To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off A distance from her; while her grace sat down 2 Gent. Such joy But, pray, what follow'd? 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest paces Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and, saint like, Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly, The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems, 1 Gent. Sir, you Must no more call it York-place, that is past: I know it; But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name 2 Gent. What two reverend bishops Were those that went on each side of the queen? 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of Winchester, (Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary), The other, London. 2 Gent. He of Winchester Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, 3 Gent. All the land knows that: However, yet there's no great breach; when it comes, Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you? 3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell; A man in much esteem with the king, and truly A worthy friend. The king Has made him master o'the jewel-house, And one, already, of the privy-council. 2 Gent. He will deserve more. 3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt. Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests; Something I can command. As I walk thither, I'll tell ye more. Both. You may command us, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE II.* Kimbolton.. Enter Katharine, dowager, sick; led between Griffith and Patience. Grif. How does your grace? Kath. O, Griffith, sick to death: My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, Willing to leave their burden: Reach a chair;So, now methinks, I feel a little ease. Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led'st me, 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 t, Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam: For after the stout earl Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him forward He could not sit his mule. * This scene is above any other part of Shakspeare's tragedies, and perhaps above any scene of any other poet; tender and pathetick, without gods, or furies, or poisons, or precipices; without the help of ro mantick circumstances, without improbable sallies of poetical lamentation, and without any throes of tumultuous misery. JOHNSON. + Haply. Kath. Alas! poor man! Grif. At last, with easy roads*, he came to Lei cester, Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, So went to bed: where eagerly his sickness Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, Of an unbounded stomacht, ever ranking His promises were, as he then was, mighty; 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 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashion'd to* much honour. From his cradle, mer. And though he were unsatisfied in getting, To keep mine honour from corruption, Now in his ashes honour: Peace be with him!- Sad and solemn musick. Grif. She is asleep: Good wench, let's sit down quiet, For fear we wake her;-Softly, gentle Patience. |