King. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen. [Exit King. Lady. An hundred marks! by this light, I'll ha' more. An ordinary groom is for fuch payment. I will have more, or fcold it out of him. Cran. [Exit Lady. SCENE, before the Council-chamber. Enter Cranmer. me Hope, I'm not too late; and yet the gentleman, That was fent to me from the Council, pray'd me All faft? what means this? hoa? Who waits there? fure, you know me? To make great hafte. Enter Door-Keeper. • D. Keep. Yes, my lord; But yet I cannot help you. D. Keep. Your Grace muft wait, 'till you be call'd for, Cran. So.. Enter Doctor Butts. Butts. This is a piece of malice: I am glad, Cran. 'Tis Butts, The King's physician; as he paft along, How earnestly he caft his eyes upon me! [Exit Butts. Pray heav'n, he found not my disgrace! for certain, (God turn their hearts, I never fought their malice) To quench mine honour: they would fhame to make me Wait elfe at door: a fellow-counsellor, 'Mong boys and grooms and lackeys! but their pleafures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter Enter the King and Butts, at a window above. Butts. I think, your Highness faw this many a day. Butts. There, my lord: The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury, i King. Ha! 'tis he, indeed. Is this the honour they do one another? 'Tis well, there's one above 'em yet. I thought, SCENE, the Council. A council-table brought in with chairs and ftools, and placed under the ftate. Enter Lord Chancellor, places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand: A feat being left void above him, as for the Arch-bishop of Canterbury. Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, and Gardiner, feat themselves in order on each fide. Cromwel at the lower end, as Secretary. Chan. S PEAK to the business, Mr. Secretary; (30) Crom. Please your Honours, The (30) Chan. Speak to the Bufinefs,] This Lord Chancellor, tho a Character, has hitherto had no place in the Dramatis Perfona. In the laft Scene of the fourth Act, we heard, that Sir Thomas Moore was appointed Lord Chancellor: but it is not He, whom the Post here introduces. Wol fey, The caufe concerns his Grace of Canterbury. Gard. Has he had knowledge of it? Nor. Who waits there? D. Keep. Without, my noble lords? D. Keep. My lord Arch-bishop; And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. Chan. Let him come in. D. Keep. Your Grace may enter now. [Cranmer approaches the council table. Chan. My good lord Arch-bishop, Of frailty, few are angels; from which frailty Gard. Which reformation must be fudden too, (Out of our eafinefs and childish pity To one man's honour) this contagious fickness, fey, by Command, deliver'd up the Seals on the 18th of November 1529 ; on the 25th of the fame Month, they were deliver'd to Sir Thomas Moore, who furrender'd them on the 16th of May, 1532. Now the Conclufion of this Scene taking Notice of Queen Elizabeth's Birth, (which brings it down to the Year 1534) Sir Thomas Audlie muft neceffarily be our Poet's Chancellor; who fucceeded Sir Thomas Moore, and held the Seals many Years. The upper Germany can dearly witness, Yet freshly pitied in our memories. Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Be what they will, may ftand forth face to face, Suf. Nay, my lord, That cannot be; you are a counsellor, And by that virtue no man dare accuse you. [ment, Gard. My lord, because we've bufinefs of more mo We will be short wi'you. 'Tis his Highnefs' pleasure, From hence you be committed to the Tower; your Cran. Ay, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, You're always my good friend; if will pafs, I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, You are fo merciful. I fee your end, 'Tis my undoing. Love and meeknefs, lord, Become a church-man better than ambition : Win ftraying fouls with modefty again, Caft none away. That I fhall clear my self, (Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience) I make as little doubt, as you do confcience In doing daily wrongs. I could fay more, But But rev'rence to your Calling makes me modeft. For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty Gard. Good Mr. Secretary, I cry your honour mercy; you may, worit Crom. Why, my lord? Gard. Do not I know you for a favourer Of this new fect? ye are not found. Crom. Not found? Gard. Not found, I say. Crom. Would you were half fo honest! Mens prayers then would feek you, not their fears. Crom. Do. Remember your bold life too. Cham. This is too much; Forbear for fhame, my lords. Gard. I've done. Crom. And I. Cham. Then thus for you, my lord: it ftands agreed, I take it, by all voices, that forthwith You be convey'd to th' Tower a prifoner; There to remain, till the King's further pleasure Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, But I muft needs to th' Tower, my lords? Gard. What other Would you expect? you're ftrangely troublesome: Enter |