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

  KATHARINE. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all gone?
    And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?
  GRIFFITH. Madam, we are here.
  KATHARINE. It is not you I call for.
    Saw ye none enter since I slept?
  GRIFFITH. None, madam.
  KATHARINE. 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.
  KATHARINE. 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-
  KATHARINE. 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.
  KATHARINE. Admit him entrance, Griffith; but this fellow
    Let me ne'er see again. Exit MESSENGER

Enter LORD 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.
  KATHARINE. 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.
  KATHARINE. 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.
  KATHARINE. 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 caus'd you write yet sent away?
  PATIENCE. No, madam. [Giving it to KATHARINE]
  KATHARINE. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
    This to my lord the King.
  CAPUCIUS. Most willing, madam.
  KATHARINE. 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!
  KATHARINE. 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 KATHARINE