Imatges de pÓgina

That gentle phyfick giv'n in time had cur'd me;
But now I'm paft all comforts here but prayers.
How does his Highness?

Cap. Madam, in good health.

Kath. So may he ever do, and ever Alourish, When I fhall dwell with worms, and my poor name Banifh'd the Kingdom. Patience, is that letter I caus'd you write, yet fent away?

Pat. No, madam.

Kath. Sir, I must humbly pray you to deliver This 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's 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 should not lye) but well deferve,
For virtue and true beauty of the foul,
For honefty and decent carriage,

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

If heaven had pleas'd to've giv'n 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,


you wish christian peace to fouls departed, Stand thefe poor peoples friend, and urge the King To do me this last 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;

And tell him, 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 farewelnay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I muft to bed.
Call in more women-When I'm dead, good wench,
Let me be us'd with honour, ftrew me over
With maiden flow'rs, that all the world may know
I was a chafte 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,


Enter Gardener Bishop of Winchester, a page with a torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovell.


T'S one a clock, boy, is't not?
Boy. It hath ftruck.

Gard. Thefe fhould be hours for ne

Not for delights; times to repair our


With comforting repofe, and not for us

To wafte thefe times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas, Whither fo late?

Lov. Came you from the King, my lord? Gard. I did, Sir Thomas, left him at Primero With the Duke of Suffolk.

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Lov. I muft to him too,

Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.

Gard. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell, what's the marter
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 fpirits do) at midnight, have

In them a wilder nature than the bufinefs
That feeks difpatch by day.

Lov. My lord, I love you:

And durft commend a fecret to your ear
Much weightier than this word.

The Queen's in labour,

They fay in great extremity, 'tis fear'd
She'll with the labour end..


Gard. The fruit fhe 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.

Lav. Methinks I could

Cry the Amen, and yet my conscience says
She's 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 wife, 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 fhe,
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 master
O'th' Rolls, and the King's Secretary. Further,
Stands in the gap and trade for more preferments,
With which the time will load him. Th' Arch-bifhop
Is the King's hand, or tongue, and who dare fpeak
One fyllable against him?

Gard. Yes, Sir Thomas;

There are that dare; and I my felf have ventur'd
To speak my mind of him; indeed this day,

Sir I may tell it you, I think I have
Incens'd the lords o'th' council, that he is
(For fo I know he is, they know he is)
À most arch-heretick, a peftilence

That does infect the land; with which they mov'd
Have broken with the King, who hath fo far
Giv'n ear to our complaint of his great Grace
And princely care, foreseeing thofe fell mischiefs
Our reafons 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.

[Exeunt Gardiner and page. Lov. Many good nights, my lord, I rest your servant. SCENE II.

Enter King and Suffolk.

King. 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.
King. But little, Charles,

Nor fhall not when my fancy's on my play.
Now Lovel, from the Queen, what is the news?
Lov. I could not perfonally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
I fent your meffage, who return'd her thanks
In greatest humbleness, and beg your Highness
Moft heartily to pray for her.


King. What fay'ft thou! ha!

pray for her! what! is fhe crying out?

Lov. So faid her woman, and that her fuff 'rance made Almoft each pang a death,

King. Alas, good lady!

Suf. God fafely quit her of her burthen, and

With gentle travel, to the gladding of

Your Highness with an heir.

King. 'Tis midnight, Charles;

Pr'ythee to bed, and in thy prayers remember

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Th' eftate of my poor Queen. Leave me alone,
For I must think of that which company
Would not be friendly to.

Suf. I wish your Highness

A quiet night, and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.

King. Charles, a good night:

Well, Sir, what follows?

Enter Sir Anthony Denny.

[Exit Suffolk

Denny. Sir, I have brought my lord the Arch-bishop,

As you commanded me.

King. Ha! Canterbury!

Denny. Yea, my good lord.

King. 'Tis true where is he, Denny?

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Denny. He attends your Highness' pleasure.
King. Bring him to us.

Lov. This is about that which the bishop fpake,

I am happily come hither.

Enter Cranmer and Denny.

[Exit Denny'

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Cran. I am fearful: wherefore frowns he thus ?

'Tis his afpect of terror.

All's not well.

King. How now, my lord? defire to know Wherefore I fent for you.

Cran. It is my duty

T'attend your Highnefs' pleasure.

King. Pray you rise,

My good and gracious lord of Canterbury:
Come you and I must walk a turn together:

I've news to tell you. Come, give me your hand.
Ah my good lord, I grieve at what I fpeak,
And am right forry to repeat what follows.
I have, and moft unwillingly, of late
Heard many grievous, I do fay, my lord,


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