What can be faid against me.

King. Krow you not

How your ftate (tands i' th' world, with the whole world?
Your foes are many, and not in all; heir practices
Mult bear the fame proportion; and not ever

The juftice and the truth o' th' queftion carries.
The ue o' th' verdict with it

At what ease

Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt
To wear against you? Such things have been done.
You're potently oppos'd; and with a malice

Of as great fize.

Ween you of better luck,
I mean, in perjur'd witnels, than your mafter,
Whofe minifter you are, while here he liv'd
Upon this naughty earth? Go to, go to ;
You take a precipice for no leap of danger,
And woo your own deftruction.

Cran. God and your Majelly

Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
The trap is laid for me!

King. Be of good cheer;

They thall no more prevail, than we give way to.
Keep comfort to you, and this morning fee
You do appear before them. If they chance,
In charging you with matters, to commit you;
The belt perfuafions to the contrary

Fail not to use, and with what vehemency

Th' occafion fhall inftruct you. If intreaties

Will render you no remedy, this ring

Deliver them, and your appeal to us

There make before them. Look, the good man weeps!
He's honeft, on mine honour. God's blefs'd mother!
I fwear he is true-hearted; and a foul

None etter in my kingdom. Get you gone,

And do as have bid you.

[Exit Cranmer.

H'astr angled all his language in his tears.

Enter an Old Lady.

Gen. [Within.] Come back; what mean you? Lady. I'll not come back; the tidings that I bring Will make my boldness manners. Now good angels Fly o'er thy royal head, and fhade thy perfon Under their leffed wings!

King. Now by thy looks

I guess thy meffage. Is the Queen deliver'd?"
Say Ay, and of a boy,

Lady Ay, ay, my Liege;

And of a lovely boy; the God of heav'n
Both now and ever blefs her! -'tis a girl,
Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your Queen
Defires your visitation, and to be

Acquainted with this ftranger; 'tis as like you,
As cherry is to cherry.

King Lovell!

Lov. Sir

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 such 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 flue.

[Exit Lady.

SCENE IV. Before the council-chamber.

Enter Cranmer.

Cran. I hope I'm not too late; and yet the Gentle

man

That was fent to me from the council, pray'd me
To make great hafte. All faft? what means this? hoa?
Who waits there? fure you know me?

Enter Door-keeper.

D Keep. Yes, my Lord;

But yet I cannot help you.
Gran. Why?

D. 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 fo happily. The King

Shall understand it prefently.

Cran. 'Tis Butts,

[Exit. Butts.

The King's phyfician. As he pass'd along,

How earnettly he cat his eyes upon me!

Pray heav'n, he found not my digrace! for certain,

This is of purpose laid by some that hate me, (God turn their hearts! I never fought their malice), To quench mine honour: they would fhame to make Wait elfe at door; a fellow-counsellor, [me 'Mong boys, and grooms, and lackeys! but their pleaMuft be fulfill'd, and i attend with patience. [fures

Enter the King and Butts, at a window above.

Butts. I'll fhew your Grace the strangest fight-
King. What's that, Butts?

Butts. I think your Highness saw 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 'mongft purfuivants,
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 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 shall hear more anon.

SCENE V. The council.

A council-table brought in, with chairs and ftools, and placed under the ftate. Enter Lord Chancellor, places_ himfelf at the upper end of the table on the left hand, a feat being left void above him, as for the Archbishop of Canterbury. Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, and Gardiner, feat themfelves in order on each fide. Cromwell at the lower end, as Secretary.

Chan. Speak to the bufinefs, Mr Secretary: Why are we met in council?

Crom. Please your Honours,

The cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.
Gard. Has he had knowledge of it?

Grom. Yes.

Nor Who waits there?

D Keep. Without, my Noble Lords?

Gard. Yes.

D. Keep. My Lord Archbishop;

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.

Chan. My good Lord Archbishop, I'm very forry To fit here at this prelent, and behold

That chair ftand empty. But we all are men

In our own natures frail, and capable

Of trailty, few are angels: from which trailty,
And want of wildom, you that beft should teach us,
Have mifdemean'd your elf, and not a little;
Tow'rd the King fift, and 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 muit be fudden too,
My Noble Lords; for those that tame wild horses,
Pace 'em not in their hands to make en gentle;
But flop their mouths with ftubborn bits, and spur 'em,
Till they obey the manage.
If we fuffer

(Out of our eafinets and childith pity

To one man's honour) this contagious fickness,
Farewel 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 witness,

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 fafely; and the end
Was ever to do well: nor is there living
(1 fpeak it with a fingle heart, my Lords)
A man that more detefts, more ftirs againft
(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 best. I do beseech your Lordships,
That, in this cafe of justice, my accufers,

Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge again't me.

Suf. Nay my Lord.

That cannot be}. you are a counsellor,

And by that virtue no man dare accufe you.

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

moment,

We will be short 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.

Gran. Ay, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you,
You're always my good friend; if your will pass,
I fhall both find your Lordfhip judge and juror,
You are fo merciful. I fee your end,

'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, Lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition:
Win ftraying fouls with modefty again,
Caft none away. That I fhall clear myself,
(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 rev'rence to your calling makes me modest.

Gard. My Lord, my Lord, you are a fectary, That's the plain truth; your painted glofs difcovers, 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 should 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, wort
Of all this table, say so.

Grom. Why, my Lord?

Gard. Do not I know you for a favourer