Shakespeare's First Folio Part 450

How long her face is drawne? How pale she lookes, And of an earthy cold? Marke her eyes?

Grif. She is going Wench. Pray, pray

Pati. Heauen comfort her.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes. And't like your Grace - Kath. You are a sawcy Fellow, Deserue we no more Reuerence?

Grif. You are too blame, Knowing she will not loose her wonted Greatnesse To vse so rude behauiour. Go too, kneele

Mes. I humbly do entreat your Highnesse pardon, My hast made me vnmannerly. There is staying A Gentleman sent from the King, to see you

Kath. Admit him entrance Griffith. But this Fellow Let me ne're see againe.

Exit Messeng.

Enter Lord Capuchius.

If my sight faile not, You should be Lord Amba.s.sador from the Emperor, My Royall Nephew, and your name Capuchius

Cap. Madam the same. Your Seruant

Kath. O my Lord, The Times and t.i.tles now are alter'd strangely With me, since first you knew me.

But I pray you, What is your pleasure with me?

Cap. n.o.ble Lady, First mine owne seruice to your Grace, the next The Kings request, that I would visit you, Who greeues much for your weaknesse, 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; That gentle Physicke giuen in time, had cur'd me: But now I am past all Comforts heere, but Prayers.

How does his Highnesse?

Cap. Madam, in good health

Kath. So may he euer do, and euer flourish, When I shall dwell with Wormes, and my poore name Banish'd the Kingdome. Patience, is that Letter I caus'd you write, yet sent away?

Pat. No Madam

Kath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliuer This to my Lord the King

Cap. Most willing Madam

Kath. In which I haue commended to his goodnesse The Modell of our chaste loues: his yong daughter, The dewes of Heauen fall thicke in Blessings on her, Beseeching him to giue her vertuous breeding.

She is yong, and of a n.o.ble modest Nature, I hope she will deserue well; and a little To loue her for her Mothers sake, that lou'd him, Heauen knowes how deerely.

My next poore Pet.i.tion, Is, that his n.o.ble Grace would haue some pittie Vpon my wretched women, that so long Haue follow'd both my Fortunes, faithfully, Of which there is not one, I dare auow (And now I should not lye) but will deserue For Vertue, and true Beautie of the Soule, For honestie, and decent Carriage A right good Husband (let him be a n.o.ble) And sure those men are happy that shall haue 'em.

The last is for my men, they are the poorest, (But pouerty could neuer draw 'em from me) That they may haue their wages, duly paid 'em, And something ouer to remember me by.

If Heauen had pleas'd to haue giuen me longer life And able meanes, we had not parted thus.

These are the whole Contents, and good my Lord, By that you loue the deerest in this world, As you wish Christian peace to soules departed, Stand these poore peoples Friend, and vrge the King To do me this last right

Cap. By Heauen I will, Or let me loose the fas.h.i.+on of a man

Kath. I thanke you honest Lord. Remember me In all humilitie vnto his Highnesse: Say his long trouble now is pa.s.sing Out of this world. Tell him in death I blest him (For so I will) mine eyes grow dimme. Farewell My Lord. Griffith farewell. Nay Patience, You must not leaue me yet. I must to bed, Call in more women. When I am dead, good Wench, Let me be vs'd with Honor; strew me ouer With Maiden Flowers, that all the world may know I was a chaste Wife, to my Graue: Embalme me, Then lay me forth (although vnqueen'd) yet like A Queene, and Daughter to a King enterre me.

I can no more.

Exeunt. leading Katherine.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a Torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Louell.

Gard. It's one a clocke Boy, is't not

Boy. It hath strooke

Gard. These should be houres for necessities, Not for delights: Times to repayre our Nature With comforting repose, and not for vs To waste these times. Good houre of night Sir Thomas: Whether so late?

Lou. Came you from the King, my Lord?

Gar. I did Sir Thomas, and left him at Primero With the Duke of Suffolke

Lou. I must to him too Before he go to bed. Ile take my leaue

Gard. Not yet Sir Thomas Louell: what's the matter?

It seemes you are in hast: and if there be No great offence belongs too't, giue your Friend Some touch of your late businesse: Affaires that walke (As they say Spirits do) at midnight, haue In them a wilder Nature, then the businesse That seekes dispatch by day

Lou. My Lord, I loue you; And durst commend a secret to your eare Much waightier then this worke. The Queens in Labor They say in great Extremity, and fear'd Shee'l with the Labour, end

Gard. The fruite she goes with I pray for heartily, that it may finde Good time, and liue: but for the Stocke Sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd vp now

Lou. Me thinkes I could Cry the Amen, and yet my Conscience sayes Shee's a good Creature, and sweet-Ladie do's Deserue our better wishes

Gard. But Sir, Sir, Heare me Sir Thomas, y'are a Gentleman Of mine owne way. I know you Wise, Religious, And let me tell you, it will ne're be well, 'Twill not Sir Thomas Louell, tak't of me, Till Cranmer, Cromwel, her two hands, and shee Sleepe in their Graues

Louell. Now Sir, you speake of two The most remark'd i'th' Kingdome: as for Cromwell, Beside that of the Iewell-House, is made Master O'th' Rolles, and the Kings Secretary. Further Sir, Stands in the gap and Trade of moe Preferments, With which the Lime will loade him. Th' Archbyshop Is the Kings hand, and tongue, and who dare speak One syllable against him?

Gard. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, There are that Dare, and I my selfe haue ventur'd To speake my minde of him: and indeed this day, Sir (I may tell it you) I thinke I haue Incenst the Lords o'th' Councell, that he is (For so I know he is, they know he is) A most Arch-Heretique, a Pestilence That does infect the Land: with which, they moued Haue broken with the King, who hath so farre Giuen eare to our Complaint, of his great Grace, And Princely Care, fore-seeing those fell Mischiefes, Our Reasons layd before him, hath commanded To morrow Morning to the Councell Boord He be conuented. He's a ranke weed Sir Thomas, And we must root him out. From your Affaires I hinder you too long: Good night, Sir Thomas.

Exit Gardiner and Page.

Lou. Many good nights, my Lord, I rest your seruant.

Enter King and Suffolke.

King. Charles, I will play no more to night, My mindes not on't, you are too hard for me

Suff. Sir, I did neuer win of you before

King. But little Charles, Nor shall not when my Fancies on my play.

Now Louel, from the Queene what is the Newes

Lou. I could not personally deliuer to her What you commanded me, but by her woman, I sent your Message, who return'd her thankes In the great'st humblenesse, and desir'd your Highnesse Most heartily to pray for her

King. What say'st thou? Ha?

To pray for her? What is she crying out?

Lou. So said her woman, and that her suffrance made Almost each pang, a death

King. Alas good Lady

Suf. G.o.d safely quit her of her Burthen, and With gentle Trauaile, to the gladding of Your Highnesse with an Heire