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How does your grace?
How are you feeling, your grace?
O Griffith, sick to death! My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth, Willing to leave their burthen. 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?
Oh Griffith, I’m so sick, I feel like I’m dying! My legs, like heavy branches, bend to the ground, Ready to let go of their burden. Get me a chair: There; now, I think, I feel a little better. Didn’t you tell me, Griffith, when you were helping me, That the great man of honour, Cardinal Wolsey, was dead?
Yes, madam; but I think your grace, Out of the pain you suffer’d, gave no ear to’t.
Yes, madam; but I think, because of the pain you were in, You didn’t really hear me.
Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: If well, he stepp’d before me, happily For my example.
Please, good Griffith, tell me how he died: If he died well, then he went ahead of me, hopefully To set an example for me.
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.
Well, the word is, madam: After the brave Earl of Northumberland Arrested him in York and brought him forward, As a man seriously accused, to face the charges, He suddenly fell ill and got so sick That he couldn’t even ride his mule.
Alas, poor man!
Oh, poor man!
At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, Lodged in the abbey; where the reverend abbot, With all his covent, 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 gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Eventually, with easier roads, he made it to Leicester, Stayed at the abbey, where the respected abbot, And all his monks, gave him a warm welcome; To whom he said, ’Oh, father abbot, An old man, worn out by the storms of politics, Has come to rest his tired bones among you; Give him a little land for charity!’ And so he went to bed; where his illness Still pursued him: and three nights later, Around eight o’clock, which he himself Had predicted would be his last hour, full of regret, Constant prayers, tears, and sorrow, He gave his honour to the world again, His blessed soul to heaven, and died in peace.
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 in example.
May he rest in peace; may his faults rest lightly on him! But, Griffith, let me speak of him a little, And yet with charity. He was a man With an insatiable appetite, always placing Himself alongside princes; one who, by manipulation, Controlled the kingdom: bribery was his fair game; His own opinion was his law: in front of others He would lie, and be ever deceitful Both in his words and his intentions: he was never, But when he meant to destroy, merciful: His promises were, as he then was, powerful; But his actions, as he is now, worthless: His own body was sick, and set A poor example for the clergy.
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?
Noble madam, Men’s bad habits are engraved in stone; their virtues We write in water. May I now speak of his good qualities?
Yes, good Griffith; I were malicious else.
Yes, good Griffith; Otherwise, I would be cruel.
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 loved 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 raised 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.
This cardinal, Though from a humble background, undoubtedly Was destined for much honour from his birth. He was a scholar, a skilled and good one; Exceedingly wise, eloquent, and persuasive: Proud and harsh to those who didn’t like him; But to those who sought him, sweet as summer. And though he was unsatisfied in accumulating wealth, Which was a flaw, yet in giving, madam, He was most princely: ever a witness to his greatness Are those two institutions he founded, Ipswich and Oxford! One of them fell with him, Unwilling to outlive the good that created it; The other, though incomplete, is still so famous, So excellent in knowledge, and still growing, That all of Christendom will always speak of its value. His downfall brought him happiness; For then, and only then, did he truly understand himself, And discover the peace of being humble: And, to add even greater honour to his life, He died fearing God.
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 named my knell, whilst I sit meditating On that celestial harmony I go to.
After my death, I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my deeds, To protect my honour from disgrace, But such an honest recorder as Griffith. Whom I hated when alive, but you have made me, With your truthful and modest heart, Honour him now, even in his ashes: peace be with him! Patience, stay close to me; and bring me lower: I don’t have much longer to trouble you. Good Griffith, Have the musicians play that sad tune I called my death-knell, while I sit and think Of the heavenly harmony I am about to join.
She is asleep: good wench, let’s sit down quiet, For fear we wake her: softly, gentle Patience.
She is asleep: good girl, let’s sit quietly, So we don’t wake her: softly, gentle Patience.
Spirits of peace, where are ye? are ye all gone, And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
Spirits of peace, where are you? Have you all gone, And left me here in misery behind you?
Madam, we are here.
Madam, we are here.
It is not you I call for: Saw ye none enter since I slept?
It’s not you I’m calling for: Didn’t you see anyone come in since I went to sleep?
None, madam.
No, madam.
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 promised me eternal happiness; And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel I am not worthy yet to wear: I shall, assuredly.
No? Didn’t you just now see a blessed group Invite me to a feast; their bright faces Sending a thousand beams upon me, like the sun? They promised me eternal joy; And they brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel I’m not worthy to wear yet: but I will, surely.
I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams Possess your fancy.
I’m so happy, madam, that such good dreams Fill your mind.
Bid the music leave, They are harsh and heavy to me.
Tell the musicians to stop, They’re too harsh and heavy for me.
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 her eyes!
Do you see How suddenly her grace has changed? Look at how her face is drawn, how pale she looks, And cold, like earth? Watch her eyes!
She is going, wench: pray, pray.
She’s leaving us, girl: pray, pray.
Heaven comfort her!
May Heaven comfort her!
An’t like your grace,--
If it pleases your grace,--
You are a saucy fellow: Deserve we no more reverence?
You’re a rude fellow: Don’t we deserve more respect?
You are to blame, Knowing she will not lose her wonted greatness, To use so rude behavior; go to, kneel.
You are in the wrong, Knowing she won’t lose her usual dignity, To treat her so roughly; go on, kneel.
I humbly do entreat your highness’ pardon; My haste made me unmannerly. There is staying A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
I humbly ask your highness’ pardon; My hurry made me act impolitely. There’s a gentleman, Sent by the king, waiting to see you.
Admit him entrance, Griffith: but this fellow Let me ne’er see again.
Let him in, Griffith: but this man Let me never see again.
If my sight fail not, You should be lord ambassador from the emperor, My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
If I’m not mistaken, You must be the emperor’s ambassador, My royal nephew, and your name is Capucius.
Madam, the same; your servant.
Yes, madam, that’s me; I am 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?
Oh, my lord, Times and titles have changed so strangely Since you first knew me. But, please tell me, What is it you want from me?
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.
Noble lady, First, my service to you; next, The king’s request that I visit you; He is very sad about your illness, and through me Sends you his royal regards, And kindly asks that you find comfort.
O my good lord, that comfort comes too late; ’Tis like a pardon after execution: That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me; But now I am past an comforts here, but prayers. How does his highness?
Oh, my good lord, that comfort comes too late; It’s like a pardon after an execution: A gentle remedy given earlier would’ve healed me; But now I am beyond all comfort, except prayers. How is his highness?
Madam, in good health.
Madam, he is in good health.
So may he ever do! and ever flourish, When I shal l dwell with worms, and my poor name Banish’d the kingdom! Patience, is that letter, I caused you write, yet sent away?
May he always be well! And always prosper, While I lie with worms, and my poor name Is banished from the kingdom! Patience, is that letter, I asked you to write, still not sent?
No, madam.
No, madam.
Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver This to my lord the king.
Sir, I humbly ask you to deliver This to my lord the king.
Most willing, madam.
I will gladly, madam.
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 loved 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 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 right.
In this letter, I’ve commended to his kindness The model of our pure love, his young daughter; May heaven’s blessings shower upon her! I beg him to raise her with virtue-- She is young, and of a noble, modest nature, I hope she’ll deserve well,--and to love her for her mother’s sake, Who loved him, God knows how dearly. My next humble request Is that his noble grace might have some mercy On my poor women, who’ve followed me faithfully Through all my troubles: Not one of them, I dare say, And now I won’t lie, but they deserve A good husband, full of virtue and true beauty of the soul, Honesty, and decent conduct, A good, noble man--and those men are lucky who will have them. The last thing is for my men; they are the poorest, But poverty has never made them leave me; I ask that they be paid their wages on time, And given something extra to remember me by: If heaven had granted me more life And resources, we would not have parted like this. These are all my requests: and, my lord, By all you love most dearly in this world, As you wish peace for departed souls, Stand by these poor people, and urge the king To do me this last justice.
By heaven, I will, Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
By heaven, I will, Or let me lose all claim to be a man!
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 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 unqueen’d, yet like A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. I can no more.
I thank you, honest lord. Please remember me In all humility to his highness: Tell him that my long suffering is ending And passing from this world; tell him, in death I bless him, For I truly will. My eyes are dimming. Farewell, My lord. Griffith, farewell. No, Patience, You must not leave me yet: I need to go to bed; Call in more women. When I am dead, good girl, Let me be treated with honor: cover me with Maiden flowers, so the whole world will know I was a chaste wife to my grave: embalm me, Then lay me out: though unqueen’d, still like A queen, daughter of a king, bury me. I can say no more.