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 rite.

CAPUTIUS

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 blessed him,

For so I will. Mine eyes grow dim. Farewell,

My lord. Griffith, farewell.

(To her woman)

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 ⌈Caputius and Griffith⌉ at one door;

Patience⌉ leading Katherine ⌈at another⌉

5.1 Enter ⌈at one door⌉ Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester; before him, a Page with a torch

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.

Enter ⌈at another door⌉ Sir Thomas Lovell, meeting them

Good hour of night, Sir Thomasl

Whither so late?

LOVELY

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 dispatch 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 feared

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 grubbed up now.

LOVELL

Methinks I could

Cry the 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 remarked i‘th’ kingdom. As for Cromwell,

Beside that of the Jewel House is made Master

O’th’ Rolls and the King’s secretary. Further, sir,

Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments

With which the time will load him. Th’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 ventured

To speak my mind of him, and, indeed, this day,

Sir—I may tell it you, I think—I have

Incensed the lords o’th’ 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 so

Tomorrow 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