To one man's honour) this contagious fickness,
Farewell all phyfic: 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 witnefs,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.

Cran. My good Lords, hitherto, in all the progrefs
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 safely; 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 public 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 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.

Suff. Nay, my Lord,

That cannot be; you are a counsellor,

And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.

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

ment,

We will be fhort wi' you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure,, And our confent, for better trial 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 pafs,
I fhall both find your Lordfhip judge and juror,
I fee your end,

You are fo merciful.
'Tis my undoing. Love and meeknefs, Lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition:
Win ftraying fouls with modefty again,
Caft none away. That I fhall clear myself,

(Lay

(Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,)
I make as little doubt, as you do confcience
In doing daily wrongs.
Í could fay more,

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 gloss discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My Lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp; men fo noble,
However faulty, yet fhould find respect

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

I

Gard. Good Mr. Secretary,

cry your Honour 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 fect? ye are not found.

Crom. Not found?

Gard. Not found, I fay.

Crom. Would you were half fo honest!

Mens' prayers then would feck you, not their fears.
Gard. I fhall remember this bold language.

Crom. Do.

Remember your bold life too.

Cham. This is too much;

For bear 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 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 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

Cran. For me?

Enter 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 most 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-rolling,

'Twould fall upon ourselves.

Nor. D'you think, my Lords,

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

Against this man, whofe honesty the devil

And his difciples only envy at,

Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now have at ye!

SCENE VI.

Enter King, frowning on them; takes his feat.

Gard. Dread Sov'reign, how much are we bound to

In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a prince;
Not only good and wife, but most religious?
One that in all obedience makes the church

The chief aim of his honour; and to ftrengthen
That holy duty, out of dear refpect,

His royal felf in judgment comes to hear
The caufe betwixt her and this great offender.

[Heav'n

1

King. You're ever good at fudden commendations, Bishop of Winchefter. But know, I come not

Το

To hear fuch flatt'ries now; and in my presence
They are too thin and bafe 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 fure

Thou haft a cruel nature, and a bloody.

Good man, fit down. Now let me fee the proudeft

[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 it difcretion, Lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deferve that title,)
This honeft man, wait like a lowfy 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 moft dread Sovereign, may it like your

Grace

To let my tongue excufe 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 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 service, 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:
VOL. V.

Gg

You

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 subject to you?

King. Come, come, my Lord, you'd fpare your fpoons: you fhall have

Two noble partners with you; the old Dutchess
Of Norfolk, and the Lady Marquis 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. And let Heaven

Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.

King. Good man, those joyful tears fhew thy true heart: The common voice, I fee, is verify'd

Of thee, which fays 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 VII. The palace-yard.

[Exeunt.

Noife and tumult. Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You'll leave rafcals; do you noise anon, ye your 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 seeing chriftenings? 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 scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em fleep

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

Man