full state paced back again To York-place, where the feast is held. 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. I know it; But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name Is fresh about me. What two reverend bishops Were those that went on each side of the queen? Stokesly and Gardiner; the one of Winchester, Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary, The other, London. He of Winchester Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's, The virtuous Cranmer. 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. Who may that be, I pray you? 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. He will deserve more. 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. You may command us, sir. How does 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? Yes, madam; but I think your grace, Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't. Prithee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: If well, he stepp'd before me, happily For my example. 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. Alas, 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