God save you, sir! Where have you been broiling? 3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the Abbey; where

a finger

Could not be wedged in more: I am stifled

With the mere rankness of their joy.

2 Gent. You saw the ceremony? 3 Gent.

1 Gent. How was it?

3 Gent.

That I did.

Well worth the seeing.

2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us.

The rich stream

3 Gent. As well as I am able.
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 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.

2 Gent.

But what followed?

3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with

modest paces

Came to the altar; where she kneeled and saint

like

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.

1 Gent.

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 White Hall. 3 Gent.

I know it;

But 't is so lately altered, that the old name
Is fresh about me.

2 Gent.

What two reverend Bishops

Were those that went on each side of the Queen? 3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of Winchester,

Newly preferred from the King's Secretary;
The other, London.

2 Gent.

He of Winchester

Is held no great good lover of the Archbishop's,
The virtuous Cranmer.

3 Gent.

All the land knows that:

However, yet there's no great breach; when it

comes,

Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from

him.

2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you ?

3 Gent.

Thomas Cromwell;

A man in much esteem with the King, and truly A worthy friend.-The King

Has made him master of the jewel-house,
And one, already, of the Privy-Council.

2 Gent. He will deserve more.
3 Gent.

Yes, without all doubt.

Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
Is to the Court, there ye shall be my guests:
Something I can command.

As I walk thither,

Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH and PATIENCE.

Grif. How does your grace?

Kath.

O Griffith, sick to death:

My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the 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 ledd'st

me,

That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead?

Grif.

Yes, madam; but, I think, your grace, Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to't

152

KING HENRY VIII.

Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he

died:

If well, he stepped before me, happily,

For my example.

Grif.

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.

Kath.

Alas, poor man !

came

to

Grif. At last, with easy roads, he

Leicester;

Lodged in the Abbey, where the reverend Abbot,
With all his convent, 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 cave his honours to the world again,