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 ftate at door, 'mong't purfuivants, Pages, and foot-boys...

King. Ha! 'Tis he indeed;

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

Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain clofe;
We fhall hear more anon.

Enter the Lord Chancellor, places himself at the upper End of the Table on the Left-hand; a Seat 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 Side. CROMWELL at the lower End, as Secretary.

Cham. Speak to the bufinefs mafter fecretary: Why are we met in council?

Crom. Please your honours,

The chief caufe concerns his grace of Canterbury. Gard. Has he had knowledge of it?

Crom. Yes.

Nor. Who waits there?

D. Keep. Without, my noble lords?

Gard. Yes.

D. Keep: My lord archbishop;

And has done half an hour, to know your pleafures.

Chan. Let him come in..

D. Keep. Your grace may enter now.

[CRANMER approaches the Council Table.

Chan. My good lord archbishop; I am 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 our flesh, few are angels; out of which frailty, And want of wifdem, you, that best should teach us, Have mifdemean'd yourself, and not a little, Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains'

(For fo we are inform'd), which new opinions, Divers and dangerous; which are herefies, And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

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

To one man's honour) this contagious sickness,
Farewell all phyfick: And what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours,
The upper Germany, can dearly witnefs,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd,
And with no little ftudy, that my teaching,

And the ftrong courfe of my authority,
Might go one way, and fafely; and the end
Was ever to do well: nor is there living
(Ifpeak it with a fingle heart, my lords)
A man, that more deteits, more firs againft,
Both in his private confcience, and his place,
Defacers of a publick peace, than I do.
Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
With lefs allegiance in it! Men, that make
Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment,
Dare bite the best. I do befeech your lordships,
That, in this cafe of juftice, 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 virtue, no man dare accuse you. Gard. My lord, because we have bufinefs of more

moment,

We will be fhort with you. 'Tis his highnefs' plea-
And our confent, for better trial of you, [fure,
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. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank

you,

You are always my good friend; if your will pafs,
I fhall both find your lordfhip judge and juror,
You are fo merciful: I fee your end,

'Tis my undoing: Love and meeknefs, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition;
Win ftraying fouls with modefty again,
Caft none away. That I fhall clear myfelf,
I 2

Lay

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 reverence 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 understand 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 respect

For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.

Gard. Good master fecretary,

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 fay.

Crom. 'Would you were half fo honeft!
Men's prayers then would feek you, not their fears.
Gard. I fhall remember this hold language.
Crom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Cham. This is too much;

Forbear, for fhame, my lords.

Gard. I have done.

Crom. And I.

Cham. Then thus for you, my lord-It ftands aI take it, by all voices, that forthwith

[greed,

You be convey'd to the Tower a prifoner;
There to remain, 'till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us: Are you all agreed, lords?

All

All. We are.

Cran. Is there

no other way of mercy,

But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
Gard. What other

Would you expe&t? You are ftrangely troublefome. Let fome o' the guard be ready there.

Cran. For me?

Enter Guard.

Muft I go like a traitor thither?
Guard. Receive him,

And fee him fafe i' the Tower.
Cran. Stay, good my lords,

I have a little yet to fay. Look there, my lords;
By virtue 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 master.
Cham. This is the king's ring.

Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we firft put this dangerous ftone a rolling, Twould fall upon ourfelves.

Nor. Do think, my

you

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 (whofe honefty the devil

And his difciples only envy at),

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.