ACT IV. SCENE 1.  A street in Westminster  Enter two GENTLEMEN, meeting one another    FIRST GENTLEMAN. Y'are well met once again.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. So are you.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. You come to take your stand here, and       behold     The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?   SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter     The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis very true. But that time offer'd       sorrow;     This, general joy.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. 'Tis well. The citizens,     I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds-     As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward-     In celebration of this day with shows,     Pageants, and sights of honour.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Never greater,     Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. May I be bold to ask what that contains,     That paper in your hand?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes; 'tis the list     Of those that claim their offices this day,     By custom of the coronation.     The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims     To be High Steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,     He to be Earl Marshal. You may read the rest.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thank you, sir; had I not known       those customs,     I should have been beholding to your paper.     But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,     The Princess Dowager? How goes her business?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. That I can tell you too. The Archbishop     Of Canterbury, accompanied with other     Learned and reverend fathers of his order,     Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles of     From Ampthill, where the Princess lay; to which     She was often cited by them, but appear'd not.     And, to be short, for not appearance and     The King's late scruple, by the main assent     Of all these learned men, she was divorc'd,     And the late marriage made of none effect;     Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,     Where she remains now sick.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady!                       [Trumpets]     The trumpets sound. Stand close, the Queen is coming. [Hautboys]                THE ORDER OF THE CORONATION.      1. A lively flourish of trumpets.     2. Then two JUDGES.     3. LORD CHANCELLOR, with purse and mace before him.     4. CHORISTERS singing.                                    [Music]     5. MAYOR OF LONDON, bearing the mace. Then GARTER, in        his coat of arms, and on his head he wore a gilt copper        crown.     6. MARQUIS DORSET, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his head a        demi-coronal of gold. With him, the EARL OF SURREY,        bearing the rod of silver with the dove, crowned with an        earl's coronet. Collars of Esses.     7. DUKE OF SUFFOLK, in his robe of estate, his coronet on        his head, bearing a long white wand, as High Steward.        With him, the DUKE OF NORFOLK, with the rod of        marshalship, a coronet on his head. Collars of Esses.     8. A canopy borne by four of the CINQUE-PORTS; under it        the QUEEN in her robe; in her hair richly adorned with        pearl, crowned. On each side her, the BISHOPS OF LONDON        and WINCHESTER.     9. The old DUCHESS OF NORFOLK, in a coronal of gold        wrought with flowers, bearing the QUEEN'S train.    10. Certain LADIES or COUNTESSES, with plain circlets of gold        without flowers.               Exeunt, first passing over the stage in order and state,                                 and then a great flourish of trumpets    SECOND GENTLEMAN. A royal train, believe me. These know.     Who's that that bears the sceptre?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Marquis Dorset;     And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. A bold brave gentleman. That should be     The Duke of Suffolk?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. 'Tis the same-High Steward.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. And that my Lord of Norfolk?   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Yes.   SECOND GENTLEMAN.  [Looking on the QUEEN]  Heaven       bless thee!     Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.     Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;     Our king has all the Indies in his arms,     And more and richer, when he strains that lady;     I cannot blame his conscience.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. They that bear     The cloth of honour over her are four barons     Of the Cinque-ports.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Those men are happy; and so are all       are near her.     I take it she that carries up the train     Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. It is; and all the rest are countesses.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed,     And sometimes falling ones.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. No more of that.                    Exit Procession, with a great flourish of trumpets                 Enter a third GENTLEMAN      God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling?   THIRD GENTLEMAN. Among the crowds i' th' Abbey, where a finger     Could not be wedg'd in more; I am stifled     With the mere rankness of their joy.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. You saw     The ceremony?   THIRD GENTLEMAN. That I did.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. How was it?   THIRD GENTLEMAN. Well worth the seeing.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Good sir, speak it to us.   THIRD GENTLEMAN. As well as I am able. The rich stream     Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen     To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell of     A distance from her, while her Grace sat down     To rest awhile, some half an hour or so,     In a rich chair of state, opposing freely     The beauty of her person to the people.     Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman     That ever lay by man; which when the people     Had the full view of, such a noise arose     As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,     As loud, and to as many tunes; hats, cloaks-     Doublets, I think-flew up, and had their faces     Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy     I never saw before. Great-bellied women,     That had not half a week to go, like rams     In the old time of war, would shake the press,     And make 'em reel before 'em. No man living     Could say 'This is my wife' there, all were woven     So strangely in one piece.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what follow'd?   THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with       modest paces     Came to the altar, where she kneel'd, and saintlike     Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.     Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people;     When by the Archbishop of Canterbury     She had all the royal makings of a queen:     As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,     The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems     Laid nobly on her; which perform'd, the choir,     With all the choicest music of the kingdom,     Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted,     And with the same full state pac'd back again     To York Place, where the feast is held.   FIRST GENTLEMAN. Sir,     You must no more call it York Place: that's past:     For since the Cardinal fell that title's lost.     'Tis now the King's, and called Whitehall.   THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it;     But 'tis so lately alter'd that the old name     Is fresh about me.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. What two reverend bishops     Were those that went on each side of the Queen?   THIRD GENTLEMAN. Stokesly and Gardiner: the one of Winchester,     Newly preferr'd from the King's secretary;     The other, London.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. He of Winchester     Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop's,     The virtuous Cranmer.   THIRD GENTLEMAN. All the land knows that;     However, yet there is no great breach. When it comes,     Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. Who may that be, I pray you?   THIRD GENTLEMAN. Thomas Cromwell,     A man in much esteem with th' King, and truly     A worthy friend. The King has made him Master     O' th' jewel House,     And one, already, of the Privy Council.   SECOND GENTLEMAN. He will deserve more.   THIRD GENTLEMAN. Yes, without all doubt.     Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which     Is to th' 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     ACT IV. SCENE 2.  Kimbolton  Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her Gentleman Usher, and PATIENCE, her woman    GRIFFITH. How does your Grace?   KATHARINE. O Griffith, sick to death!     My legs like loaden branches bow to th' 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?   GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace,     Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.   KATHARINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.     If well, he stepp'd before me, happily,     For my example.   GRIFFITH. 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.   KATHARINE. Alas, poor man!   GRIFFITH. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,     Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot,     With all his covent, 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.   KATHARINE. 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,     Tied 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.   GRIFFITH. 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?   KATHARINE. Yes, good Griffith;     I were malicious else.   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.   KATHARINE. 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 music]   GRIFFITH. 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 reverent curtsies.       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 vanish,       carrying the garland with them. The music continues    KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?     And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?   GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.   KATHARINE. It is not you I call for.     Saw ye none enter since I slept?   GRIFFITH. None, madam.   KATHARINE. 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.   GRIFFITH. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams     Possess your fancy.   KATHARINE. Bid the music leave,     They are harsh and heavy to me.                    [Music ceases]   PATIENCE. 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 her eyes.   GRIFFITH. She is going, wench. Pray, pray.   PATIENCE. Heaven comfort her!               Enter a MESSENGER    MESSENGER. An't like your Grace-   KATHARINE. You are a saucy fellow.     Deserve we no more reverence?   GRIFFITH. You are to blame,     Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness,     To use so rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.   MESSENGER. I humbly do entreat your Highness' pardon;     My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying     A gentleman, sent from the King, to see you.   KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow     Let me ne'er see again.                            Exit MESSENGER                Enter LORD CAPUCIUS      If my sight fail not,     You should be Lord Ambassador from the Emperor,     My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.   CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same-your servant.   KATHARINE. O, my Lord,     The times and titles now are alter'd strangely     With me since first you knew me. But, I pray you,     What is your pleasure with me?   CAPUCIUS. Noble lady,     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.   KATHARINE. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late,     'Tis like a pardon after execution:     That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me;     But now I am past all comforts here, but prayers.     How does his Highness?   CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health.   KATHARINE. So may he ever do! and ever flourish     When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name     Banish'd the kingdom! Patience, is that letter     I caus'd you write yet sent away?   PATIENCE. No, madam.                       [Giving it to KATHARINE]   KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver     This to my lord the King.   CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.   KATHARINE. In which I have commended to his goodness     The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter-     The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-     Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding-     She is young, and of a noble modest nature;     I hope she will deserve well-and a little     To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him,     Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition     Is that his noble Grace would have some pity     Upon my wretched women that so long     Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully;     Of which there is not one, I dare avow-     And now I should not lie-but will deserve,     For virtue and true beauty of the soul,     For honesty and decent carriage,     A right good husband, let him be a noble;     And sure those men are happy that shall have 'em.     The last is for my men-they are the poorest,     But poverty could never draw 'em from me-     That they may have their wages duly paid 'em,     And something over to remember me by.     If heaven 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 dearest in this world,     As you wish Christian peace to souls departed,     Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the King     To do me this last right.   CAPUCIUS. By heaven, I will,     Or let me lose the fashion of a man!   KATHARINE. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me     In all humility unto his Highness;     Say his long trouble now is passing     Out of this world. Tell him in death I bless'd him,     For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,     My lord. Griffith, farewell. 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; strew me over     With maiden flowers, that all the world may know     I was a chaste wife to my grave. Embalm me,     Then lay me forth; although unqueen'd, yet like     A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.     I can no more.                          Exeunt, leading KATHARINE