Have more, or else unfay't: now, while 'tis hot,

I'll put it to the issue.

SCENE

[Exit Lady.

IV.

Before the Council-Chamber..

Enter Cranmer.

Cran. Hope I'm not too late, and yet the gentleman That was fent to me from the council, pray'd me To make great hafte. All faft? what means this? hoa? Who waits there; fure you know me?

Enter Keeper.

Keep. Yes, my Lord;

But yet I cannot help you.

Cran. Why?

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 I came this way fo happily. The King

Shall understand it presently.

Cran. 'Tis Butts:

[Exit Butts.

The King's phyfician; as he paft along,
How earneftly he caft his eyes upon me!.
Pray heav'n he found not my difgrace: for certain
This is of purpose laid by fome that hate me,

(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 Muft be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.

Enter

Enter the King and Butts at a window above. Butts. I'll fhew your Grace the strangest fightKing. What's that, Butts?

Butts. I think your Highness 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 'mongst pursevants,
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 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 on their Lordships pleasures,
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,

A council table brought in with chairs and stools, and placed under the ftate. Enter Lord-Chancellor, places himfelf 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. Cromwell at the lower end, as Secretary.

Chan.PEAK to the business, Mr. Secretary:
are the

Why are we met in council?
Crom. Please your Honours,

The

The caufe concerns his Grace of Canterbury.

Gard. Has he had knowledge of it?
Crom. Yes.

Nor. Who waits there?

Keep. Without, my noble Lords?

Gard. Yes.

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.
I'm very forry

Chan. My good Lord Arch-bifhop,
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 beft fhould teach us,
Have mifdemean'd your felf, and not a little:

'Tow'rd the King firft, and then his laws, in filling The whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains, (For fo we are inform'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 those that tame wild horses Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,

But ftop their mouths with ftubborn bits, and fpur 'em 'Till they obey the manage. If we suffer

(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

9 Toward the King firft, then

Both

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
(I fpeak it with a fingle heart, my Lords)
A man that more detefts, more ftirs against
(Both in his private confcience and his place)
Defacers of the publick peace, than I do.
Pray heav'n 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 councellor,

And by that virtue no man dare accufe you.

Gard. My Lord, because we've bufinefs of more moment, We will be short wi'you. 'Tis his Highnefs' 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 país,
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 church-man better than ambition:
Win ftraying fouls with modefty again,
Caft none away. That I fhall clear my felf,
(Lay all the weight you 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.

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 refpect

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

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 honest!

Mens prayers then would feek you, not their fears.
Gard. I 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 must needs to th' Tower, my Lords?

Gard. What other

Would you expect? you're strangely troublesome :
Let fome o' th' guard be ready there.

Enter