You're well met once again.

So are you.

You come to take your stand here, and behold
The Lady Anne pass from her coronation?

'Tis all my business. At our last encounter,
The Duke of Buckingham came from his trial.

'Tis very true: but that time offer'd sorrow;
This, general joy.

'Tis well: the citizens,
I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds—
As, let 'em have their rights, they are ever forward—
In celebration of this day with shows,
Pageants and sights of honour.

Never greater,
Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.

May I be bold to ask at what that contains,
That paper in your hand?

Yes; 'tis the list
Of those that claim their offices this day
By custom of the coronation.
The Duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
To be high-steward; next, the Duke of Norfolk,
He to be earl marshal: you may read the rest.

I thank you, sir: had I not known those customs,
I should have been beholding to your paper.
But, I beseech you, what's become of Katharine,
The princess dowager? how goes her business?

That I can tell you too. The Archbishop
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
Learned and reverend fathers of his order,
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
From Ampthill where the princess lay; to which
She was often cited by them, but appear'd not:
And, to be short, for not appearance and
The king's late scruple, by the main assent
Of all these learned men she was divorced,
And the late marriage made of none effect
Since which she was removed to Kimbolton,
Where she remains now sick.

Alas, good lady!

Trumpets

The trumpets sound: stand close, the queen is coming.

A royal train, believe me. These I know:
Who's that that bears the sceptre?

Marquess Dorset:
And that the Earl of Surrey, with the rod.

A bold brave gentleman. That should be
The Duke of Suffolk?

'Tis the same: high-steward.

And that my Lord of Norfolk?

Yes;

Heaven bless thee!

Looking on Queen Anne

Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on.
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel;
Our king has all the Indies in his arms,
And more and richer, when he strains that lady:
I cannot blame his conscience.

They that bear
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports.

Those men are happy; and so are all are near her.
I take it, she that carries up the train
Is that old noble lady, Duchess of Norfolk.

It is; and all the rest are countesses.

Their coronets say so. These are stars indeed;
And sometimes falling ones.

No more of that.

Exit procession, and then a great flourish of trumpets

God save you, sir! where have you been broiling?

Among the crowd i' the Abbey; where a finger
Could not be wedged in more: I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy.

You saw
The ceremony?

That I did.

How was it?

Well worth the seeing.

Good sir, speak it to us.

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.

But, what follow'd?

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.

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.