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The model of our chaste loves, his young
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her!-
And able means, we had not parted thus. [lord,
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
A right good husband, let him be a noble;
The last is, for my men :-they are the poorest,
SCENE 1. A GALLERY IN THE PALACE.
Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page
Gar. These should be hours for necessities,
Lov. Came you from the king, my lord?
Lov. I must to him, too,
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two
The most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for
Beside that of the jewel house, he's made master
Is the king's hand, and tongue; and who dare
There are, that dare; and I myself have ventur'd
That does infect the land: with which they moved,
K. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night;
It seems you are in haste: an if there be
(As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have
Lor. My lord, I love you;
And durst commend a secret to your ear
They say, in great extremity; and fear'd,
I wish it grubb'd up now.
Lov. Methinks, I could
Let me be us'd with honour; strew me over
Gar. The fruit, she goes with,
I pray for heartily; that it may find
Good time, and live: but for the stock, sir
Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says,
Cap. By heaven, I will;
Or let me lose the fashion of a man!
Gar. But, sir, sir,
Hear me, sir Thomas: You are a gentleman
For so I will.-Mine eyes grow dim.-Farewell,
Suft. I wish your highness
A quiet night, and my good mistress will
K. Hen. Charles, good night.-[exit Suffolk.
Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the arch
As you commanded me.
K. Hen. Ha! Canterbury?
Den. Ay, my good lord.
K. Hen. 'Tis true: where is he, Denny
K. Hen. Bring him to us.
Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake: I am happily come hither.
Re-enter Denny with Cranmer. K. Hen. Avoid the gallery.
Ha-I have said. Begone. Blad
'Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.
K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire Wherefore I sent for you? [to know
ll their practices
Are many and not small;
Cran. It is my duty
To attend your highness' pleasure.
K. Hen. 'Pray you, arise,
My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.
I have news to tell you: come, come, give me
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Cran. I humbly thank your highness;
K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury
In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up:
Cran. Most dread liege,
The good I stand on is my truth and honesty;
Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not,
K. Hen. Know you not how
paliwo MA in bed dosras with the whole
K. Hen. Be of good cheer;
They shall no more prevail than we give way to.
There make before them.-Look, the good man
He's honest, on mine honour. God's blest
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, [angels Will make my boldness manners.-Now, good
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
K. Hen. Now, by thy looks
Lady. Ay, ay, my liege;
And of a lovely boy: the God of heaven
K. Hen. Lovell,
D. Keep. Your grace must wait till you be Enter Doctor Butts.
I came this way so happily: the king
Cran. [aside.] 'Tis Butts,
I am glad,
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,
D. Keep. My lord archbishop;
And has done half an hour, to know your pleaChan. Let him come in. [sures.
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, And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little, [us, Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chaplains,
(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 gen tle; [spur them, But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and Till they obey the manage. If we suffer (Out of our easiness, and childish pity
To one man's honour) this contagious sickness, Farewell, all physic: and what follows then? Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
Of the whole state: as of late days, our neighThe upper Germany, can dearly witness, [bours, Yet freshly pitied in our memories.
Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the proBoth of my life and office, I have labour'd, [gress And with no little study, that my teaching, And the strong course of my authority, Might go one way, and safely; and the end Was ever, to do well: nor is there living (I speak it with a single heart, my lords,) A man that more detests, more stirs against, Both in his private conscience, and his place,
nefacers of a public peace, than I do.
Suff. Nay, my lord,
That cannot be; you are a counsellor,
We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness'
Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank You are always my good friend; if your will pass, I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, You are so merciful: I see your end, 'Tis my undoing: love, and meekness, lord, 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 dis
Would you expect? You are strangely trouble
Let some o'the guard be ready there.
Must I go like a traitor thither?
And see him safe in the Tower.
Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to the Tower, my lords? Gar. What other
The king will suffer but the little finger
Cham. 'Tis 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,
Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at ye.
bound to heaven
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ;
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
He, that dares most, but wag bis finger at thee:
Than but once think his place becomes thee not Surrey. May it please your grace,—
K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought, I had had men of some understand-
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;
Chan. Thus far,
My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him;
Am, for his love and service, so to him,
Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation.
K. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.
The common voice, I see is verified
SCENE III. THE PALACE YARD.
[ex. 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-garden? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping. [Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the larder.
Man. Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
Port. You did nothing, sir.
Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Colbrand, to mow them 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 never hope to see a chine again; and that I would not for a cow, 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 them 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? 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 dog-days 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 discharged 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 pinked porringer fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out, clubs when I might see from far some forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to the broom-staff with me, I defied them still; when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: the devil was among them, I think, surely.
Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house, and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of them in limbo patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles, that is to come.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain.
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? Man. Pray, sir, be patient; 'tis as much impossi
(Unless we sweep them from the door with There's a trim rabble let in are all these
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep
e may as well push against Paul's, as stir them.
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
Cham. Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here! They grow still too, from all parts are they coming, As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters, These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand,