Your mafter wed me to; nothing but death Wolfey. Pray, hear me Catharine, 'Would I had never trod this English earth, Ye've angels' faces, but Heaven knows your hearts- Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? Ship wreck'd upon a kingdom where no pity, Wolfey. If your grace Could but be brought to know our ends are honest, We are to cure fuch forrows, not to fow them. Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage. So much they love it; but to ftubborn fpirits, I know you have a gentle, noble temper, A foul as even as a calm; pray, think, think us Those we profess, peace-makers, friends and servants. Campeius. Madam, you'll find it fo. You wrong your virtues, With these weak woman's fears. A noble spirit, As yours was put into you, ever cafts Such doubts, as falfe coin, from it. The king loves you; Beware you lofe it not; for us, if you please To truft us in your bufinefs, we are ready Catharine. Do what you will, my lords; and pray, forgive me, If I have used myself unmannerly. You know I am a woman, lacking wit To make a feemly anfwer to fuch perfons. Pray, do my service to his majefty; He has my heart, yet, and fhall have my prayers, While I fhall have my life. Come, reverend fathers, Z 2 [Exeunt. SCENE SCENE VI. The prefent Scene prefents us with a fecond object of compaffion, which though it interests us after a different manner from the former, as neither being fo innocent, nor fuffering fo unjustly; yet, fhall I hazard the expreffion? affects us almoft as much. We do not, indeed, feel our minds impreffed with fuch a tender fenfibility towards the latter, as the firft; but, for the honour and dignity of human nature, let me fay, that our commiferation, in the fecond cafe, arifes from principles of a nobler kind; from our forgiveness of the penitent, and our compaffion for his misfortunes, foftened still more by our forrow for his guilt: fo that, upon the whole, the generofity of our fentiment, in one inftance, nearly equals the fympathy of it, in the other. The true fupputation of the precarioufnefs and inftability of all worldly happiness and greatness, with the fit temper and refignation to bear their lofs, are moft pathetically and poetically fet forth, in the following beautiful and affecting scene. Wolfey, in bis difgrace. Farewel, a long farewel, to all my greatnefs! Enter Enter Cromwell, ftanding amazed, Why, how now, Cromwell? Cromwell. I have no power to speak, Sir. Wolfey. What, amazed At my misfortunes? Can thy fpirit wonder Cromwell. How does your grace ? Wolfey. Why, well Never fo truly happy, my good Cromwell. A ftill and quiet confcience-The king has cured me; A load would fink a navy, too much honour. Cromwell. I'm glad your grace has made that right use of it. Wolfey. I hope I have. I'm able, now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of foul I feel, T'endure more miferies, and greater, far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. Cromwell. The heaviest and the worst, Is your displeasure with the king. Wolfey. God bless him! Cromwell. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chofen Wolfey. That's fomewhat fudden But he's a learned man. May he continue For truth's fake, and his confcience; that his bones, Cromwell. That Cranmer is returned with welcome Wolfey. That's news, indeed. Cromwell. Laft, that the lady Anne, Whom the king hath in fecrecy long married, 73 Weber. Wolfey. There was the weight that pulled me down. O Crom well! The king has gone beyond me; all my glories In that one woman I have loft for ever. No fun fhall ever usher forth my honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my fmiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell, To be thy lord and mafter. Seek the king; That fun, I pray, may never fet; I've told him I know his noble nature, not to let Thy hopeful fervice perifh too. Good Cromwell, Cromwell. O, my lord, Muft I then leave you? muft I needs forego Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To filence envious tongues. Be juft, and fear not. Thy God's, and truth's-Then if thou falleft, O Cromwell, A Rede the waves, inftead of trod the waves, so altered by Warburton, to preferve the metaphor pointed out in the two next lines, waves, depth, fheals, and wreck. Wait, instead of bate. Warburton. A more natural, fenfible, and political fenfe of the paffage. Theu Thou falleft a bleffed martyr. Serve the king; There take an inventory of all I have, Wolfey. So I have. Farewel The hopes of Court! my hopes in Heaven do dwell, Our first great object, before mentioned, is here prefented to us again, to charm us with that truly Christian spirit, with which, though deeply fuffering under the fuppofed enmity of Wolfey, fhe not only forgives him her injuries, but liftens to his praife without refentment, and even commends his honeft Welch encomiaft. Kimbolton Cafle. Enter Catharine, fick, and led in between Griffith, ber GentlemanUher, and Patience, Ler Woman. Griffub. How does your grace? Catharine. O Griffith, fick to death; My legs, like loaded branches, bow to the earth, [Sitting down. Didft thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'ft me, Griffith. Yes, madam; but I think your grace, Catharine. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died- For my example, Griffith. Well, the voice goes, madam. For after the ftout earl of Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him forward, As a man forely tainted, to his answer, He could not fit his mule. • This laft fentence Wolfey did really speak, as recorded in history. Catharine |