Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, Kath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! Grif. 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? Kath. Yes, good Griffith; 1 were malicious else. Grif. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly mer. And though he were unsatisfied in getting, Formed for. § Ipswich, Pride. Of the king. VOL. IV. Kk The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, Sad and solemn Music. Grif. 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, and then dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head; at which, the other four make reverend courtesies; 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 they vanish, carrying the gurland with them.-The Music continues. Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone? And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?. Saw ye none enter, since I slept? Grif. None, madam. Kath. No! Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams. Possess your fancy. Kath. Bid the music leave, They are harsh and heavy to me. Pat. Do you note, [Music ceases. How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden? How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks, Enter a MESSENGER. Mess. An't like your grace,Kath. You are a saucy fellow: Deserve we no more reverence? Grif. 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 fellow Let me ne'er see again. [Exeunt Griffith and Messenger. Re-enter GRIFFITH, with CAPUCIUS. If my sight fail not, You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, Kath. O, my lord, The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely With me, since you first knew me. But, I pray you, What is your pleasure with me? Cap. 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."" Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late; 'Tis like a pardon after execution : That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me; But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers. How does his highness? Cap. Madam, in good health. Kath. So may he ever do! and ever flourish, When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name Banish'd the kingdom!-Patience, is that letter, I caused you write, yet sent away? Pat. No, Madam. [Giving it to Katharine. Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver This to my lord the king. Cap. Most willing, Madam. Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness The model of our chaste loves, his young daugh ter + →→→→→ The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!- To love her for her mother's sake, that loved him, A right good husband, let him be a noble; them. The last is, for my men ;-they are the poorest, As Cap. By heaven, I will; Or let me lose the fashion of a man! • Image. + Afterwards Queen Mary. Even if he should be. Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me Out of this world: tell him, in death I bless'd him, * Let me be used with honour; strew me over ACT V. SCENE I.—A Gallery in the Palace. Enter GARDINER, Bishop of WINCHESTER, a PAGE with a Torch before him, met by Sir THOMAS LOVELL. Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not? Gar. These should be hours for necessities, To waste these times.-Good hour of night, Sir Thomas! " Whither so late? Lov. Came you from the king, my lord? Gar. I did, Sir Thomas; and left him at primero* With the duke of Suffolk. Lov. I must to him too, Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. Gar. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? It seems, you are in haste: an if there be Lou. My lord, I love you; And durst commend a secret to your ear labour, + Hint. A game at cards. |