The other, though unfinish'd, yet fo famous,
So excellent in Art, and still fo rifing,
That Christendom shall ever speak his Virtue.
His Overthrow heap'd Happine fs upon him;
For then, and not 'till then, he felt himself,
And found the Bleffedness of being little.
And to add greater Honours to his Age
Than Man could give him; he dy'd, 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 fuch an honeft Chronicler, as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou haft made me
With thy religious Truth and Modesty,

Now in his Ashes, Honour; Peace be with him.
Patience, be near me ftill, and fet me lower.
I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,
Cause the Musicians play me that fad Note
I nam'd my Knell; whilst I fit meditating
On that Celeftial Harmony, I go to.

Sad and folemn Musick.

Grif. She is afleep: Good Wench, let's fit down quiet, For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience.

The Vision. Enter folemnly tripping one after another, fix Perfonages, 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 reverend Curtfies. Then the two, that held the Garland, deliver the fame to the other next two, who obferve the fame order in their Changes, and holding the Garland over her Head. Which done, they deliver the fame Garland to the last two, who likewife obferve the fame Order. At which, as it were by InSpiration, he makes, in her fleep, figns of rejoycing,and holdeth Ир her Hands to Heaven. And fo in their Dancing vanish, carrying the Garland with them. The Musick continues.

Kath. Spi its of Peace, where are ye? are ye all gone? And leave me here in wretchednef, behind ye?

Grif. Madam, we are here.
Kath. It is not you I call for,

Saw ye none enter, fince I flept?
Grif. None, Madam.

Kath. No? Saw you not even now a bleffed Troop
Invite me to a Banquet, whofe bright Faces
Caft a 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 affuredly.
Grif. I am moft joyful, Madam, fuch good Dreams
Poff is your Fancy.

Kath. Bid the Mufick leave,

They are harsh and heavy to me.

Pat. Do you note

[Mufick ceafes.

How much her Grace is alter'd on the fudden?

How long her Face is drawn? How pale fhe looks,
And of an earthy cold? Mark her Eyes.

Grif. She is going, Werch.

Pat. Heaven comfort her.

Pray, pray,

Enter a Messenger.

Mef. And't like

your Grace

Kath. You are a fawcy Fellow,

Deferve we no more Reverence?

Grif. You are to blame,

Knowing the will not lofe her wonted Greatness,
To ufe fo rude Behaviour.. Go to, kneel.

Mef. I humbly do intreat your Highness Pardon,
My hafte made me unmannerly. There is ftaying
A Gentleman fent from the King, to fee you.

Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith. But this Fellow Let me ne'er fee again. [Exit Meffenger.

Enter Lord Capucius.

If my fight fail me not,

You should be Lord Ambaffador from the Emperor,
My Royal Nephew, and your Name Capucius.
Cap. Madam, the fame, your Servant.

Kath. O my Lord,

The Times and Titles now are alter'd strangely
With me, fince first you knew me.

But I pray you,

What

What is your Pleasure with me?

Cap. Noble Lady,

First mine own Service to your Grace, the next
The King's requeft that I would vifit you,
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his Princely Commendations,

And heartily intreats you take good Comfort.

Kath. O my good Lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a Pardon after Execution;

That gentle Phyfick given in time had cur'd me:
But now I am paft 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 fhall dwell with Worms, and my poor Name
Banish'd the Kingdom. Patience, is that Letter
I caus'd you write, yet fent away?

Pat. No, Madam.

Kath. Sir, I muft humbly pray you to deliver Th's to my Lord the King.

Cap. Moft willingly, Madam.

Kath. In which I have commended to his Goodness
The Model of our chafte loves, his young Daughter,
The dews of Heav'n fall thick in Bleffings on her,
Befeeching him to give her virtuous breeding.
She is young, and of a Noble modeft Nature,
I hope the will deferve well, and a little
To love her for her Mother's fake, that lov'd him,
Heav'n knows how dearly.

My next poor Petition

Is, that his Noble Grace would have fome pity
Upon my wretched Women, that fo long
Have follow'd both my Fortunes, faithfully,
Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
And now I fhould not lye, but well deferve
For Virtue, and true Beauty of the Soul,
For Honefty, and decent Carriage,
A right good Husband, let him be a Noble,
And fure thofe Men are happy that shall have 'em.
The laft is for my Men, they are the pooreft,
But Poverty could never draw 'em from me,

That

That they may have their Wages duly paid 'em,
And fomething over to remember me by.

If Heav'n 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 deareft in this World,
As you with peace to Chriftian Souls departed,
Stand thefe poor Peoples Friend, and urge the King
To do me this laft Right.

Cap. By Heav'n I will,

Or let me lofe the fashion of a Man.

Kath. I thank you, honeft Lord. Remember me
In all humility unto his Highness;
Say, his long trouble now is paffing

Out of this World. Tell him, in death I bleft him,
For fo I will; mine Eyes grow dim.

Farewel,
My Lord. Griffith farewel. 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, ftrew me over
With Maiden Flowers, that all the World may know
I was a chaft Wife to my Grave: Embalm me,
Then lay me forth, although un-Queen'd, yet like
A Queen, and Daughter to a King, inter me.
I can no more.

[Exeunt, leading Katharine.

ACT V.

V.

SCENE

I.

Enter Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a Torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovel.

Gard. TT'S one a Clock, Boy, is't not?

IT'S Boy. "It hath ftruck.

Gard. These fhould be hours for Neceffities,

Not for Delights; times to repair our Nature
With comforting Repofe, and not for us

To wafte these times. Good hour of Night, Sir Thomas,
Whither fo late?

Lov. Came you from the King, my Lord?
Gard. 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.

Gard. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovel; what's the matter? It seems you are in hafte: And if there be

No great Offence belongs to't, give your Friend
Some touch of your late Bufinefs; Affairs that walk,
As they fay Spirits do, at midnight, have

In them a wilder Nature, than the Business
That feeks difpatch by Day.

Lov. My Lord, I love you:

'And durft commend a Secret to your Ear

Much weightier than this Word. The Queen's in Labour, They fay in great extremity, and 'tis fear'd

She'll with the Labour end.

I

Gard. The Fruit the goes with

pray for heartily, that it may find

Good time, and live; but for the Stock, Sir Thomas,

I wish it grubb'd up now.

Lov. Methinks I could

Cry the Amen, and yet my Confcience fays,
She is a good Creature, and fweet Lady, does
Deferve our better Wishes.

Gard. But, Sir, Sir

Hear me, Sir Thomas-y'are a Gentleman

Of mine own way, I know you are Wife, Religious,
And let me tell you, it will ne'er be well,
'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovel, tak't of me,

'Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two Hands, and she,
Sleep in their Graves.

Lov. Now, Sir, you speak of two

The most remark'd i'th' Kingdom; as for Cromwell,
Befide that of the Jewel-houfe, is made Mafter
O'th' Rolls, and the King's S.cretary. Further, Sir,
Stands in the gap and trade for more Preferments,
With which the Time will load him. Th'Archbishop
Is the King's Hand, or Torgue, and who dare speak
One Syllable against him?

Gard