GARDINER

Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven

In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince,

Not only good and wise, but most religious.

One that in all obedience makes the church

The chief aim of his honour, and, to strengthen

That holy duty, out of dear respect,

His royal self in judgement comes to hear

The cause betwixt her and this great offender.

KING HENRY

You were ever good at sudden commendations,

Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not

To hear such flattery now; and in my presence

They are too thin and base to hide offences.

To me you cannot reach. You play the spaniel,

And think with wagging of your tongue to win me.

But whatsoe’er thou tak’st me for, I’m sure

Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.

(To Cranmer) Good man, sit down.

Cranmer takes his seat at the head of the Council table

Now let me see the proudest,

He that dares most, but wag his finger at thee.

By all that’s holy, he had better starve

Than but once think this place becomes thee not.

SURREY

May it please your grace—

KING HENRY

No, sir, it does not please me!

I had thought I had had men of some understanding

And wisdom of my Council, but I find none.

Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,

This good man—few of you deserve that title—

This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy

At chamber door? And one as great as you are?

Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission

Bid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave ye

Power as he was a Councillor to try him,

Not as a groom. There’s some of ye, I see,

More out of malice than integrity,

Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean;

Which ye shall never have while I live.

LORD CHANCELLOR

Thus far,

My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace

To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed

Concerning his imprisonment was rather—

If there be faith in men—meant for his trial

And fair purgation to the world than malice,

I’m sure, in me.

KING HENRY

Well, well, my lords—respect him.

Take him and use him well, he’s worthy of it.

I will say thus much for him—if a prince

May be beholden to a subject, I

Am for his love and service so to him.

Make me no more ado; but all embrace him.

Be friends, for shame, my lords. (To Cranmer) My lord

of Canterbury,

I have a suit which you must not deny me:

That is a fair young maid that yet wants baptism—

You must be godfather, and answer for her.

CRANMER

The greatest monarch now alive may glory

In such an honour; how may I deserve it,

That am a poor and humble subject to you?

KING HENRY Come, come, my lord—you’d spare your spoons. You shall have two noble partners with you—the old Duchess of Norfolk and Lady Marquis Dorset. Will these please you?

(To Gardiner) Once more, my lord of Winchester, I

charge you

Embrace and love this man.

GARDINER

With a true heart

And brother-love I do it.

⌈Gardiner and Cranmer embrace⌉

CRANMER (weeping)

And let heaven

Witness how dear I hold this confirmation.

KING HENRY

Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.

The common voice, I see, is verified

Of thee which says thus, ‘Do my lord of Canterbury

A shrewd turn, and he’s your friend for ever.’

Come, lords, we trifle time away. I long

To have this young one made a Christian.

As I have made ye one, lords, one remain—

So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.

Exeunt

5.3 Noise and tumult within. Enter Porter ⌈with rushes⌉ and his man ⌈with a broken cudgel⌉

PORTER (to those within)

You’ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you take

The court for Paris Garden, ye rude slaves?

Leave your gaping.

ONE (within)

Good master porter, I belong to th’ larder.

PORTER

Belong to th’ gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue!

Is this a place to roar in?

(To his man)

Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones,

⌈Raising his rushes⌉ These are but switches to ’em.

(To those within)

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 impossible,

Unless we sweep ’em from the door with cannons,

To scatter ’em as ’tis to make ’em sleep

On May-day morning—which will never be.

We may as well push against Paul’s as stir ’em.

PORTER How got they in, and be hanged?

MAN

Alas, I know not. How gets the tide in?

As much as one sound cudgel of four foot—

He raises his cudgel

You see the poor remainder—could distribute,

I made no spare, sir.

PORTER

You did nothing, sir.

MAN

I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,

To mow ‘em 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 ne’er hope to see a chine again—

And that I would not for a cow, God save her!

ONE (within) Do you hear, master porter?