King. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the Queen.

[Exit King. Lady. An hundred marks! by this light, I'll ha' more. An ordinary groom is for fuch payment.

I will have more, or fcold it out of him.
Said I for this, the girl was like him? I'll
Have more, or elfe unfay't: now, while 'tis hot,
I'll put it to the iffue.

Cran.

[Exit Lady.

SCENE, before the Council-chamber.

Enter Cranmer.

me

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

To make great hafte.

Enter Door-Keeper.

• D. Keep. Yes, my lord;

But yet I cannot help you.
Cran. Why?

D. 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 prefently.

Cran. 'Tis Butts,

The King's physician; as he paft along,

How earnestly he caft his eyes upon me!

[Exit Butts.

Pray heav'n, he found not my disgrace! 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 Must 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 ftrangeft fight
King. 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 purfevants,
Pages, and foot-boys.

i

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,-

SCENE, the Council.

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

Chan.

S

PEAK to the business, Mr. Secretary; (30)
Why are we met in Council?

Crom. Please your Honours,

The

(30) Chan. Speak to the Bufinefs,] This Lord Chancellor, tho a Character, has hitherto had no place in the Dramatis Perfona. In the laft Scene of the fourth Act, we heard, that Sir Thomas Moore was appointed Lord Chancellor: but it is not He, whom the Post here introduces. Wol

fey,

The 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 Arch-bishop;

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

Chan. Let him come in.

D. Keep. Your Grace may enter now.

[Cranmer approaches the council table.
I'm very forry

Chan. My good lord Arch-bishop,
To fit here at this present, 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 best should teach us,
Have misdemean'd your felf, 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) 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 stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur '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 state: as of late days our neighbours

fey, by Command, deliver'd up the Seals on the 18th of November 1529 ; on the 25th of the fame Month, they were deliver'd to Sir Thomas Moore, who furrender'd them on the 16th of May, 1532. Now the Conclufion of this Scene taking Notice of Queen Elizabeth's Birth, (which brings it down to the Year 1534) Sir Thomas Audlie muft neceffarily be our Poet's Chancellor; who fucceeded Sir Thomas Moore, and held the Seals many Years.

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 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 speak it with a fingle heart, my lords)
A man that more detefts, more ftirs 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 lefs allegiance in it! Men, that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment,
Dare bite the beft. I do beseech 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.

[ment,

Gard. My lord, because we've bufinefs of more mo

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.

your

Cran. Ay, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, You're always my good friend; if will pafs, I shall 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,

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 discovers,
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 Mr. Secretary,

I cry your honour mercy; you may, worit
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 muft needs to th' Tower, my lords?

Gard. What other

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

Enter