SURREY. By my soul, Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. My lords, Can ye endure to hear this arrogance? And from this fellow? If we live thus tamely, To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, Farewell nobility! Let his Grace go forward And dare us with his cap like larks.

WOLSEY. All goodness Is poison to thy stomach.

SURREY. Yes, that goodness Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one, Into your own hands, Cardinal, by extortion; The goodness of your intercepted packets You writ to the Pope against the King. Your goodness, Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. My Lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, As you respect the common good, the state Of our despis'd nobility, our issues, Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles Collected from his life. I'll startle you Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench Lay kissing in your arms, Lord Cardinal.

WOLSEY. How much, methinks, I could despise this man, But that I am bound in charity against it!

NORFOLK. Those articles, my lord, are in the King's hand: But, thus much, they are foul ones.

WOLSEY. So much fairer And spotless shall mine innocence arise, When the King knows my truth.

SURREY. This cannot save you. I thank my memory, I yet remember Some of these articles; and out they shall. Now, if you can blush and cry "guilty," Cardinal, You'll show a little honesty.

WOLSEY. Speak on, sir; I dare your worst objections. If I blush, It is to see a nobleman want manners.

SURREY. I had rather want those than my head. Have at you! First, that, without the King's assent or knowledge, You wrought to be a legate; by which power You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.

NORFOLK. Then, that in all you writ to Rome, or else To foreign princes, "Ego et Rex meus" Was still inscrib'd; in which you brought the King To be your servant.

SUFFOLK. Then, that, without the knowledge Either of king or council, when you went Ambassador to the Emperor, you made bold To carry into Flanders the great seal.

SURREY. Item, you sent a large commission To Gregory de Cassado, to conclude, Without the King's will or the state's allowance, A league between his Highness and Ferrara.

SUFFOLK. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the King's coin.

SURREY. Then, that you have sent innumerable substance— By what means got, I leave to your own conscience— To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways You have for dignities; to the mere undoing Of all the kingdom. Many more there are; Which, since they are of you, and odious, I will not taint my mouth with.

CHAMBERLAIN. O my lord, Press not a falling man too far! 'tis virtue. His faults lie open to the laws; let them, Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him So little of his great self.

SURREY. I forgive him.

SUFFOLK. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is, Because all those things you have done of late By your power legatine within this kingdom, Fall into the compass of a praemunire, That therefore such a writ be sued against you; To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be Out of the King's protection. This is my charge.

NORFOLK. And so we'll leave you to your meditations How to live better. For your stubborn answer About the giving back the great seal to us, The King shall know it, and, no doubt, shall thank you. So fare you well, my little good Lord Cardinal.

[Exeunt all but Wolsey.]

WOLSEY. So farewell to the little good you bear me. Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye! I feel my heart new open'd. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours! There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

[Enter Cromwell, standing amazed.]

Why, how now, Cromwell!

CROMWELL. I have no power to speak, sir.

WOLSEY. What, amaz'd At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder A great man should decline? Nay, an you weep, I am fallen indeed.

CROMWELL. How does your Grace?

WOLSEY. Why, well, Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The King has cur'd me, I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders, These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy, too much honour. O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!

CROMWELL. I am glad your Grace has made that right use of it.

WOLSEY. I hope I have. I am able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, To endure more miseries and greater far Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad?

CROMWELL. The heaviest and the worst Is your displeasure with the King.

WOLSEY. God bless him!

CROMWELL. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place.

WOLSEY. That's somewhat sudden; But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his Highness' favour, and do justice For truth's sake and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em! What more?

CROMWELL. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, Install'd Lord Archbishop of Canterbury.

WOLSEY. That's news indeed.

CROMWELL. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, This day was view'd in open as his queen, Going to chapel; and the voice is now Only about her coronation.

WOLSEY. There was the weight that pull'd me down. O Cromwell, The King has gone beyond me! All my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever. No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell! I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master. Seek the King! That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him What and how true thou art. He will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him— I know his noble nature—not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety.

CROMWELL. O my lord, Must I, then, leave you? Must I needs forgo So good, so noble, and so true a master? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. The King shall have my service; but my prayers For ever and for ever shall be yours.

WOLSEY. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee; Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition! By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? Love thyself last. Cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the King! And, prithee, lead me in. There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the King's. My robe, And my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal I serv'd my king, He would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies.

CROMWELL. Good sir, have patience.

WOLSEY. So I have. Farewell The hopes of court! My hopes in heaven do dwell.

[Exeunt.]



ACT FOURTH

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 offer'd 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 appear'd 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 divorc'd, And the late marriage made of none effect; Since which she was remov'd to Kimbolton, Where she remains now sick.

SECOND GENTLEMAN. Alas, good lady!

[Trumpets.]

The trumpets sound; stand close, the Queen is coming.

[Hautboys.]

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 SS. 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 SS. 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. Heaven bless thee! [Looking on the Queen.] Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd 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; And sometimes falling ones.

FIRST 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' the Abbey, where a finger Could not be wedg'd 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 prepar'd place in the choir, fell of 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-belli'd 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 follow'd?

THIRD GENTLEMAN. At length her Grace rose, and with modest paces Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saintlike Cast her fair eyes to heaven and pray'd devoutly; Then rose again and bow'd 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 perform'd, the choir, With all the choicest music of the kingdom, Together sung "Te Deum." So she parted, And with the same full state pac'd 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 call'd Whitehall.

THIRD GENTLEMAN. I know it; But 'tis so lately alter'd, 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. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one of Winchester, Newly preferr'd 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 the King, and truly A worthy friend. The King has made him master O' the 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 the 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?

KATHERINE. 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 led'st me, That the great child of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead?

GRIFFITH. Yes, madam; but I think your Grace, Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.

KATHERINE. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died. If well, he stepp'd 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.

KATHERINE. Alas, poor man!

GRIFFITH. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, With all his covent, honourably receiv'd 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 Pursu'd 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.

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' the 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?

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

GRIFFITH. 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 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 rais'd in you, Ipswich and Oxford! one of which fell with him, Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. His overthrow heap'd 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.

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 nam'd 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.]

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

GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.

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

GRIFFITH. None, madam.

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 promis'd 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.

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

[Music ceases.]

PATIENCE. 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 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,—

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.

KATHERINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow Let me ne'er see again.

[Exit Messenger.]

[Enter Capucius.]

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

CAPUCIUS. Madam, the same; your servant.

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

CAPUCIUS. 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.

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

CAPUCIUS. Madam, in good health.

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

PATIENCE. No, madam.

[Giving it to Katherine.]

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

CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.

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 lov'd 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 follow'd 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 pleas'd 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.

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

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 bless'd 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 us'd 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 unqueen'd, yet like A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. I can no more.

[Exeunt, leading Katherine.]



ACT FIFTH

SCENE I. A gallery in the palace.

[Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a page with a torch before him, met by Sir Thomas Lovell.]

GARDINER. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not?

PAGE. It hath struck.

GARDINER. These should be hours for necessities, Not for delights; times to repair our nature With comforting repose, and not for us To waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas! Whither so late?

LOVELL. Came you from the King, my lord?

GARDINER. I did, Sir Thomas; and left him at primero With the Duke of Suffolk.

LOVELL. I must to him too, Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.

GARDINER. Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What's the matter? It seems you are in haste. An if there be No great offence belongs to't, give your friend Some touch of your late business. Affairs, that walk, As they say spirits do, at midnight, have In them a wilder nature than the business That seeks despatch by day.

LOVELL. My lord, I love you; And durst commend a secret to your ear Much weightier than this work. The Queen's in labour, They say in great extremity; and fear'd She'll with the labour end.

GARDINER. The fruit she goes with I pray for heartily, that it may find Good time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd up now.

LOVELL. Methinks I could Cry thee amen; and yet my conscience says She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does Deserve our better wishes.

GARDINER. But, sir, sir, Hear me, Sir Thomas. You're a gentleman Of mine own way; I know you wise, 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.

LOVELL. Now, sir, you speak of two The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell, Beside that of the jewel house, is made master O' the rolls, and the King's secretary; further, sir, Stands in the gap and trade of moe preferments, With which the time will load him. The Archbishop Is the King's hand and tongue; and who dare speak One syllable against him?

GARDINER. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas, There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd To speak my mind of him: and indeed this day, Sir, I may tell it you, I think I have Incens'd the lords o' the council, that he is, For so I know he is, they know he is, A most arch heretic, a pestilence That does infect the land; with which they moved Have broken with the King, who hath so far Given ear to our complaint, of his great grace And princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefs Our reasons laid before him, hath commanded To-morrow morning to the council-board He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas, And we must root him out. From your affairs I hinder you too long. Good-night, Sir Thomas.

LOVELL. Many good-nights, my lord! I rest your servant.

[Exeunt Gardiner and Page.]

[Enter the King and Suffolk.]

KING. Charles, I will play no more to-night. My mind's not on't; you are too hard for me.

SUFFOLK. Sir, I did never win of you before.

KING. But little, Charles; Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?

LOVELL. I could not personally deliver to her What you commanded me, but by her woman I sent your message; who return'd her thanks In the great'st humbleness, and desir'd your Highness Most heartily to pray for her.

KING. What say'st thou, ha? To pray for her? What, is she crying out?

LOVELL. So said her woman; and that her suff'rance made Almost each pang a death.

KING. Alas, good lady!

SUFFOLK. God safely quit her of her burden, and With gentle travail, to the gladding of Your Highness with an heir!

KING. 'Tis midnight, Charles; Prithee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone; For I must think of that which company Will not be friendly to.

SUFFOLK. I wish your Highness A quiet night; and my good mistress will Remember in my prayers.

KING. Charles, good-night.

[Exit Suffolk.]

[Enter Sir Anthony Denny.]

Well, sir, what follows?

DENNY. Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop, As you commanded me.

KING. Ha! Canterbury?

DENNY. Ay, my good lord.

KING. 'Tis true; where is he, Denny?

DENNY. He attends your Highness' pleasure.

KING. Bring him to us.

[Exit Denny.]

LOVELL. [Aside.] This is about that which the bishop spake. I am happily come hither.

[Re-enter Denny, with Cranmer.]

KING. Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stay.] Ha! I have said. Be gone. What!

[Exeunt Lovell and Denny.]

CRANMER. [Aside.] I am fearful; wherefore frowns he thus? 'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.

KING. How now, my lord! you do desire to know Wherefore I sent for you.

CRANMER. [Kneeling.] It is my duty To attend your Highness' pleasure.

KING. Pray you, arise, My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury. Come, you and I must walk a turn together; I have news to tell you. Come, come, me your hand. Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak, And am right sorry to repeat what follows. I have, and most unwillingly, of late Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord, Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd, Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall This morning come before us; where, I know, You cannot with such freedom purge yourself But that, till further trial in those charges Which will require your answer, you must take Your patience to you, and be well contented To make your house our Tower. You a brother of us, It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness Would come against you.

CRANMER. [Kneeling.] I humbly thank your Highness; And am right glad to catch this good occasion Most throughly to be winnowed, where my chaff And corn shall fly asunder; for, I know, There's none stands under more calumnious tongues Than I myself, poor man.

KING. Stand up, good Canterbury! Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand, stand up; Prithee, let's walk. Now, by my holidame, What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd You would have given me your petition, that I should have ta'en some pains to bring together Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you, Without indurance, further.

CRANMER. Most dread liege, The good I stand on is my truth and honesty. If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies, Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not, Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing What can be said against me.

KING. Know you not How your state stands i' th' world, with the whole world? Your enemies are many, and not small; their practices Must bear the same proportion; and not ever The justice and the truth o' the question carries The due o' the verdict with it. At what ease Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt To swear against you? Such things have been done. You are potently oppos'd, and with a malice Of as great size. Ween you of better luck, I mean, in perjur'd witness, than your Master, Whose minister you are, whiles here He liv'd Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to! You take a precipice for no leap of danger, And woo your own destruction.

CRANMER. God and your Majesty Protect mine innocence, or I fall into The trap is laid for me!

KING. Be of good cheer; They shall no more prevail than we give way to. Keep comfort to you; and this morning see You do appear before them. If they shall chance, In charging you with matters, to commit you, The best persuasions to the contrary Fail not to use, and with what vehemency The occasion shall instruct you. If entreaties Will render you no remedy, this ring Deliver them, and your appeal to us There make before them. Look, the good man weeps! He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest mother! I swear he is true-hearted; and a soul None better in my kingdom. Get you gone, And do as I have bid you.

[Exit Cranmer.]

He has strangled his language in his tears.

[Enter Old Lady, Lovell following.]

GENTLEMAN. [Within.] Come back! What mean you?

OLD LADY. I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring Will make my boldness manners. Now, good angels Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person Under their blessed wings!

KING. Now, by thy looks I guess thy message. Is the Queen deliver'd? Say ay; and of a boy.

OLD LADY. Ay, ay, my liege; And of a lovely boy. The God of Heaven Both now and ever bless her! 'tis a girl, Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen Desires your visitation, and to be Acquainted with this stranger. 'Tis as like you As cherry is to cherry.

KING. Lovell!

LOVELL. Sir?

KING. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen.

[Exit.]

OLD LADY. An hundred marks! By this light, I'll ha' more. An ordinary groom is for such payment. I will have more, or scold it out of him. Said I for this, the girl was like to him? I will have more, or else unsay't; and now, While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE II. Lobby before the council-chamber.

[Pursuivants, Pages, etc., attending. Enter Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.]

CRANMER. I hope I am not too late; and yet the gentleman, That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me To make great haste. All fast? what means this? Ho! Who waits there? Sure, you know me?

[Enter Keeper.]

KEEPER. Yes, my lord; But yet I cannot help you.

CRANMER. Why?

KEEPER. Your Grace must wait till you be call'd for.

[Enter Doctor Butts.]

CRANMER. So.

BUTTS. [Aside.] This is a piece of malice. I am glad I came this way so happily; the King Shall understand it presently.

[Exit.]

CRANMER. [Aside.] 'Tis Butts, The King's physician. As he pass'd along, How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me! Pray Heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain, This is of purpose laid by some that hate me— God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice— To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor, 'Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.

[Enter the King and Butts, at a window above.]

BUTTS. I'll show your Grace the strangest sight—

KING. What's that, Butts?

BUTTS. I think your Highness saw this many a day.

KING. Body o' me, where is it?

BUTTS. There, my lord, The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury; Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, Pages, and footboys.

KING. Ha! 'tis he, indeed. Is this the honour they do one another? 'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I had thought They had parted so much honesty among 'em, At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer A man of his place, and so near our favour, To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, And at the door too, like a post with packets. By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery. Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close; We shall hear more anon.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE III. The council-chamber.

[A council-table brought in with chairs and stools, and placed under the state. Enter Lord Chancellor; places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand, a seat being left void above him, as for Canterbury's seat. Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardiner, seat themselves in order on each side. Cromwell at lower end, as secretary. Keeper at the door.]

CHANCELLOR. Speak to the business, master secretary. Why are we met in council?

CROMWELL. Please your honours, The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.

GARDINER. Has he had knowledge of it?

CROMWELL. Yes.

NORFOLK. Who waits there?

KEEPER. Without, my noble lords?

GARDINER. Yes.

KEEPER. My Lord Archbishop; And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.

CHANCELLOR. Let him come in.

KEEPER. Your Grace may enter now.

[Cranmer approaches the council-table.]

CHANCELLOR. My good Lord Archbishop, I'm very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty; but we all are men, In our own natures frail, and capable Of our flesh; few are angels: out of which frailty And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us, Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling The whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains, For so we are inform'd, with new opinions Divers and dangerous, which are heresies And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

GARDINER. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur 'em Till they obey the manage. If we suffer, Out of our easiness and childish pity To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, Farewell all physic! And what follows then? Commotions, uproars, with a general taint Of the whole state; as, of late days, our neighbours, The upper Germany, can dearly witness, Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

CRANMER. My good lords, hitherto in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching And the strong course of my authority Might go one way, and safely; and the end Was ever, to do well; nor is there living, I speak it with a single heart, my lords, A man that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience and his place, Defacers of a public peace, than I do. Pray Heaven, the King may never find a heart With less allegiance in it! Men that make Envy and crooked malice nourishment Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, That, in this case of justice, my accusers, Be what they will, may stand forth face to face And freely urge against me.

SUFFOLK. Nay, my lord, That cannot be. You are a counsellor, And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.

GARDINER. My lord, because we have business of more moment, We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure And our consent, for better trial of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower; Where, being but a private man again, You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, More than, I fear, you are provided for.

CRANMER. Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you. You are always my good friend; if your will pass, I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, You are so merciful. I see your end; 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition. Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, I make as little doubt as you do conscience In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, But reverence to your calling makes me modest.

GARDINER. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary, That's the plain truth. Your painted gloss discovers, To men that understand you, words and weakness.

CROMWELL. My Lord of Winchester, you are a little, By your good favour, too sharp; men so noble, However faulty, yet should find respect For what they have been. 'Tis a cruelty To load a falling man.

GARDINER. Good master secretary, I cry your honour mercy. You may, worst Of all this table, say so.

CROMWELL. Why, my lord?

GARDINER. Do not I know you for a favourer Of this new sect? Ye are not sound.

CROMWELL. Not sound?

GARDINER. Not sound, I say.

CROMWELL. Would you were half so honest! Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.

GARDINER. I shall remember this bold language.

CROMWELL. Do. Remember your bold life too.

CHANCELLOR. This is too much. Forbear, for shame, my lords.

GARDINER. I have done.

CROMWELL. And I.

CHANCELLOR. Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed, I take it, by all voices, that forthwith You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner; There to remain till the King's further pleasure Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?

ALL. We are.

CRANMER. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?

GARDINER. What other Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome. Let some o' the guard be ready there.

[Enter the guard.]

CRANMER. For me? Must I go like a traitor thither?

GARDINER. Receive him, And see him safe i' the Tower.

CRANMER. Stay, good my lords, I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; By virtue of that ring, I take my cause Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it To a most noble judge, the King my master.

CHAMBERLAIN. This is the King's ring.

SURREY. 'Tis no counterfeit.

SUFFOLK. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven! I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves.

NORFOLK. Do you think, my lords, The King will suffer but the little finger Of this man to be vex'd?

CHAMBERLAIN. 'Tis now too certain. How much more is his life in value with him? Would I were fairly out on't!

CROMWELL. My mind gave me, In seeking tales and informations Against this man, whose honesty the devil And his disciples only envy at, Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!

[Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat.]

GARDINER. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to Heaven In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; Not only good and wise, but most religious; One that, in all obedience, makes the Church The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen That holy duty, out of dear respect, His royal self in judgement comes to hear The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

KING. You were ever good at sudden commendations, Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not To hear such flattery now, and in my presence; They are too thin and bare to hide offences. To me you cannot reach you play the spaniel, And think with wagging of your tongue to win me; But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody. [To Cranmer.] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: By all that's holy, he had better starve Than but once think this place becomes thee not.

SURREY. May it please your Grace,—

KING. No, sir, it does not please me. I had thought I had had men of some understanding And wisdom of my council; but I find none. Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, This good man,—few of you deserve that title,— This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy At chamber-door? and one as great as you are? Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye Power as he was a councillor to try him,— Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see, More out of malice than integrity, Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean; Which ye shall never have while I live.

CHANCELLOR. Thus far, My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd Concerning his imprisonment was rather, If there be faith in men, meant for his trial And fair purgation to the world, than malice, I'm sure, in me.

KING. Well, well, my lords, respect him; Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it. I will say thus much for him, if a prince May be beholding to a subject, I Am, for his love and service, so to him. Make me no more ado, but all embrace him. Be friends, for shame, my lords! My Lord of Canterbury, I have a suit which you must not deny me; That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism, You must be godfather, and answer for her.

CRANMER. The greatest monarch now alive may glory In such an honour; how may I deserve it, That am a poor and humble subject to you?

KING. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your spoons. You shall have two noble partners with you, the old Duchess of Norfolk and Lady Marquess Dorset. Will these please you? Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you, embrace and love this man.

GARDINER. With a true heart And brother-love I do it.

CRANMER. And let Heaven Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.

KING. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart. The common voice, I see, is verified Of thee, which says thus, "Do my Lord of Canterbury A shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever." Come, lords, we trifle time away; I long To have this young one made a Christian. As I have made ye one, lords, one remain; So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE IV. The palace yard.

[Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man.]

PORTER. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals; do you take the court for Paris-garden? Ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

VOICE. [Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder.

PORTER. Belong to the gallows, and be hang'd, ye rogue! Is this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em. I'll scratch your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?

MAN. Pray, sir, be patient. 'Tis as much impossible— Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons— To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep On May-day morning; which will never be. We may as well push against Paul's, as stir 'em.

PORTER. How got they in, and be hang'd?

MAN. Alas, I know not: how gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot— You see the poor remainder—could distribute, I made no spare, sir.

PORTER. You did nothing, sir.

MAN. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand, To mow 'em down before me; but if I spar'd any That had a head to hit, either young or old, He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker, Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again; And that I would not for a cow, God save her!

VOICE. [Within.] Do you hear, master porter?

PORTER. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.— Keep the door close, sirrah.

MAN. What would you have me do?

PORTER. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

MAN. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the line, they need no other penance: that fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that rail'd upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman; who cried out "Clubs!" when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o' the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff to me; I defied 'em still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, deliver'd such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work. The devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely.

PORTER. These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience but the tribulation of Tower-hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.

[Enter Lord Chamberlain.]

CHAMBERLAIN. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too; from all parts they are coming As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows. There's a trim rabble let in. Are all these Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, When they pass back from the christening.

PORTER. An't please your honour, We are but men; and what so many may do, Not being torn a-pieces, we have done. An army cannot rule 'em.

CHAMBERLAIN. As I live, If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads Clap round fines for neglect. Ye're lazy knaves; And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound; They're come already from the christening. Go, break among the press, and find a way out To let the troops pass fairly; or I'll find A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.

PORTER. Make way there for the princess.

MAN. You great fellow, Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.

PORTER. You i' the camlet, get up o' the rail; I'll peck you o'er the pales else.

[Exeunt.]



SCENE V. The palace.

[Enter trumpets, sounding; then two Aldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolk with his marshal's staff, Duke of Suffolk, two Noblemen bearing great standing-bowls for the christening-gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, etc., train borne by a Lady; then follows the Marchioness Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, and Garter speaks.]

GARTER. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long and ever happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England, Elizabeth!

[Flourish. Enter King and Guard.]

CRANMER. [Kneeling.] And to your royal Grace, and the good queen, My noble partners, and myself, thus pray: All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady, Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, May hourly fall upon ye!

KING. Thank you, good Lord Archbishop. What is her name?

CRANMER. Elizabeth.

KING. Stand up, lord.

[The King kisses the child.]

With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee! Into whose hand I give thy life.

CRANMER. Amen.

KING. My noble gossips, ye have been too prodigal. I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady, When she has so much English.

CRANMER. Let me speak, sir, For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they'll find 'em truth. This royal infant—Heaven still move about her!— Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be— But few now living can behold that goodness— A pattern to all princes living with her, And all that shall succeed. Saba was never More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue Than this pure soul shall be. All princely graces, That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her. She shall be lov'd and fear'd: her own shall bless her; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her. In her days every man shall eat in safety, Under his own vine, what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours. God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir As great in admiration as herself; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness, Who from the sacred ashes of her honour Shall star-like rise as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix'd. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him. Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations. He shall flourish, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches To all the plains about him. Our children's children Shall see this, and bless Heaven.

KING. Thou speakest wonders.

CRANMER. She shall be, to the happiness of England, An aged princess; many days shall see her, And yet no day without a deed to crown it. Would I had known no more! but she must die, She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.

KING. O Lord Archbishop, Thou hast made me now a man! Never, before This happy child, did I get anything. This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, That when I am in heaven I shall desire To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor, And you, good brethren, I am much beholding; I have receiv'd much honour by your presence, And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords. Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye, She will be sick else. This day, no man think Has business at his house; for all shall stay. This little one shall make it holiday.

[Exeunt.]



EPILOGUE

'Tis ten to one this play can never please All that are here. Some come to take their ease, And sleep an act or two; but those, we fear, We have frighted with our trumpets; so, 'tis clear, They'll say 'tis nought: others, to hear the city Abus'd extremely, and to cry "That's witty!" Which we have not done neither: that, I fear, All the expected good we're like to hear For this play at this time, is only in The merciful construction of good women; For such a one we show'd 'em. If they smile And say 'twill do, I know, within a while All the best men are ours; for 'tis ill hap If they hold when their ladies bid 'em clap.

THE END