SCENE II. LOBBY BEFORE THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER. Enter Cranmer; Servants, Door-Keeper, &c. Cran. I hope, I am not too late; and yet the gentleman, That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me To make great haste. All fast? what means this?— Hoa! Who waits there?-Sure, you know me? Butts. This is a piece of malice. I am glad, I came this way so happily: The king Shall understand it presently. Cran. [Aside.] [Exit Butts. 'Tis Butts, The king's physician; As he past along, How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me! Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For cer tain, This is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate me, (God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,) To quench mine honour: they would shame to make me Wait else at door; a fellow counsellor, Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their plea sures Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter, at a window above, the King and Butts. Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight,— K. Hen. What's that, Butts? Butts. I think, your highness saw this many a day. K. Hen. Body o'me, where is it? There, my lord: Butts. The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury; Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, Pages, and footboys. K. Hen. Ha! 'Tis he, indeed: Is this the honour they do one another? 'Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought, They had parted so much honesty among them, Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suffolk, Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardiner, and Cromwell. The Chancellor places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand; a seat being left void above him, as for the Archbishop of Canterbury. The rest seat themselves in order on each side. Cromwell at the lower end, as secretary. Chan. Speak to the business, master Secretary: Why are we met in council? Crom. Please your honours, The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury. Gar. Has he had knowledge of it? 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 am very sorry To sit here at this present, and behold That chair stand empty: But we all are men, In our own natures frail; and capable Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty, (For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions, Divers, and dangerous; which are heresies, And, not reform'd, may prove pernicious. Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, My noble lords: for those, that tame wild horses, Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them, Till they obey the manage. If we suffer To one man's honour) this contagious sickness, Yet freshly pitied in our memories. Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the pro gress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, 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 accuse you. moment, We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure, And our consent, for better trial of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower; Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, You are always my good friend; if your will pass, 'Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord, 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, |