The Works of Shakespeare: in Eight Volumes

Deliver them, and your appeal to us

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

None better in my kingdom.

And do as I have bid you.

Get you gone,

[Exit Cranmer.

H'as ftrangled all his language in his tears.
Enter an old Lady.

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

King. Now, by thy looks

guefs 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,
Promifes boys hereafter. Sir, your Queen
Defires your visitation; and to be

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

King. Lovel,

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 fuch payment.

1 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 iffae.

Cran.

[Exit Lady.

SCENE, before the Council-chamber.

Enter Cranmer.

Hope, I'm not too late; and yet the gentleman, "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

Enter Door- Keeper.

D. Keep. Yes, my Lord;

But yet I cannot help you.
Cran. Why?

43.

D. Keep Your Grace must 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 phyfician; as he paft along,
How earnestly he caft his eyes upon me!

[Exit Batts.

Pray heav'n, he found not my disgrace! for certain, This is of purpofe 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 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 Highnefs 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.

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 pleafures;
And at the door too, like a poft with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery;

Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close.
We shall hear more anon, ----
R 2

SCENE,

SCENE, the Council.

A council-table brought in with chairs and fools, 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 Archbishop 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.

Peak to the bufinefs, Mr. Secretary; (30)
Why are we met in council ?

Crom. Please your Honours,

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. Chan. My good Lord Arch-bifhop, I'm very forry To fit here at this prefent, 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 beft fhould teach us,
Have mifdemean'd yourfelf, and not a little:

(30) Chan. Speak to the bufinefs,] This Lord Chancellor, tho' a character, has hitherto had no place in the Dramatis Perfonæ. In the aft fcene of the fourth act, we heard, that Sir Thomas Moor was appointed Lord Chancellor; but it is not he, whom the poet here introduces. Welfey, by command, deliver'd up the feals on the 18th of November 1529; on the 25th of the fame month, they were deliver'd to Sir Thomas Moor, who furrender'd them on the 16th of May, 1532 Now the conclufion of this fcene 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 Moor, and held the feals many years.

Toward

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 sudden too,
My noble Lords; for thofe, that tame wild horfes,
Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle;
But ftop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 'em,
Till they obey the manage. If we fuffer

(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
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 strong courfe of my authority,
Might go one way, and fafely; 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 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 befeech-your Lordships,
That, in this cafe of juftice, my accufers,

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 virtue no man dare accufe 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,

Where, being but a private man again,

You fhall know, many dare accufe you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for sro, 911
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 Lordship judge and juror,
You are fo merciful. I fee your end, bouf
'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, Lord,
Become a church-man better than ambition:
Win fraying 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 conscience
In doing daily wrongs. I could fay more,
But rev'rence to your calling makes me modeft.
Gerd. 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 Winchefter, you are a little,
By your good favour, too fharp; men fo noble,
However faulty, yet fhould find refpect
For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty
To load a falling man.,