Become a churchman better than ambition:
Win straying souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall 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 say more,

But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary;
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 so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect

For what they have been: 't is a cruelty,

To load a falling man.

Gar.

Good master secretary

I cry your honour mercy: you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.

Crom.
Why, my lord?
Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer
Of this new sect? ye are not sound.

Crom.

Not sound?

Would you were half so honest;

Gar. Not sound, I say.
Crom.

Men's prayers, then, would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language.

Chan. Then thus for you, my lord.—It stands agreed,

I take it, by all voices, that forthwith

You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner;

There to remain, till the king's farther pleasure
Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?

All. We are.

Cran.

What other

Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to the Tower, my lords? Gar. Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome. Let some o' the guard be ready there.

Cran.

For me?

Stay, good my lords;

I have a little yet to say.-Look there, my 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 master.
Chan. This is the king's ring.

Sur.

'Tis no counterfeit.

Suf. 'T is the right ring, by heaven! I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling,

'T would fall upon ourselves.

Nor.
The king will suffer but the little finger

Of this man to be vex'd?

Cham.

Do you think, my lords,

'T is 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 seeking tales, and informations,
Against this man, whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,

Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now, have at ye.
Enter the King, frowning on them: he takes his seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to
heaven

In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince;
Not only good and wise, but most religious:
One that in all obedience makes the church
The chief aim of his honour; and, to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgment comes to hear

The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commendations,

Bishop of Winchester; but know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence:
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach. You play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I'm sure,
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody.—

Good man, [To CRANMER.] sit down. Now, let me see

the proudest,

[CRANMER sits.' He that dares most, 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 it please your grace,—

K. Hen.

No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought, I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom of my council; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man, (few of you deserve that title)
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At chamber door? and one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye
Power, as he was a counsellor to try him,
Not as a groom. There's some of ye, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Which ye shall never have the while I live.

Chan.
Thus far,
My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
To let my tongue excuse 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 sure,
in me.

K. Hen.

Well, well, my lords, respect him: Take him, and use him well; he's worthy of it.

I will say thus much for him: if a prince

May be beholding to a subject, I

Am, for his love and service, so to him.

Make me no more ado, but all embrace him:

[They embrace him: GARDINER last.3

Be friends, for shame, my lords !-My lord of Canter

bury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me;

That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism,
You must be godfather, and answer for her.

Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour: how may I deserve it,
That am a poor and humble subject to you?

1 Not in f. e. 2 his in folio. Rowe made the change. direction not in f. e.

3 This

K. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your

spoons1.

You shall have two noble partners with you;

The old duchess of Norfolk, and lady marquess Dorset: Will these please you?

Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you,

Embrace and love this man.

Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.

K. Hen. Good man! those joyful tears show thy The common voice, I see, is verified

[true heart. Of thee, which says thus, "Do my lord of Canterbury A shrewd turn, and he is 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 stronger, you more honour gain.

SCENE III.-The Palace Yard.

[Exeunt.

Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his Man. Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: do you take the court for Paris-garden3? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder. Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you rogue! Is this a place to roar in?-Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones: these are but switches to them.-I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? [Tumult within."]

Man. Pray, sir, be patient: 't is as much impossible, Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons, To scatter 'em, as 't is to make 'em sleep 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. Alas, I know not how gets the tide in? As much as one sound cudgel of four foot

1 A custom is here referred to, of sponsors presenting spoons to a child at baptism. They were called Apostle spoons, from the figures carved at the top of their handles. 2 These words are not in f. e. 3 A bear-garden on the Bank-side; also used for dramatic performances. 4 These words are not in f. e.

(You see the poor remainder) could distribute, I made no spare, sir.

Port.

You did nothing, sir.

Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand, To mow 'em down before me; but if I spared any, That had a head to hit, either young or old,

He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
Let me ne'er hope to see a queen' again;
And that I would not for a crown,2 God save her.
[Within.] Do you hear, master Porter?

Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy. Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man. What would you have me do?

Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? [Noise.3] Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand: here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dogdays now reign in 's nose: all that stand about him are under the line; they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharg'd against me: he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o' the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on I made good my place; at length they came to the broomstaff with me: I defied 'em still; when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let 'em win the work. The devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely. [Shouts.'

1 chine in f. e. 2 cow in f. e. 9 Not in f. e. 4 A serpent; also, a kind of firework. 5 Cap, so shaped. 6 The usual city cry. 7 Not in f. e.