Gar. D. Keep. My lord archbishop; 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, Of our flesh, few are angels: out of which frailty, 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 gentle; But stop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur them, Till they obey the manage. If we suffer and capable Of our flesh, few are angels: &c.] If this passage means any thing, it may mean, few are perfect, while they remain in their morial capacity; i. e. while they are capable [in a condition] of being invested with flesh. Of the whole state: as, of late days, our neighbours, The upper Germany, can dearly witness, 3 Yet freshly pitied in our memories. Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, Suf. And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. Gar. My lord, because we have business of more 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; You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you, 3 The upper Germany, &c.] Alluding to the heresy of Thomas Muntzer, which sprung up in Saxony in the years 1521 and 1522. a single heart,] A heart void of duplicity or guile, You are always my good friend; if "Tis my undoing: Love, and meekness, lord, For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty, 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? Gar. Not sound, I say. Crom. 'Would you were half so honest! Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. Gar. I shall remember this bold language. • your painted gloss, &c.] Those that understand you, under this painted gloss, this fair outside, discover your empty talk and your false reasoning. Gar. Crom. I have done. And I. Chan. Then thus for you, my lord,-It stands agreed, I take it, by all voices, that forthwith Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to the Tower, my lords? Gar. What other Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome : Let some o'the guard be ready there. I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords; Sur. "Tis no counterfeit. This is the king's ring.] It seems to have been a custom, begun probably in the dark ages, before literature was generally diffused, and before the regal power experienced the restraints of law, for every monarch to have a ring, the tempory possession of which invested the holder with the same authority as the owner himself could exercise. The production of it was sufficient to suspend the execution of the law; it procured indemnity for offences committed, and imposed acquiescence and submission on whatever was done under its authority. Instances abound in the history of almost every nation. Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven: I told ye all, When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, "Twould 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, "Tis now too certain : My mind gave me, How much more is his life in value with him? 'Would I were fairly out on't. Crom. In seeking tales, and informations, Ye blew the fire that burns ye: Now have at yc. Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat. Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince; His royal self in judgment comes to hear The cause betwixt her and this great offender. K. Hen. You were ever good at súdden commendations, Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee: |