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Patience, be near me ftill, and set me lower.
I have not long to trouble thee. Good Griffith,
Cause the musicians play me that fad note
I nam'd my knell, whilft I fit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.

Sad and folemn mufick.

Grif. She is afleep: good wench let's fit down quier, For fear we wake her. Softly, gentle Patience.

The Vifon. Enter folemnly one after another, fix perfonages, 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 firft 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 curtfies. Then the two that held the garland deliver the fame to the other next two, who obferve the fame order in their changes, and holding the garland over her head. Which done, they deliver the fame garland to the laft two? who likewife obferve the fame order. At which, as it were by inspiration, she makes in her fleep figns of rejoycing, and holdeth up her hands to heaven. And fo in their dancing vanifh, carrying the garland with them. The mufick continues.

Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye gone? And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye? Grif. Madam, we're here.

Kath. It is not you I call for,

Saw ye none enter fince I flept?
Grif. None, madam.

Kath. No! faw you not ev'n now a bleffed troop
Invite me to a banquet, whofe bright faces
Caft thousand beams upon me, like the fun?
They promis'd me eternal happiness,

And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear I fhall affuredly.
Grif. I am most joyful, madam, fuch good dreams

Poffefs

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Pat. Do you note

[Mufick ceafes.

How much her Grace is alter'd on the fudden?

How long her face is drawn? how pale she looks,
And of an earthly cold? obferve her eyes.

Grif. She is going, wench. Pray, pray,
Pat. Heav'n comfort her.

Enter a Meffenger.

Mef. And't like your Grace-
Kath. You are a fawcy fellow,
Deferve we no more rev'rence?
Grif. You're to blame,

Knowing fhe will not lofe her wonted greatnefs,
To ufe fo rude behaviour. Go to, kneel.

Mef. I humbly do intreat your Highnefs' pardon:
My hafte made me unmannerly. There is ftaying
A gentleman fent from the King to fee you.

Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith. But this fellow Let me ne'er fee again. [Exit Messenger.

Enter Lord Capucius.

If my fight fail not,

You fhould be lord ambassador from the Emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
Cap. Madam, the fame, your fervant.

Kath. O my lord,

The times and titles now are alter'd strangely

With me, fince first you knew me.

What is your pleasure with me?

Cap. Noble lady,

But I pray you,

Firft mine own fervice to your Grace, the next

The King's request that I would vifit you,

Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me

Sends you his Princely commendations,

And heartily intreats you take good comfort.

Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, Tis like a pardon after execution;

D 2

That

That gentle phyfick giv'n in time had cur'd me;
But now I'm paft 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 fhall dwell with worms, and my poor name Banifh'd the Kingdom. Patience, is that letter I caus'd you write, yet fent away ?

Pat. No, madam.

Kath. Sir, I muft humbly pray you to deliver This to my lord the King.

Cap. Moft willingly, madam.

Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness The model of our chafte loves, his young daughter, (The dews of heav'n fall thick in bleffings on her!) Befeeching him to give her virtuous breeding, (She's young, and of a noble modeft nature, I hope the will deferve well) and a little

To love her for her mother's fake, that lov'd him
Heav'n knows how dearly! my next poor petition
Is, that his noble Grace would have fome pity
Upon my wretched women, that fo long
Have follow'd both my fortunes faithfully;
Of which there is not one, I dare avow
(And now I should not lye) but well deferve,
For virtue and true beauty of the foul,
For honesty and decent carriage,

A right good husband, let him be a noble :
And fure thofe men are happy that fhall have 'em.
The laft is for my men; they are the pooreft,
But poverty could never draw 'em from me;
That they may have their wages duly paid 'em,'
And fomething over to remember me.

If heaven had pleas'd to've giv'n me longer life
And able means, we had not parted thus.
Thefe are the whole contents. And good my lord
By that you love the dearest in this world,
As you wifh chriftian peace to fouls departed,
Stand thefe poor peoples friend, and urge the King
To do me this last right.

Cap

Cap. By heav'n I will,

Or let me lofe the fafhion of a man.

Kath. I thank you, honeft lord. Remember me In all humility unto his Highness;

-

And tell him, his long trouble now is paffing
Out of this world. Tell him, in death I bleft him,
For fo I will- -mine eyes grow dim. Farewel;
My lord Griffith farewel.
nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed-
Call in more women- When I'm dead, good wench,
Let me be us'd with honour, ftrew me over
With maiden flow'rs, that all the world may know.
I was a chafte wife to my grave: embalm me,
Then lay me forth; although un-queen'd, yet like
A Queen and daughter to a King, inter me.
I can no more

[Exeunt, leading Katharine,

ACT V. SCENE. I.

Enter Gardener Bishop of Winchester, a page with torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovell,

GARDINER.

T'S one a clock, boy, is't not?

Boy. It hath ftruck.

Gard. Thefe fhould be hours for ne ceffities,

Not for delights; times to repair our

nature

With comforting repofe, and not for us

To wafte these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas, Whither fo late?

Lov. Came you from the King, my lord? Gard. I did, Sir Thomas, left him at Primero With the Duke of Suffolk.

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Lov. I muft to him too,

Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.

Gard. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell, what's the marter? It feems you are in hafte: And if there be

No great offence belongs to't, give your

friend Some touch of your late bufinefs. Affairs that walk (As they fay fpirits do) at midnight, have In them a wilder nature than the business That feeks difpatch by day.

Lov. My lord, I love you:

And durft commend a fecret to your ear
Much weightier than this word.

The Queen's in labour,

They fay in great extremity, 'tis fear'd
She'll with the labour end.

Gard. The fruit fhe goes with

I pray for heartily, that it may find

Good time, and live; but for the ftock, Sir Thomas I wish it grubb'd up now.

Lov. Methinks I could

Cry the Amen, and yet my confcience fays
She's a good creature, and (fweet lady) does
Deferve our better wishes.

Gard. But Sir, Sir

Hear me, Sir Thomas

-y'are a gentleman

Of mine own way, I know you wife, religious,
And let me tell you it will ne'er be well,
'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me,

'Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she,
Sleep in their graves.

Lov. Now, Sir, you fpeak of two

The most remark'd i'th' kingdom; as for Cromwell,
Befide that of the jewel-house, is made master
O'th' Rolls, and the King's Secretary. Further,
Stands in the gap and trade for more preferments,
With which the time will load him. Th' Arch-bifhop
Is the King's hand, or tongue, and who dare speak
One fyllable against him?

Gard. Yes, Sir Thomas;

There are that dare; and I my felf have ventur'd
To speak my mind of him; indeed this day,

Sir

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