And freely urge against me.

Suf. Nay, my lord,

That cannot be; you are a counfellor,

And by that virtue no man dare accufe you.

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

We will be short 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 accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.

Cran. Ay, my good lord of Winchefter, 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 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,
Rut 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 respect

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.

Gard. Not found, I fay.

Crom. Would you were half fo honeft!

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 ftrangely troublesome:
Let fome o'th' Guard be ready there.

Cran. For me?

Enter the Guard.

Muft I go like a traitor then?

Gard. 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 virtue of that Ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a moft noble judge, the King my mafter.
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

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
Againft this man, whofe honefty the devil
And his difciples only envy at,

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

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 strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,
His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
King. You're ever good at fudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear fuch flatt'ries now; and in my prefence
They are too thin and base 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 fare,
Thou haft a cruel nature, and a bloody.

Good man, fit down: now let me fee the proudest
[To Cran.
He, that dares moft, but wag his finger at thee.
By all that's holy, he had better starve,
Than but once think, this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May't please your Grace-

King. No, Sir, it does not please me.

I thought, I had had men of fome understanding
And wisdom, of my Council; but I find none.

Was

Was it difcretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deserve that title)
This honeft man, wait like a lowfie foot-boy
At chamber-door, and one as great as you are?`
Why, what a fhame was this? did my commiffion
Bid ye fo far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Pow'r, as he was a counsellor to try him;

Not as a groom.

There's fome of ye, I fee,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmoft, had ye means;
Which ye
fhall never have, while I do live.

Cham. My most dread Sovereign, may it like your
Grace

To let my tongue excufe all. What was purpos'd
Concerning his imprifonment, was rather,
If there be faith in men, meant for his tryal,
And fair purgation to the world, than malice;
I'm fure, in me.

King Well, well, my lords, refpect him:
Take him, and ufe him well; he's worthy of it...
I will fay thus much for him, if a Prince

May be beholden to a subject, I

Am, for his love and fervice, fo to him.

Make me no more ado, but all embrace him :

Be friends for fhame, my lords. My lord of Canterbury,

I have a fuit which you must not deny me,

There is a fair young maid, that yet wants baptism;
You must be godfather, and answer for her.

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In fuch an honour; how may I deferve it,
That am a poor and humble fubject to you?

King. Come, come, my lord, you'd fpare your spoons: you fhall have

Two noble partners with you: the old Dutchefs
Of Norfolk, and the lady Marquefs Dorset—
Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you
Embrace and love this man.

Gard. With a true heart
And brother's love I do it.

Cran.

Cran. And let heaven

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

King. Good man, thofe joyful tears fhew thy true

heart:

The common voice, I fee, is verify'd

Of thee, which says thus: do my lord of Canterbury
But one fhrewd turn, and he's your friend for ever.
Come, lords, we trifle time away: I long
To have this young one made a christian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain:
So I grow ftronger, you more honour gain.

SCENE, the Palace-yard.

[Exeunt.

Noife and tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

leave

noife

anon, ye

rafcals; do you

Port. Y take the Court for Paris Garden? ye rude

flaves, leave your gaping.

Within. Good Mr. Porter, I belong to th' larder.

Port. Belong to the gallows and be hang'd, ye rogue: is this a place to roar in? fetch me a dozen crab-tree ftaves, and strong ones; these are but fwitches to 'em : I'll fcratch your heads; you must be feeing chriftnings? do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rafcals ?

Man. Pray, Sir, be patient; tis as much impoffible (Unless we swept them from the door with cannons) To fcatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em fleep

On May-day morning; which will never be :
We may as well pufh againt Paul's, as ftir 'em.
Port. How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
As much as one found cudgel of four foot
(You fee the poor remainder) could diftribute,
I made no fpare, Sir.

Port. You did nothing, Sir.

Man, I am not Sampjon, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand, to mow 'em down before me; but if I fpar'd any that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or fhe, cuckold

or