Cran.
I hope I am not too late, and yet the Gentleman
That was sent to me from the Council, pray'd me
To make great haste. All fast? What means this? Hoa?
Who waits there? Sure you know me? Enter Keeper.

Keep.
Yes, my Lord;
But yet I cannot help you.

Cran.
Why?

Keep.
Your Grace must wait 'till you be call'd for. Enter Doctor Butts.

Cran.
So.

Butts.
This is a piece of Malice: I am glad
I came this way so haply. The King
Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts.

Cran.
'Tis Butts,
The King's Physician, as he past along,
How earnestly he cast his Eyes upon me;
Pray Heav'n he found not my Disgrace: for certain
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me,
(God turn their Hearts, I never sought their Malice)
To quench mine Honour; they would shame to make me
Wait else at Door: A Fellow-Councellor
'Mong Boys, Grooms, and Lackeys!
But their Pleasures
Must be fulfilled, and I attend with Patience. Enter the King and Butts at a Window above.

Butts.
I'll shew your Grace the strangest sight—

King.
What's that, Butts?

Butts.
I think your Highness saw this many a Day.

King.
Body a me: where is it?

Butts.
There, my Lord:
The high Promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,
Who holds his State 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 had thought
They had parted so much Honesty among 'em,
At least good Manners, as not thus to suffer
A Man of his Place, and so near our Favour,
To dance Attendance on their Lordships Pleasures,
And at the Door too, like a Post with Packets:
By holy Mary, Butts, there's Knavery;
Let 'em alone, and draw the Curtain close,
We shall hear more anon. A Council Table brought in with Chairs and Stools, and placed under the State. Enter 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's Seat. Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord-Chamberlain, and Gardiner, seat themselves in Order on each side. Cromwel at the lower end, as Secretary.

Chan.
Speak to the Business, Mr. Secretary:
Why are we met in Council?

Crom.
Please your Honours,
The chief Cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.

Gard.
Has he knowledge of it?

Crom.
Yes.

Nor.
Who waits there?

Keep.
Without, my Noble Lords?

Gard.
Yes.

Keep.
My Lord Archbishop;
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 Archbishop, I'm very sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That Chair stand 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 Wisdom, you that best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd your self, and not a little:
Toward the King first, then his Laws, in filling
The whole Realm, by your teaching and your Chaplains,
(For so we are inform'd) with new Opinions
Divers and dangerous, which are Heresies;
And not reform'd, may prove pernicious.

Gard.
Which Reformation must be sudden too,
My noble Lords; for those that tame wild Horses,
Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle,
But stop their Mouths with stubborn Bits, and spur 'em
'Till they obey the manage. If we suffer,
Out of our Easiness and childish Pity
To one Man's Honour, this contagious Sickness,
Farewel all Physick: 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 witness,
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 Study, that my Teaching,
And the strong Course of my Authority,
Might go one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever to do well: Nor is there living,
(I speak it with a single Heart, my Lords)
A Man that more detests, more stirs 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 beseech your Lordships,
That in this case of Justice, my Accusers,
Be what they will, may stand 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 accuse you.

Gard.
My Lord, because we have Business of more moment,
We will be short with you. 'Tis his Highness pleasure,
And our consent, for better Tryal of you,
From hence you be committed to the Tower,
Where being but a private Man again,
You shall know many dare accuse 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 pass,
I shall both find your Lordship Judge and Juror,
You are so merciful. I see your end,
'Tis my undoing. Love and Meekness, Lord,
Become a Church-man better than Ambition:
Win straying Souls with Modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear my self,
Lay all the weight ye can upon my Patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do Conscience
In doing daily Wrongs. I could say more,
But Reverence to your Calling makes me modest.

Gard.
My Lord, my Lord, you are a Sectary,
That's the plain truth; your painted Gloss discovers,
To Men that understand you, words and weakness.

Crom.
My Lord of Winchester, you're a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; Men so Noble,
How ever faulty, yet should find Respect
For what they have been: 'Tis a Cruelty
To load a falling Man.

Gard.
Good Mr. Secretary,
I cry your Honour's Mercy; you may, worst
Of all this Table, say so.

Crom.
Why, my Lord?

Gard.
Do not I know you for a Favourer
Of this new Sect? ye are not sound.

Crom.
Not sound?

Gard.
Not sound, I say.

Crom.
Would you were half so honest:
Mens Prayers then would seek you, not then Fears.

Gard.
I shall remember this bold Language.

Crom.
Do.
Remember your bold Life too.

Cham.
This is too much;
Forbear for shame, my Lords.

Gard.
I have done.

Crom.
And I.

Cham.
Then thus for you, my Lord, it stands agreed,
I take it, by all Voices; that forthwith
You be convey'd to th' Tower a Prisoner;
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 are strangely troublesome:
Let some o'th' Guard be ready there. Enter the Guard.

Cran.
For me?
Must I go like a Traitor thither?

Gard.
Receive him.
And see him safe i'th' Tower.

Cran.
Stay, good my Lords,
I have a little yet to say. Look there, my 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 Master.

Cham.
This is the King's Ring.

Gard.
'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf.
'Tis his right Ring, by Heav'n. I told ye all,
When we first put this dang'rous Stone a rowling,
'Twould fall upon our selves.

Nor.
Do you think, my Lords,
The King will suffer 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 seeking Tales and Informations
Against this Man, whose Honesty the Devil
And his Disciples only envy at,
Ye blew the Fire that burns ye; now have at ye. Enter King frowning on them, takes his Seat.

Gard.
Dread Sovereign,
How much are we bound to Heaven,
In daily Thanks, that gave us such a Prince;
Not only Good and Wise, but most Religious:
One that in all Obedience, makes the Church
The chief aim of his Honour, and to strengthen
That holy Duty of our dear Respect,
His Royal Self in Judgment comes to hear
The Cause betwixt her and this great Offender.

King.
You were ever good at sudden Commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such Flattery now, and in my presence,
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 whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure
Thou hast a cruel Nature, and a bloody.
Good Man, sit down; now let me see the proudest [To Cran.
He that dares most, but wag his Finger at thee.
By all that's Holy, he had better starve,
Then but once think, this place becomes thee not.

Sur.
May it please your Grace,—

King.
No, Sir, it does not please me,
I had had thought I had Men of some Understanding,
And Wisdom, of my Council; but I find none:
Was it discretion, Lords, to let this Man,
This good Men, (few of you deserve the Title,)
This honest Man, wait like a lowsie Foot-boy
At Chamber Door, and one, as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this? Did my Commission
Bid ye so far forget your selves? I gave ye
Power, as he was a Counsellor, to try him,
Not as a Groom; there's some of ye, I see,
More out of Malice than Integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have, while I do live.

Cham.
Thus far,
My most dread Sovereign, may it like your Grace,
To let my Tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
Concerning his Imprisonment, was rather,
If there be faith in Men, meant for his Trial,
And fair Purgation to the World, than Malice;
I'm sure in me.

King.
Well, well, my Lords, respect him;
Take him, and use him well; he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him, if a Prince
May be beholding to a Subject, I
Am, for his Love and Service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him;
Be Friends for shame, my Lords. My Lord of Canterbury,
I have a Suit, 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 such an Honour; how may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble Subject to you?

King.
Come, come, my Lord, you'd spare your Spoons:

You shall have two noble Partners with you; the old Dutchess of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquess of Dorset?

Gard.
With a true Heart,
And Brother's love I do it.

Cran.
And let Heaven
Witness, how dear I hold this Confirmation.

King.
Good Man, those joyful Tears shew thy true Heart;
The common Voice I see is verified
Of thee, which says thus: Do my Lord of Canterbury
A shrewd 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 stronger, you more Honour gain. [Exeunt.

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