For so we are informed—with new opinions,
Diverse and dangerous, which are heresies,
And, not reformed, may prove pernicious.
GARDINER
Which reformation must be sudden too,
My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses
Pace ’em not in their hands to make ’em gentle,
But stop their mouths with stubborn bits and spur ’em
Till they obey the manège. 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 neighbours,
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 65
CRANMER
My good lords, hitherto in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have laboured,
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,
Defacers of a public peace than I do.
Pray heaven the King may never find a heart
With less allegiance in it. Men that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment
Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.
SUFFOLK
Nay, my lord,
That cannot be. You are a Councillor,
And by that virtue no man dare accuse you.
GARDINER (to Cranmer)
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
Where, being but a private man again,
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.
CRANMER
Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank you.
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.
GARDINER
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.
CROMWELL (to Gardiner)
My lord of Winchester, you’re a little,
By your good favour, too sharp. Men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been. ’Tis a cruelty
To load a falling man.
GARDINER
Good master secretary,
I cry your honour mercy. You may worst
Of all this table say so.
CROMWELL
Why, my lord?
GARDINER
Do not I know you for a favourer
Of this new sect? Ye are not sound.
CROMWELL
Not sound?
GARDINER
Not sound, I say.
CROMWELL
Would you were half so honest!
Men’s prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
GARDINER
I shall remember this bold language.
CROMWELL
Do.
Remember your bold life, too.
LORD CHANCELLOR
This is too much.
Forbear, for shame, my lords.
GARDINER
I have done.
CROMWELL
And I.
LORD CHANCELLOR (to Cranmer)
Then thus for you, my lord. It stands agreed,
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be conveyed to th’ Tower a prisoner,
There to remain till the King’s further pleasure
Be known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?
ALL THE COUNCIL
We are.
CRANMER Is there no other way of mercy,
But I must needs to th’ Tower, my lords?
GARDINER
What other
Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.
Let some o’th’ guard be ready there.
Enter the guard
CRANMER
For me?
Must I go like a traitor thither?
GARDINER (to the guard)
Receive him,
And see him safe i’th’ Tower.
CRANMER
Stay, good my lords.
I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords—
He shows the King’s ring
By virtue of that ring I take my cause
Out of the grips of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the King my master.
LORD CHAMBERLAIN
This is the King’s ring.
SURREY
’Tis no counterfeit.
SUFFOLK
’Tis the right ring, by heav’n. I told ye all
When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling
’Twould fall upon ourselves.
NORFOLK
Do you think, my lords,
The King will suffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vexed?
LORD CHAMBERLAIN
’Tis now too certain.
How much more is his life in value with him!
Would I were fairly out on’t.
⌈Exit King with Butts above⌉
CROMWELL
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, below, King Henry frowning on them. He takes his seat