SURREY
Instantly, good Sir Thomas.
They write
We’ll bring the writing unto our sovereign.
PALMER My lord of Rochester,
You must with me, to answer this contempt.
ROCHESTER This is the worst.
Who’s freed from life is from all care exempt.
Exeunt Rochester and Palmer
SURREY
Now let us hasten to our sovereign.
’Tis strange that my Lord Chancellor should refuse
The duty that the law of God bequeaths
Unto the king.
SHREWSBURY
Come, let us in. No doubt
His mind will alter, and the Bishop’s too.
Error in learnèd heads hath much to do.
[Exeunt]
Sc. 11 Enter the Lady More, her two Daughters, [one of them Roper’s Wife,] and Master Roper, as walking
ROPER
Madam, what ails ye for to look so sad?
LADY MORE
Troth, son, I know not what. I am not sick,
And yet I am not well. I would be merry,
But somewhat lies so heavy on my heart
I cannot choose but sigh. You are a scholar.
I pray ye tell me, may one credit dreams?
ROPER
Why ask you that, dear madam?
LADY MORE
Because tonight I had the strangest dream
That e‘er my sleep was troubled with.
Methought ’twas night,
And that the King and Queen went on the Thames
In barges to hear music. My lord and I
Were in a little boat, methought—Lord, Lord,
What strange things live in slumbers!—and being near,
We grappled to the barge that bare the King;
But after many pleasing voices spent
In that still-moving music house, methought
The violence of the stream did sever us
Quite from the golden fleet and hurried us
Unto the Bridge which, with unused horror,
We entered at full tide; thence some flight shoot
Being carried by the waves, our boat stood still
Just opposite the Tower; and there it turned
And turned about, as when a whirlpool sucks
The circled waters. Methought that we both cried,
Till that we sunk, where arm in arm we died.
ROPER
Give no respect, dear madam, to fond dreams.
They are but slight illusions of the blood.
LADY MORE
Tell me not all are so, for often dreams
Are true diviners, either of good or ill.
I cannot be in quiet till I hear
How my lord fares.
ROPER (aside)
Nor I.—Come hither, wife.
I will not fright thy mother to interpret
The nature of a dream; but, trust me, sweet,
This night I have been troubled with thy father
Beyond all thought.
ROPER’S WIFE [aside to Roper] Truly, and so have I.
Methought I saw him here in Chelsea church,
Standing upon the rood-loft, now defaced;
And whilst he kneeled and prayed before the image
It fell with him into the upper choir,
Where my poor father lay all stained in blood.
ROPER [aside to his Wife]
Our dreams all meet in one conclusion,
Fatal, I fear.
LADY MORE
What’s that you talk? I pray ye let me know it.
ROPER’S WIFE Nothing, good mother.
LADY MORE
This is your fashion still: I must know nothing.
Call Master Catesby; he shall straight to court
And see how my lord does. I shall not rest
Until my heart lean panting on his breast.
Enter Sir Thomas More, merrily, servants attending
MORE’S OTHER DAUGHTER
See where my father comes, joyful and merry.
MORE
As seamen, having passed a troubled storm,
Dance on the pleasant shore, so I—O, I could speak
Now like a poet! Now, afore God, I am passing light.
Wife, give me kind welcome.
[He kisses her]
Thou wast wont to blame
My kissing when my beard was in the stubble;
But I have been trimmed of late: I have had
A smooth court shaving, in good faith, I have.
Daughters kneel
[To Daughters] God bless ye.—Son Roper, give me your
hand.
ROPER
Your honour’s welcome home.
MORE Honour? Ha, ha!
And how dost, wife?
ROPER [aside] He bears himself most strangely.
LADY MORE
Will your lordship in?
MORE Lordship? No, wife, that’s gone.
The ground was slight that we did lean upon.
LADY MORE
Lord, that your honour ne’er will leave these jests!
In faith, it ill becomes ye.
MORE O good wife,
Honour and jests are both together fled.
The merriest councillor of England’s dead.
LADY MORE
Who’s that, my lord?
MORE Still ‘lord’? The Lord Chancellor, wife.
LADY MORE
That’s you.
MORE
Certain, but I have changed my life.
Am I not leaner than I was before?
The fat is gone. My title’s only ‘More’.
Contented with one style, I’ll live at rest.
They that have many names are not still best.
I have resigned mine office. Count’st me not wise?
LADY MORE O God!
MORE
Come, breed not female children in your eyes.
The King will have it so.
LADY MORE
What’s the offence?
MORE
Tush, let that pass; we’ll talk of that anon.
The King seems a physician to my fate.
His princely mind would train me back to state.
ROPER
Then be his patient, my most honoured father.
MORE O son Roper,
Ubi turpis est medicina, sanari piget.
No, wife, be merry, and be merry all.
You smiled at rising; weep not at my fall.
Let’s in, and here joy like to private friends,
Since days of pleasure have repentant ends.
The light of greatness is with triumph borne;
It sets at midday oft, with public scorn. Exeunt