand unshaken yours.KING'Tis nobly spoken.Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,For you have seen him open't. Read o'er this;

[Giving him papers.]

And, after, this; and then to breakfast withWhat appetite you have.

[Exit King, frowning upon Cardinal Wolsey; the Nobles throng after him, smiling and whispering.]

WOLSEYWhat should this mean?What sudden anger's this? How have I reap'd it?He parted frowning from me, as if ruinLeap'd from his eyes. So looks the chafed lionUpon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him;Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper;I fear, the story of his anger. 'Tis so;This paper has undone me. 'Tis the accountOf all that world of wealth I have drawn togetherFor mine own ends; indeed, to gain the popedomAnd fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,Fit for a fool to fall by! What cross devilMade me put this main secret in the packetI sent the King? Is there no way to cure this?No new device to beat this from his brains?I know 'twill stir him strongly; yet I knowA way, if it take right, in spite of fortune,Will bring me off again. What's this? "To the Pope!"The letter, as I live, with all the businessI writ to 's Holiness. Nay then, farewell!I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;And from that full meridian of my glory,I haste now to my setting. I shall fallLike a bright exhalation in the evening,And no man see me more.

[Re-enter to Wolsey, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earl Of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.]

NORFOLKHear the King's pleasure, Cardinal! who commands youTo render up the great seal presentlyInto our hands; and to confine yourselfTo Asher House, my Lord of Winchester's,Till you hear further from his Highness.WOLSEYStay!Where's your commission, lords? Words cannot carryAuthority so weighty.SUFFOLKWho dares cross 'em,Bearing the King's will from his mouth expressly?WOLSEYTill I find more than will or words to do it,I mean your malice, know, officious lords,I dare and must deny it. Now I feelOf what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy.How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wantonYe appear in every thing may bring my ruin!Follow your envious courses, men of malice!You have Christian warrant for 'em, and, no doubt,In time will find their fit rewards. That sealYou ask with such a violence, the King,Mine and your master, with his own hand gave me,Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,During my life; and, to confirm his goodness,Tied it by letters-patents. Now, who'll take it?SURREYThe King, that gave it.WOLSEYIt must be himself, then.SURREYThou art a proud traitor, priest.WOLSEYProud lord, thou liest!Within these forty hours Surrey durst betterHave burnt that tongue than said so.SURREYThy ambition,Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing landOf noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.The heads of all thy brother cardinals,With thee and all thy best parts bound together,Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!You sent me deputy for Ireland,Far from his succour, from the King, from allThat might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him;Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,Absolv'd him with an axe.WOLSEYThis, and all elseThis talking lord can lay upon my credit,I answer is most false. The Duke by lawFound his deserts. How innocent I wasFrom any private malice in his end,His noble jury and foul cause can witness.If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell youYou have as little honesty as honour,That in the way of loyalty and truthToward the King, my ever royal master,Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can beAnd all that love his follies.SURREYBy my soul,Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feelMy sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords,Can ye endure to hear this arrogance?And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely,To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet,Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forwardAnd dare us with his cap like larks.WOLSEYAll goodnessIs poison to thy stomach.SURREYYes, that goodnessOf gleaning all the land's wealth into one,Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion;The goodness of your intercepted packetsYou writ to the Pope against the King. Your goodness,Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious.My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble,As you respect the common good, the stateOf our despis'd nobility, our issues,Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen,Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articlesCollected from his life. I'll startle youWorse than the sacring bell, when the brown wenchLay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.WOLSEYHow much, methinks, I could despise this man,But that I am bound in charity against it!NORFOLKThose articles, my lord, are in the King's hand:But, thus much, they are foul ones.WOLSEYSo much fairerAnd spotless shall mine innocence arise,When the King knows my truth.SURREYThis cannot save you.I thank my memory, I yet rememberSome of these articles; and out they shall.Now, if you can blush and cry "guilty," Cardinal,You'll show a little honesty.WOLSEYSpeak on, sir;I dare your worst objections. If I blush,It is to see a nobleman want manners.SURREYI had rather want those than my head. Have at you!First, that, without the King's assent or knowledge,You wrought to be a legate; by which powerYou maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.NORFOLKThen, that in all you writ to Rome, or elseTo foreign princes, "Ego et Rex meus"Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the KingTo be your servant.SUFFOLKThen, that, without the knowledgeEither of king or council, when you wentAmbassador to the Emperor, you made boldTo carry into Flanders the great seal.SURREYItem, you sent a large commissionTo Gregory de Cassado, to conclude,Without the King's will or the state's allowance,A league between his Highness and Ferrara.SUFFOLKThat, out of mere ambition, you have caus'dYour holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's coin.SURREYThen, that you have sent innumerable substance —By what means got, I leave to your own conscience —To furnish Rome, and to prepare the waysYou have for dignities; to the mere undoingOf all the kingdom. Many more there are;Which, since they are of you, and odious,I will not taint my mouth with.CHAMBERLAINO 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 himSo little of his great self.SURREYI forgive him.SUFFOLKLord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is,Because all those things you have done of lateBy your power legatine within this kingdom,Fall into the compass of a praemunire,That therefore such a writ be sued against you;To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,Chattels, and whatsoever, and to beOut of the King's protection. This is my charge.NORFOLKAnd so we'll leave you to your meditationsHow to live better. For your stubborn answerAbout 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.]

WOLSEYSo 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 forthThe 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 surelyHis 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 prideAt length broke under me, and now has left me,Weary and old with service, to the mercyOf 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 wretchedIs 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.

[Enter Cromwell, standing amazed.]

Why, how now, Cromwell!CROMWELLI have no power to speak, sir.WOLSEYWhat, amaz'dAt my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonderA great man should decline? Nay, an you weep,I am fallen indeed.CROMWELLHow does your Grace?WOLSEYWhy, well,Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.I know myself now; and I feel within meA 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, takenA load would sink a navy, too much honour.O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burdenToo heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!CROMWELLI am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.WOLSEYI hope I have. I am able now, methinks,Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,To endure more miseries and greater farThan my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.What news abroad?CROMWELLThe heaviest and the worstIs your displeasure with the King.WOLSEYGod bless him!CROMWELLThe next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosenLord Chancellor in your place.WOLSEYThat's somewhat sudden;But he's a learned man. May he continueLong in his Highness' favour, and do justiceFor 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?CROMWELLThat Cranmer is return'd with welcome,Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.WOLSEYThat's news indeed.CROMWELLLast, 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 nowOnly about her coronation.WOLSEYThere was the weight that pull'd me down.O Cromwell,The King has gone beyond me! All my gloriesIn that one woman I have lost for ever.No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,Or gild again the noble troops that waitedUpon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell!I am a poor fallen man, unworthy nowTo be thy lord and master. Seek the King!That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told himWhat and how true thou art. He will advance thee;Some little memory of me will stir him —I know his noble nature – not to letThy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell,Neglect him not; make use now, and provideFor thine own future safety.CROMWELLO my lord,Must I, then, leave you? Must I needs forgoSo 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 prayersFor ever and for ever shall be yours.WOLSEYCromwell, I did not think to shed a tearIn 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 mentionOf 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 allI dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!Had I but serv'd my God with half the zealI serv'd my king, He would not in mine ageHave left me naked to mine enemies.CROMWELLGood sir, have patience.WOLSEYSo I have. FarewellThe hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.

[Exeunt.]

ACT FOURTH

SCENE I. A street in Westminster

[Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another.]

FIRST GENTLEMANYou're well met once again.SECOND GENTLEMANSo are you.FIRST GENTLEMANYou come to take your stand here, and beholdThe 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 GENTLEMANNever greater,Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.SECOND GENTLEMANMay I be bold to ask what that contains,That paper in your hand?FIRST GENTLEMANYes; 'tis the listOf those that claim their offices this dayBy custom of the coronation.The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claimsTo be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest.SECOND GENTLEMANI 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 Katherine,The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?FIRST GENTLEMANThat I can tell you too. The ArchbishopOf Canterbury, accompanied with otherLearned and reverend fathers of his order,Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles offFrom Ampthill where the Princess lay; to whichShe was often cited by them, but appear'd not;And, to be short, for not appearance andThe King's late scruple, by the main assentOf 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.SECOND GENTLEMANAlas, 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. 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. 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 SS. 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 GENTLEMANA royal train, believe me. These I know.Who's that that bears the sceptre?FIRST GENTLEMANMarquess Dorset;And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.SECOND GENTLEMANA bold brave gentleman. That should beThe Duke of Suffolk?FIRST GENTLEMAN'Tis the same: High Steward.SECOND GENTLEMANAnd that my Lord of Norfolk?FIRST GENTLEMANYes.SECOND GENTLEMANHeaven bless thee! [Looking on the Queen.]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 GENTLEMANThey that bearThe cloth of honour over her, are four baronsOf the Cinque-ports.SECOND GENTLEMANThose men are happy; and so are all are near her.I take it, she that carries up the trainIs that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.FIRST GENTLEMANIt is; and all the rest are countesses.SECOND GENTLEMANTheir coronets say so. These are stars indeed;And sometimes falling ones.FIRST GENTLEMANNo more of that.

[Exit the last of the procession.]

[Enter a third Gentleman.]

God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?THIRD GENTLEMANAmong the crowds i' the Abbey, where a fingerCould not be wedg'd in more. I am stifledWith the mere rankness of their joy.SECOND GENTLEMANYou saw the ceremony?THIRD GENTLEMANThat I did.FIRST GENTLEMANHow was it?THIRD GENTLEMANWell worth the seeing.SECOND GENTLEMANGood sir, speak it to us.THIRD GENTLEMANAs well as I am able. The rich streamOf lords and ladies, having brought the QueenTo a prepar'd place in the choir, fell ofA distance from her; while her Grace sat downTo rest a while, some half an hour or so,In a rich chair of state, opposing freelyThe beauty of her person to the people, —Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest womanThat ever lay by man; – which when the peopleHad the full view of, such a noise aroseAs 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 facesBeen loose, this day they had been lost. Such joyI never saw before. Great-belli'd women,That had not half a week to go, like ramsIn the old time of war, would shake the pressAnd make 'em reel before 'em. No man livingCould say "This is my wife" there; all were wovenSo strangely in one piece.SECOND GENTLEMANBut what follow'd?THIRD GENTLEMANAt length her Grace rose, and with modest pacesCame to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saintlikeCast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly;Then rose again and bow'd her to the people,When by the Archbishop of CanterburyShe had all the royal makings of a queen,As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblemsLaid 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 againTo York Place, where the feast is held.FIRST GENTLEMANSir,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 GENTLEMANI know it;But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old nameIs fresh about me.SECOND GENTLEMANWhat two reverend bishopsWere those that went on each side of the Queen?THIRD GENTLEMANStokesly and Gardiner; the one of Winchester,Newly preferr'd from the King's secretary;The other, London.SECOND GENTLEMANHe of WinchesterIs held no great good lover of the Archbishop's,The virtuous Cranmer.THIRD GENTLEMANAll 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 GENTLEMANWho may that be, I pray you?THIRD GENTLEMANThomas Cromwell;A man in much esteem with the King, and trulyA worthy friend. The King has made him masterO' the jewel house,And one, already, of the privy council.SECOND GENTLEMANHe will deserve more.THIRD GENTLEMANYes, without all doubt.Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, whichIs to the court, and there ye shall be my guests;Something I can command. As I walk thither,I'll tell ye more.BOTHYou may command us, sir.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Kimbolton

[Enter Katherine, Dowager, sick; led between Griffith, her gentleman usher, and Patience, her woman.]

GRIFFITHHow does your Grace?KATHERINEO Griffith, sick to death!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.Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me,That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,Was dead?GRIFFITHYes, madam; but I think your Grace,Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.KATHERINEPrithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.If well, he stepp'd before me, happilyFor my example.GRIFFITHWell, the voice goes, madam:For after the stout Earl NorthumberlandArrested him at York, and brought him forward,As a man sorely tainted, to his answer,He fell sick suddenly, and grew so illHe could not sit his mule.KATHERINEAlas, poor man!GRIFFITHAt 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 sicknessPursu'd him still; and, three nights after this,About the hour of eight, which he himselfForetold 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.KATHERINESo 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 manOf an unbounded stomach, ever rankingHimself with princes; one that, by suggestion,Tied all the kingdom. Simony was fair-play;His own opinion was his law; i' the presenceHe would say untruths; and be ever doubleBoth 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 gaveThe clergy ill example.GRIFFITHNoble madam,Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtuesWe write in water. May it please your HighnessTo hear me speak his good now?KATHERINEYes, good Griffith;I were malicious else.GRIFFITHThis Cardinal,Though from an humble stock, undoubtedlyWas 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 himThose 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 ageThan man could give him, he died fearing God.KATHERINEAfter 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 noteI nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditatingOn that celestial harmony I go to.

[Sad and solemn music.]