When the cavalcade reached the monastery, the day was drawing to a close, and, the abbot and the friars, apprised of his coming, waited with torches at the gate to receive him. But the honors of the world had ceased to afford him any pleasure; and, as he passed down the stairs, he said to the brethren, “I am come to lay my bones among ye!” Being supported into a chamber, he immediately went to bed, and languished with increasing signs of dissolution all the next day. The following morning, Cavendish, his usher and afterwards historian, as he was watching near him, thought he perceived the symptoms of death. The Cardinal noticing him, inquired the hour, and was told eight o’clock. “That cannot be,” he replied, “for at eight clock you shall lose your master. My time is at hand, and I must depart this world.” Continuing to grow weaker and weaker, he fainted several times during the day. About four o’clock the following morning he asked for some refreshment, which having received, and made confession, Sir William Kingston entered his room and inquired how he felt himself. “Sir,” said Wolsey, “I tarry but the pleasure of God to render up my poor soul into his hands.” He then gave sage and good counsel to Sir William, and impressed upon him the duty of acting in all things with fidelity and honesty towards God, and said, “had I served God as diligently as I have done the King he would not have given me over in my gray hairs.” “Farewell,” he continued, “I wish all good things to have success. My time draws fast on. I may not continue with you. Forget not what I have said, and when I am gone, call it often to mind.” Towards the conclusion he began to falter, and linger in the articulation of his words. At the end, his eyes became motionless, and his sight failed. The Abbot was summoned to administer the extreme unction, and the yeomen of the guard were called to see him die. As the clock struck eight he expired.