Enter Door-Keeper. D. Keep. Yes, my Lord; But yet I cannot help you. Cran. Why? D. Keep. Your Grace muft wait, 'till you be call'd for. Cran. So. Butts. This is a piece of malice: I am glad, Cran. 'Tis Butts, The King's phyfician; as he paft along, [Exit Butts. Pray heav'n, he found not my difgrace! for certain, (God turn their hearts, I never fought their malice) 'Mong boys and grooms and lackeys! but their pleafures Muft be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter the King and Butts, at a window above. 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. R 2 SCENE, the Council. A council-table brought in with chairs and ftools, 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. Cromwel at the lower end, as Secretary. Peak to the business, Mr. Secretary; (30) Chan. Spea Why are we met in council ? Crom. Please your Honours, The cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury. Crom. Yes. Nor. Who waits there? D. Keep. Without, my noble Lords? D. Keep. My Lord Arch-bishop; 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 Arch-bishop, 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 And want of wisdom, you, that beft fhould teach us, (30) Chan. Speak to the bufinefs,] This Lord Chancellor, tho' a character, has hitherto had no place in the Dramatis Perfona. In the laft fcene of the fourth act, we heard, that Sir Thomas Moor was appointed Lord Chancellor; but it is not he, whom the poet here introduces. Wolfey, by command, deliver'd up the feals on the 18th of November 1529; on the 25th of the fame month, they were deliver'd to Sir Thomas Moor, who furrender'd them on the 16th of May, 1532. Now the conclufion of this fcene taking notice of Queen Elizabeth's birth, (which brings it down to the Year 1534) Sir Thomas Audlie muft neceffarily be our poet's Chancellor ; who fucceeded Sir Thomas Moor, and held the feals many years. 3 Toward Toward the King first, then his laws, in filling Gard. Which reformation must be fudden too, (Out of our eafinefs and childish pity To one man's honour) this contagious fickness, Cran. My good Lords, hitherto, in all the progrefs Be what they will, may ftand forth face to face, Suf. Nay, my Lord, That cannot be; you are a counsellor, Ánd by that virtue no man dare accuse you. [ment, Gard. My Lord, because we've bufinefs of more moWe will be fhort wi'you. 'Tis his Highness' pleasure, And our confent, for better tryal of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower; R 3 Where Where, being but a private man again, You fhall know, many dare accufe you boldly, Cran. Ay, my good Lord of Winchefter, I thank you, 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, Lord, For what they have been: 'tis a cruelty 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 honest! Mens prayers then would feek you, not their fears.. Crom. Do. Remember your bold life too. Cham. This is too much; Forbear for fhame, my Lords. Crom. And I. Cham, Then thus for you, my Lord: it flands agreed I 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 Be known unto us. All. We are. Are you all agreed, Lords? Cran. Is there no other way of mercy, But I must needs to th' Tower, my Lords? Gard. What other Would you expect? you're ftrangely troublefome: Cran. For me? Enter the Guard. Muft I go like a traitor then ♪ Gard. Receive him, And fee him fafe i' th' Tower. I have a little yet to fay. Look there, Lords; 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 rolling, 'Twould fall upon ourselves. 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? Would I were fairly out on't. Crom. My mind gave me, Against this man, whofe honefty the devil And his difciples only envy at, Ye blew the fire that burns ye; now have at ye. Enter King, frowning on them; takes his feat. Gard. Dread Sov'reign, how much are we bound to In daily thanks, that gave us fuch a Prince; R 4 [heav'n Not |