Wait elfe at door: a fellow-counsellor Mong boys and grooms and lackeys! but their pleasures 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- Butts. I think your Highnefs faw this many a day. Butts. There, my lord: The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury, King. Ha! 'tis he indeed. Is this the honour they do one another? Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close. SCENE V. A council table brought in with chairs and stools, 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. Cromwell at the lower end, as Secretary. Chan. Speak to the business, Mr Secretary: Why are we met in council? Crom. Please your Honours, The caufe concerns his Grace of Canterbury. Gard. Has he knowledge of it Cro m Keep. My lord Arch-bishop; And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures, Chan. Let him come in. 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 Gard. Which reformation must be fudden 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 fpur 'em 'Till they obey the manage. If we fuffer (Out of our eafinefs and childish pity To one man's honour) this contagious fickness, 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 A man that more detefts, more ftirs against Be what they will, may ftand forth face to face, Suf. Nay, my lord, That cannot be; you are a counsellor, And by that vertue no man dare accufe you. Gard. My lord, because we've business of more mo ment, We will be fhort wi'you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure,. From hence you be committed to the Tower; You fhall know many dare accufe you boldly, Cran. Ay, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you,, 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord, Caft none away. Garda Gard. Good Mr, Secretary I cry your honour mercy; you may, worst 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 honeft! Mens prayers then would feek you, not their fears. Remember your bold life too. Cham. This is too much; 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 Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, But I muft needs to th' Tower, my lords? Would you expect? you're strangely troublesome Cran. For me? Enter the Guard. Muft I go like a traitor then?: I have a little yet to fay. Look there, lords; Cham. 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 rowling, 'Twould fall upon our felves. Nor. D'you think, my lords, The King will fuffer but the little finger Cham. 'Tis now too certain. How much more is his life in value with him! Crom. My mind gave me, 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 heav'n In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a Prince; His royal felf in judgment comes to hear King. You're ever good at fudden commendations, Good man, fit down now let me fee the proudeft. [To Cran. He |