« PreviousContinue »
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
Alas, poor man!
Leicester, Lodg'd in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, With all his convent, 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. Kath. 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 Ty'd 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;
Yes, good Griffith;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
mer. And though he were unsatisfy’d 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.
Kath. After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speaker of my living actions,
Sad and solemn musick. Grif. 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 ano
ther, sir 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 reverend court'sies; 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 they vanish, carrying the garland with them. The musick continues.
Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye
It is not you I call for:
None, madam. Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed
Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Bid the musick leave, They are harsh and heavy to me. [Musick ceases. Pat.
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 earthy cold? Mark you her eyes? Grif. She is going, wench; pray, pray. Pat.
Heaven comfort her!
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. An't like your grace,
y fellow: Kath.
You are a saucy fellow:
Deserve we no more reverence?
You are to blame,
don; My haste made me unmannerly: There is staying A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you. Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith: But this
fellow Let me ne'er see again.
[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger.
Re-enter Griffith with Capucius.
If my sight fail not,
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant.
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? Cap.
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. Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too
late; 'Tis like a pardon after execution: