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Wait elfe at door: a fellow-counsellor

Mong boys and grooms and lackeys! but their pleasures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.

Enter the King and Butts at a window above.

Butts. I'll fhew your Grace the ftrangeft fight-
King. What's that, Butts?

Butts. I think your Highnefs faw this many a day.
King. Body o'me: where is it?

Butts. There, my lord:

The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,
Who holds his state at door 'mongst purfevants,
Pages and foot-boys.

King. Ha! 'tis he indeed.

Is this the honour they do one another?
'Tis well there's one above 'em yet. I thought
They'd parted fo much honefly among 'em,
At least good manners, as not thus to fuffer
A man of his place and fo near our favour
To dance attendance on their lordfhips pleafures,
And at the door too, like a poft with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery;

Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close.
We fhall here more anon.

SCENE V.

A council table brought in with chairs and stools, 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 Archbishop of Canterbury. Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord-chamberlain, and Gardiner, feat themselves in order on each fide. Cromwell at the lower end, as Secretary.

Chan. Speak to the business, Mr Secretary: Why are we met in council?

Crom. Please your Honours,

The caufe concerns his Grace of Canterbury.

Gard. Has he knowledge of it

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Keep. My lord Arch-bishop;

And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures,

Chan. Let him come in.

Keep. Your Grace may enter now.

[Cranmer approaches the council table. Chan. My good lord Arch-bifhop, I'm very forry To fit here at this prefent, and behold

That chair ftand empty but we all are men

In our own natures frail, and capable

Of frailty, few are angels; from which frailty
And want of wisdom, you that best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd your felf, and not a little :
Tow'rd the King firft, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains,
(For fo we are inforin'd) with new opinions
Divers and dang'rous, which are herefies;
And not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gard. Which reformation must be fudden too, My noble lords; for thofe that tame wild horfes Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, But ftop their mouths with stubborn bits, and fpur 'em 'Till they obey the manage. If we fuffer (Out of our eafinefs and childish pity

To one man's honour) this contagious fickness,
Farewel all phyfick: and what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a gen'ral taint
Of the whole ftate: as of late days our neighbours
The upper Germany can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progrefs Both of my life and office, I have labour'd (And with no little ftudy) that my teaching And the strong courfe of my authority, Might go one way, and fafely; and the end Was ever to do well; nor is there living (I fpeak it with a fingle heart, my lords)

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A man that more detefts, more ftirs against
(Both in his private conscience and his place).
Defacers of the publick peace, than I do.
Pray heav'n the King may never find a heart
With less allegiance in it! Men that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment,
Dare bite the best. I do befeech your lordships,
That in this case of justice, my accufers,

Be what they will, may ftand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.

Suf. Nay, my lord,

That cannot be; you are a counsellor,

And by that vertue no man dare accufe you.

Gard. My lord, because we've business of more mo

ment,

We will be fhort wi'you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure,.
And our confent, for better tryal of you,

From hence you be committed to the Tower;
Where being but a private man again,

You fhall know many dare accufe you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.

Cran. Ay, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you,,
You're always my good friend; if your will pafs,
I fhall both find your lordship judge and juror,
You are fo merciful. I fee your end,

'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord,
Become a church-man better than ambition ::
Win ftraying fouls with modefty again,

Caft none away.
That I fhall clear my felf,
(Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience):
I make as little doubt, as you do confcience
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more,
But rev'rence to your calling makes me modeft.
Gard. My lord, my lord, you are a fectary,
That's the plain truth; your painted glofs difcovers,
To men that underftand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too fharp; men fo noble,
However faulty, yet fhould find refpect
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.

Garda

Gard. Good Mr, Secretary

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst
Of all this table, fay fo.

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 honeft!

Mens prayers then would feek you, not their fears.
Gard. Í fhall remember this bold language.
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
Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords ?:
All. We are.

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 strangely troublesome
Let fome o'th' guard be ready there.

Cran. For me?

Enter the Guard.

Muft I go like a traitor then?:
Guard. Receive him,
And fee him fafe i'th' Tower.
Cran. Stay, good my lords,

I have a little yet to fay. Look there, lords;
By vertue of that Ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the King my mafter.

Cham.

Cham. This is the King's ring.

Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf. 'Tis his right ring, by heav'n, I told ye all, When we first put this dang'rous ftone a rowling, 'Twould fall upon our felves.

Nor. D'you think, my lords,

The King will fuffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham. 'Tis now too certain.

How much more is his life in value with him!
Would I were fairly out on't.

Crom. My mind gave me,
In feeking tales and informations
Against this man, whose honefty the devil
And his difciples only envy at,

Ye blew the fire that burns ye; now have at ye.

SCENE VI.

Enter King frowning on them, takes his feat.

Gard. Dread Sov'reign, how much are we bound to heav'n

In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a Prince;
Not only good and wife, but moft religious:
One that in all obedience makes the church
The chief aim of his honour, and to ftrengthen
That holy duty of our dear respect,

His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
The caufe betwixt her and this great offender.

King. You're ever good at fudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchefter. But know, I come not
To hear fuch flatt'ries now; and in my prefence
They are too thin and bafe to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach; you play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me.
But whatfoe'er thou tak'ft me for, I'm fure
Thou haft a cruel nature, and a bloody.

Good man, fit down now let me fee the proudeft.

[To Cran.

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