The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 191
Well worth the seeing.
Well worth seeing.
Second Gentleman
Good sir, speak it to us.
Good sir, describe it to us.
Third Gentleman
As well as I am able. The rich stream
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.
As well as I can. The rich stream
of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen
to a prepared place in the choir, retreated
some distance from her; then her Grace sat down
to rest for a while, some half an hour or so,
on a rich throne, exposing her beauty
freely to the people.
Believe me sir, she is the most beautiful woman
as ever slept with a man: and when the people
had a full view of her, such a noise rose up
that was like the sails of a ship in a stiff wind,
just as loud, with as many different noises. Hats, cloaks
shirts too, I think, flew up, and if their faces could have come off
they would have lost them today. I never saw
such joy before. Great round bellied women,
with just half a week to go before giving birth, smashed
into the crowd like battering rams in old battles,
and made the everyone fall before them. No man alive
could have identified his wife in there, everyone was
entwined as if they were a single organism.
Second Gentleman
But, what follow'd?
But what happened after that?
Third Gentleman
At length her grace rose, and with modest paces
Came to the altar; where she kneel'd, and saint-like
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 paced back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.
Eventually her grace arose, and with modest steps
came to the altar; she knelt there, and like a saint
turned her fair face up to heaven and prayed devoutly.
Then she got up again and bowed to her people:
then the Archbishop Canterbury
gave her all the royal trappings of a Queen,
such as holy oil, the Crown of Edward the Confessor,
the rod, bird of peace, and all the other symbols
which sat nobly on her: and the choir performed
all the best music of the kingdom,
then sang the Te Deum together. So she left,
and in the same majestic trappings walked back again
to York Place, where the feast is being 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.
Sir,
you mustn't call it York Place any more, that's gone;
for, since the downfall of the cardinal, that title's lost:
it now belongs to the King, and it's called Whitehall.
Third Gentleman
I know it;
But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
Is fresh about me.
I know that;
but it's been so recently changed that the old name
still lingers in my memory.
Second Gentleman
What two reverend bishops
Were those that went on each side of the queen?
Who were those two reverend bishops
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.
Stokesley and Gardiner; one Bishop of Winchester,
recently promoted from being the King's secretary,
the other is Bishop of London.
Second Gentleman
He of Winchester
Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's,
The virtuous Cranmer.
The Bishop of Winchester
is said to be no great friend of the Archbishop,
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.
The whole country knows that:
however, they have not yet had any great argument; when it comes,
Cranmer will find a friend who will stand by him.
Second Gentleman
Who may that be, I pray you?
Who would that be, may I ask?
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.
Thomas Cromwell;
a man very much in the King's favour, and truly
a worthy friend. The King has made him master
of the Crown Jewels,
and already a member of the privy Council.
Second Gentleman
He will deserve more.
He'll get more than this.
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.
Yes, doubtless.
Come, gentlemen, you shall come with me as
I go to the court, and you shall be my guests there:
I have the right to ask that. As we walk there
I'll tell you more.
Both
You may command us, sir.
We are both at your command, sir.
Exeunt
Enter KATHARINE, Dowager, sick; led between GRIFFITH, her gentleman usher, and PATIENCE, her woman
GRIFFITH
How does your grace?
How is your grace?
KATHARINE
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?
O Griffin, I am sick to death!
My legs, like heavily laden branches, bow down to the earth,
wanting to shed their load. Pull up a chair:
there; now, I think, I feel a little better.
Didn't you tell me, Griffith, as you led me,
that the great honourable Cardinal Wolsey was dead?
GRIFFITH
Yes, madam; but I think your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
Yes, madam; but I thought your grace
had not heard me due to the pain you were suffering.
KATHARINE
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, he did better than me, perhaps
I could use him for an 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.
Well, the rumour goes, madam,
that after the good Royal Northumberland
arrested him at York, and brought him down
for his trial as a badly suspected man
he suddenly fell sick, and became so ill
he could not sit on his mule.
KATHARINE
Alas, poor man!
Alas, poor man!
GRIFFITH
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.
At last, in small stages, he came to Leicester,
where he stayed in the Abbey; the reverend abbot,
with all his convent, received him honourably;
and he spoke these words to him, ‘Oh, father abbot,
an old man, broken by the storms of politics,
has come to lay down his weary bones amongst you;
be so kind as to give him a little place to be buried.’
So he went to bed; and his illness became
worse: and, three nights later,
about eight o'clock, the time which he himself
had predicted would see his end, full of repentance,
religious thoughts, tears and sorrows,
he gave his honours back to the world,
his soul to heaven, and slept in peace.
KATHARINE
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.
And may he rest in peace; may his faults not punish him too much!
But let me say this about him, Griffith,
speaking kindly. He was a man
of unparalleled greed, who thought he was
as high as a prince; someone who through underhand methods
enslaved the whole kingdom: corruption was acceptable to him;
his own opinion was law: he would lie
in the presence of the King; and everything he said
had a double meaning: he never showed pity
except where he intended destruction:
his promises, like him, were mighty,
but as he is now they came to nothing:
he was physically depraved and set
a bad example for the clergy.
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?
Noble madam,
the evil manners of men are engraved on brass,
their goodness is written on water. Would your Highness allow
me to speak well of him now?
KATHARINE
Yes, good Griffith;
I were malicious else.
Yes, good Griffith;
otherwise I would be unkind.
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 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 humble stock, was undoubtedly
marked out for honour. From birth
he was a scholar, and a very good one,
exceedingly wise, well spoken and persuasive:
he was haughty and sour to those who did not love him,
but to those men who wanted to be friends, he was sweet as summer.
And although he was certainly greedy
–which was a sin–but he was also princely in his
generosity: that will always be witnessed
by those two colleges he established,
at Ipswich and Oxford; one of them fell with him,
unwilling to outlive the goodness that built it,
the other, though unfinished, is already so famous,
so excellent in learning and still growing reputation,
that Christendom will forever speak of his goodness.
His downfall was a source of great happiness to him,
for then he realised who he was, as he never had before,
and found how blessed it is to be of no importance;
and to give him greater honour in his old age
than any man could give him, he died fearing God.
KATHARINE
After my death I wish no other herald,
No other speake
r 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 do not wish any other Herald,
nobody to speak about what I did in my life,
to keep my honour from corruption,
I just want an honest chronicler like Griffith.
You have made me, with your religious truth
and modesty, honour the ashes of the one whom I
most hated when he was alive: may he rest in peace!
Be patient, stay with me; let me lie down more:
I won't bother you for long. Good Griffith,
ask the musicians to play that sad tune
which I chose as my death knell, whilst I
contemplate the heavenly music I'll be hearing soon.
Sad and solemn music
GRIFFITH
She is asleep: good wench, let's sit down quiet,
For fear we wake her: softly, gentle Patience.
She is asleep: good lady, let's sit down quietly
and make sure we don't wake her: quietly, 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