Lady, An hundred Markes? By this light, Ile ha more. An ordinary Groome is for such payment.

I will have more, or scold it out of him.

Said I for this, the Gyrle was like to him? Ile
Have more, or else unsay't: and now, while 'tis hot,
Ile put it to the issue.

Scena Secunda.

Exit Ladie.

[Before the council-chamber. Pursuivants, Pages, Sc., attending.]

Enter Cranmer, Archbyshop of Canterbury.

Cran. I hope I am not too late, and yet the Gentleman That was sent to me from the Councell, pray'd me To make great hast. All fast? What meanes this? Hoa? Who waites there? Sure you know me?

Keep. Your Grace must waight till you be call'd for.

Cran. So.

Enter Doctor Buts.

Buts. [Aside] This is a Peere of Malice: I am glad

I came this way so happily. The King

Shall understand it presently.

Cran. [Aside] 'Tis Buts.

The Kings Physitian, as he past along
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me:

217-19. 3 ll. ending him, now, issue-STEEVENS.
16. Exit: misprint IF.

Exit Buts

Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace: for certaine 20 This is of purpose laid by some that hate me,

(God turne their hearts, I never sought their malice) To quench mine Honor; they would shame to make me Wait else at doore: a fellow Councellor

'Mong Boyes, Groomes, and Lackeyes. But their pleasures

Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.

Enter the King, and Buts, at a Windowe

above.

Buts. Ile shew your Grace the strangest sight. 30 King. What's that Buts?

Butts. I thinke your Highnesse saw this many a day. Kin. Body a me: where is it?

Butts. There my Lord:

The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,
Who holds his State at dore 'mongst Pursevants,
Pages, and Foot-boyes.

Kin. Ha? 'Tis he indeed.

Is this the Honour they doe one another?

'Tis well there's one above 'em yet; I had thought 40
They had parted so much honesty among 'em,
At least good manners; as not thus to suffer
A man of his Place, and so neere our favour
To dance attendance on their Lordships pleasures,
And at the dore too, like a Post with Packets:
By holy Mary (Butts) there's knavery;
Let 'em alone, and draw the Curtaine close:
We shall heare more anon.

25-6. 1 1.-RowE.

[Exeunt.]

33. a: o'-POPE.

[Scene iii. The council-chamber.]

A Councell Table brought in with Chayres and Stooles,and placed under the State. Enter Lord Chancellour, places himselfe at the upper end of the Table, on the left hand: A Seate being left void above him, as for Canterburies Seate. Duke of Suffolke, Duke of Norfolke, Surrey, Lord Chamberlaine, Gardiner, seat themselves in Order on each side. | Cromwell at lower end, as Secretary. [Keeper at the door.] |

Chan. Speake to the businesse, M. Secretary; Why are we met in Councell?

Crom. Please your Honours,

The chiefe cause concernes his Grace of Canterbury.

Gard. Ha's he had knowledge of it?

Crom. Yes.

Norf. Who waits there?

Keep. Without my Noble Lords?

Gard. Yes.

Keep. My Lord Archbishop:

IO

And ha's done halfe an houre to know your pleasures.

Chan. Let him come in.

Keep. Your Grace may enter now.

Cranmer approches the Councell Table.

20

Chan. My good Lord Archbishop, I'm very sorry

To sit heere at this present, and behold

That Chayre stand empty: But we all are men

In our owne natures fraile, and capable

Of our flesh, few are Angels; out of which frailty

And want of wisedome, you that best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd your selfe, and not a little:
Toward the King first, then his Lawes, in filling
The whole Realme, by your teaching & your Chaplaines

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

31

Gard. Which Reformation must be sodaine too My Noble Lords; for those that tame wild Horses, Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle; But stop their mouthes with stubborn Bits & spurre'em, Till they obey the mannage. If we suffer

Out of our easinesse and childish pitty

To one mans Honour, this contagious sicknesse;
Farewell all Physicke: and what followes then?
Commotions, uprores, with a generall Taint

Of the whole State; as of late dayes our neighbours, upper Germany can deerely witnesse:

The

Yet freshly pittied in our memories.

40

50

Cran. My good Lords; Hitherto, in all the Progresse
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 goe one way, and safely; and the end
Was ever to doe well: nor is there living,
(I speake it with a single heart, my Lords)
A man that more detests, more stirres against,
Both in his private Conscience, and his place,
Defacers of a publique peace then I doe:
Pray Heaven the King may never find a heart
With lesse Allegeance in it. Men that make
Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment;
Dare bite the best. I doe 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.

Suff. Nay, my Lord,

That cannot be; you are a Counsellor,

60

And by that vertue no man dare accuse you.

Gard. My Lord, because we have busines of more moment,

We will be short with you. 'Tis his Hignesse pleasure
And our consent, for better tryall of you,
From hence you be committed to the Tower,
Where being but a private man againe,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More then (I feare) you are provided for.

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80

Cran. Ah my good Lord of Winchester: I thanke you, You are alwayes my good Friend, if your will passe, I shall both finde your Lordship, Judge and Juror, You are so mercifull. I see your end, 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekenesse, Lord Become a Churchman, better then Ambition: Win straying Soules with modesty againe, Cast none away: That I shall cleere my selfe, Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, I make as little doubt as you doe conscience, In doing dayly 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 plaine truth; your painted glosse discovers To men that understand you, words and weaknesse. Crom. My Lord of Winchester, y'are a little, By your good favour, too sharpe; Men so Noble, How ever faultly, yet should finde respect For what they have beene: 'tis a cruelty, To load a falling man.

Gard. Good M. Secretary,

I cry your Honour mercie; you may worst
Of all this Table say so.

90. faultly: faulty-2-4F.

90