« PreviousContinue »
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
Alas, poor man!
his honours to the world again,
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
Yes, good Griffith; I were malicious else. Grif.
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 sun
And though he were unsatisfy'd in getting,
Kath. After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
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 ano
ther, 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
Grif. Madam, we are here.
It is not you I call for: Saw
ye none enter, since I slept? Grif.
None, madam. Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed
Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
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 earthy cold? Mark you her eyes?
Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray.
Heaven comfort her!
Enter a Messenger.
You are a saucy fellow:
Deserve we no more reverence?
You are to blame, Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness, To use so rude behaviour: go to, kneel.
Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' par
My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying
[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger.
Re-enter Griffith with Capucius.
If my sight fail not,
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant.
O my lord, The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely With me, since first you knew me. But, I
But, I pray you, What is your pleasure with me? Сар. .
Noble lady, First, mine own service to your grace; the next, The king's request that I would visit
you; Who grieyes 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: