ACT IV

SCENE I. A street in Westminster.

Enter two Gentlemen, meeting one another.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
You’re 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 offered 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 Katherine,
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 off
From Ampthill where the Princess lay; to which
She was often cited by them, but appeared 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 divorced,
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.

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. Marquess 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 S’s.
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 S’s.
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 I know.
Who’s that that bears the sceptre?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Marquess 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.
[Sees the Queen.] Heaven bless thee!
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever looked 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.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
And sometimes falling ones.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
No more of that.

[Exit the last of the procession.]

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 wedged 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 prepared place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her, while her Grace sat down
To rest a while, 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 followed?

THIRD GENTLEMAN.
At length her Grace rose, and with modest paces
Came to the altar, where she kneeled and saintlike
Cast her fair eyes to heaven and prayed devoutly;
Then rose again and bowed 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 performed, the choir,
With all the choicest music of the kingdom,
Together sung Te Deum. So she parted,
And with the same full state paced 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 altered 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.
Stokesley and Gardiner, the one of Winchester,
Newly preferred 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.]

SCENE II. Kimbolton.

Enter Katherine Dowager, sick, led between Griffith, her gentleman usher, and Patience, her woman.

GRIFFITH.
How does your Grace?

QUEEN KATHERINE.
O Griffith, sick to death.
My legs like loaden branches bow to th’ earth,
Willing to leave their burden. Reach a chair.

[She sits.]

So. Now, methinks, I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou ledst me,
That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead?

GRIFFITH.
Yes, madam, but I think your Grace,
Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to’t.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died.
If well, he stepped 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.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
Alas, poor man!

GRIFFITH.
At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodged in the abbey, where the reverend abbot,
With all his covent, honourably received 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
Pursued 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.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
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?

QUEEN KATHERINE.
Yes, good Griffith;
I were malicious else.

GRIFFITH.
This Cardinal,
Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashioned 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 loved 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 raised in you,
Ipswich and Oxford, one of which fell with him,
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it;
The other, though unfinished, yet so famous,
So excellent in art, and still so rising,
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heaped 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.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
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 named 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.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone,
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?

GRIFFITH.
Madam, we are here.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
It is not you I call for.
Saw ye none enter since I slept?

GRIFFITH.
None, madam.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
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 promised 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.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
Bid the music leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me.

[Music ceases.]

PATIENCE.
Do you note
How much her Grace is altered 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—

QUEEN KATHERINE.
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.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
Admit him entrance, Griffith. But this fellow
Let me ne’er see again.

[Exit Messenger.]

Enter Lord Caputius.

If my sight fail not,
You should be lord ambassador from the Emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Caputius.

CAPUTIUS.
Madam, the same. Your servant.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
O my lord,
The times and titles now are altered strangely
With me since first you knew me. But I pray you,
What is your pleasure with me?

CAPUTIUS.
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.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
O my good lord, that comfort comes too late;
’Tis like a pardon after execution.
That gentle physic given in time had cured me,
But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.
How does his Highness?

CAPUTIUS.
Madam, in good health.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
So may he ever do, and ever flourish,
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
Banished the kingdom. Patience, is that letter
I caused you write yet sent away?

PATIENCE.
No, madam.

[Giving it to Katherine.]

QUEEN KATHERINE.
Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the King.

CAPUTIUS.
Most willing, madam.

QUEEN KATHERINE.
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 loved 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 followed 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 pleased 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.

CAPUTIUS.
By heaven, I will,
Or let me lose the fashion of a man!

QUEEN KATHERINE.
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 blessed 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 used 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 unqueened, yet like
A queen and daughter to a king inter me.
I can no more.

[Exeunt leading Katherine.]