That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead?

Grif. Yes, madam; but, I think, your grace, Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

-

Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,

For my example.

Grif.

Well, the voice goes, madam:

For after the stout earl Northumberland

Arrested him at York, and brought him forward (As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer,

He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill,

He could not sit his mule.

Kath.

Alas, poor man!

Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,
With all his convent, 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 sickness
Pursu'd him still; and, three nights after this,
About the hour of eight, (which he himself
Foretold, 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.
Kath. So 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 man

Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion

Ty'd all the kingdom: simony was fair play;
His own opinion was his law: I' th' presence
He would say untruths; and be ever double,
Both 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 gave

The clergy ill example.

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.

I were malicious else.

Grif.

Yes, good Griffith;

This cardinal,

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was 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 him
Those 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 age
Than man could give him, he died, 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 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 note
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.

Sad and solemn musick.

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, then dance; and, at certain changes, the first two hold a spare garland over her head; at which, the other four make reverend court'sies; 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 garland with them. The musick continues.

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye al. gone?

And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
Grif. Madam, we are here.
Kath.

It is not you I call for.

None, madam.

Saw ye none enter, since I slept?

Grif.

Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop

Invite me to a banquet; whose bright faces

Cast 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,

Assuredly.

Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams Possess your fancy.

Kath.

Bid the musick leave,

They are harsh and heavy to me.

[Musick ceases.

Pat.
Do you note,
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks,
And of an earthly cold? Mark you her eyes?
Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray.

Pat.

Heaven comfort her!

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,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.

Cap. Madam, the same, your servant.
Kath.
O my lord,
The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me.
What is your pleasure with me?

But, I pray you,

Noble lady,

Cap.
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 physick, given in time, had cur'd 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