GRIFFITH.
None, madam.
QUEEN KATHERINE.
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.
GRIFFITH.
I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Possess your fancy.
QUEEN KATHERINE.
Bid the music leave,
They are harsh and heavy to me.
[Music ceases.]
PATIENCE.
Do you note
How much her Grace is altered 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—