ACT VSCENE I. A gallery in the palace.EnterGardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a torch before him, met bySir Thomas Lovell.GARDINER.It’s one o’clock, boy, is’t not?PAGE.It hath struck.GARDINER.These should be hours for necessities,Not for delights; times to repair our natureWith comforting repose, and not for usTo waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!Whither so late?LOVELL.Came you from the King, my lord?GARDINER.I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primeroWith the Duke of Suffolk.LOVELL.I must to him too,Before he go to bed. I’ll take my leave.GARDINER.Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What’s the matter?It seems you are in haste. An if there beNo great offence belongs to’t, give your friendSome touch of your late business. Affairs that walk,As they say spirits do, at midnight haveIn them a wilder nature than the businessThat seeks despatch by day.LOVELL.My lord, I love you,And durst commend a secret to your earMuch weightier than this work. The Queen’s in labour—They say in great extremity, and fearedShe’ll with the labour end.GARDINER.The fruit she goes withI pray for heartily, that it may findGood time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas,I wish it grubbed up now.LOVELL.Methinks I couldCry the amen, and yet my conscience saysShe’s a good creature and, sweet lady, doesDeserve our better wishes.GARDINER.But, sir, sir,Hear me, Sir Thomas. You’re a gentlemanOf mine own way. I know you wise, religious;And let me tell you, it will ne’er be well,’Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take’t of me,Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and sheSleep in their graves.LOVELL.Now, sir, you speak of twoThe most remarked i’ th’ kingdom. As for Cromwell,Beside that of the Jewel House, is made MasterO’ th’ Rolls, and the King’s secretary; further, sir,Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,With which the time will load him. Th’ ArchbishopIs the King’s hand and tongue, and who dare speakOne syllable against him?GARDINER.Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,There are that dare, and I myself have venturedTo speak my mind of him. And indeed this day,Sir—I may tell it you, I think—I haveIncensed the lords o’ th’ Council, that he is—For so I know he is, they know he is—A most arch heretic, a pestilenceThat does infect the land; with which they, moved,Have broken with the King, who hath so farGiven ear to our complaint, of his great graceAnd princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefsOur reasons laid before him, hath commandedTomorrow morning to the Council boardHe be convented. He’s a rank weed, Sir Thomas,And we must root him out. From your affairsI hinder you too long. Good night, Sir Thomas.LOVELL.Many good nights, my lord. I rest your servant.[ExeuntGardinerandPage.]EnterKingandSuffolk.KING.Charles, I will play no more tonight.My mind’s not on’t; you are too hard for me.SUFFOLK.Sir, I did never win of you before.KING.But little, Charles,Nor shall not, when my fancy’s on my play.Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?LOVELL.I could not personally deliver to herWhat you commanded me, but by her womanI sent your message, who returned her thanksIn the great’st humbleness, and desired your HighnessMost heartily to pray for her.KING.What sayst thou, ha?To pray for her? What, is she crying out?LOVELL.So said her woman, and that her suff’rance madeAlmost each pang a death.KING.Alas, good lady!SUFFOLK.God safely quit her of her burden, andWith gentle travail, to the gladding ofYour Highness with an heir!KING.’Tis midnight, Charles.Prithee, to bed, and in thy prayers rememberTh’ estate of my poor Queen. Leave me alone,For I must think of that which companyWill not be friendly to.SUFFOLK.I wish your HighnessA quiet night, and my good mistress willRemember in my prayers.KING.Charles, good night.[ExitSuffolk.]EnterSir Anthony Denny.Well, sir, what follows?DENNY.Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,As you commanded me.KING.Ha! Canterbury?DENNY.Ay, my good lord.KING.’Tis true. Where is he, Denny?DENNY.He attends your Highness’ pleasure.KING.Bring him to us.[ExitDenny.]LOVELL.[Aside.] This is about that which the Bishop spake.I am happily come hither.EnterCranmerandDenny.KING.Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stay.]Ha! I have said. Be gone.What![ExeuntLovellandDenny.]CRANMER.[Aside.] I am fearful. Wherefore frowns he thus?’Tis his aspect of terror. All’s not well.KING.How now, my lord? You do desire to knowWherefore I sent for you.CRANMER.[Kneeling.] It is my dutyT’ attend your Highness’ pleasure.KING.Pray you, arise,My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.Come, you and I must walk a turn together.I have news to tell you. Come, come, give me your hand.Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,And am right sorry to repeat what follows.I have, and most unwillingly, of lateHeard many grievous—I do say, my lord,Grievous—complaints of you, which, being considered,Have moved us and our Council that you shallThis morning come before us, where I know,You cannot with such freedom purge yourselfBut that, till further trial in those chargesWhich will require your answer, you must takeYour patience to you and be well contentedTo make your house our Tower. You a brother of us,It fits we thus proceed, or else no witnessWould come against you.CRANMER.[Kneeling.] I humbly thank your Highness,And am right glad to catch this good occasionMost throughly to be winnowed, where my chaffAnd corn shall fly asunder. For I knowThere’s none stands under more calumnious tonguesThan I myself, poor man.KING.Stand up, good Canterbury!Thy truth and thy integrity is rootedIn us, thy friend. Give me thy hand. Stand up.Prithee, let’s walk. Now, by my halidom,What manner of man are you? My lord, I lookedYou would have given me your petition thatI should have ta’en some pains to bring togetherYourself and your accusers and to have heard youWithout endurance, further.CRANMER.Most dread liege,The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.If they shall fail, I with mine enemiesWill triumph o’er my person, which I weigh not,Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothingWhat can be said against me.KING.Know you notHow your state stands i’ th’ world, with the whole world?Your enemies are many, and not small; their practicesMust bear the same proportion, and not everThe justice and the truth o’ th’ question carriesThe due o’ th’ verdict with it. At what easeMight corrupt minds procure knaves as corruptTo swear against you? Such things have been done.You are potently opposed, and with a maliceOf as great size. Ween you of better luck,I mean in perjured witness, than your master,Whose minister you are, whiles here he livedUpon this naughty earth? Go to, go to.You take a precipice for no leap of danger,And woo your own destruction.CRANMER.God and your MajestyProtect mine innocence, or I fall intoThe trap is laid for me.KING.Be of good cheer.They shall no more prevail than we give way to.Keep comfort to you, and this morning seeYou do appear before them. If they shall chance,In charging you with matters, to commit you,The best persuasions to the contraryFail not to use, and with what vehemencyTh’ occasion shall instruct you. If entreatiesWill render you no remedy, this ringDeliver them, and your appeal to usThere make before them. Look, the good man weeps!He’s honest, on mine honour. God’s blest mother,I swear he is true-hearted, and a soulNone better in my kingdom.—Get you gone,And do as I have bid you.[ExitCranmer.]He has strangledHis language in his tears.LOVELL.[Within.] Come back! What mean you?EnterOld Lady; Lovellfollows.OLD LADY.I’ll not come back. The tidings that I bringWill make my boldness manners. Now, good angelsFly o’er thy royal head and shade thy personUnder their blessed wings!KING.Now by thy looksI guess thy message. Is the Queen delivered?Say “Ay, and of a boy”.OLD LADY.Ay, ay, my liege,And of a lovely boy. The God of heavenBoth now and ever bless her! ’Tis a girlPromises boys hereafter. Sir, your QueenDesires your visitation, and to beAcquainted with this stranger. ’Tis as like youAs cherry is to cherry.KING.Lovell.LOVELL.Sir?KING.Give her an hundred marks. I’ll to the Queen.[ExitKing.]OLD LADY.An hundred marks? By this light, I’ll ha’ more.An ordinary groom is for such payment.I will have more or scold it out of him.Said I for this the girl was like to him?I’ll have more, or else unsay’t. And now,While ’tis hot, I’ll put it to the issue.[Exeunt.]SCENE II. Lobby before the council-chamber.EnterCranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.CRANMER.I hope I am not too late, and yet the gentlemanThat was sent to me from the Council prayed meTo make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho!Who waits there?EnterKeeper.Sure you know me?KEEPER.Yes, my lord,But yet I cannot help you.CRANMER.Why?KEEPER.Your Grace must wait till you be called for.EnterDoctor Butts.CRANMER.So.BUTTS.[Aside.] This is a piece of malice. I am gladI came this way so happily. The KingShall understand it presently.[Exit.]CRANMER.[Aside.] ’Tis Butts,The King’s physician. As he passed along,How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace. For certain,This is of purpose laid by some that hate me—God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice—To quench mine honour. They would shame to make meWait else at door, a fellow councillor,’Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasuresMust be fulfilled, and I attend with patience.Enter theKingandButtsat a window above.BUTTS.I’ll show your Grace the strangest sight.KING.What’s that, Butts?BUTTS.I think your Highness saw this many a day.KING.Body o’ me, where is it?BUTTS.There, my lord:The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,Who holds his state at door, ’mongst pursuivants,Pages, and footboys.KING.Ha! ’Tis he, indeed.Is this the honour they do one another?’Tis well there’s one above ’em yet. I had thoughtThey had parted so much honesty among ’em—At least good manners—as not thus to sufferA man of his place, and so near our favour,To dance attendance on their lordships’ pleasures,And at the door too, like a post with packets.By holy Mary, Butts, there’s knavery!Let ’em alone, and draw the curtain close.We shall hear more anon.[Exeunt.]A council table brought in with chairs and stools and placed under the state. EnterLord Chancellor, places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand, a seat being left void above him, as for Canterbury’s seat.Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardinerseat themselves in order on each side;Cromwellat lower end, as secretary.CHANCELLOR.Speak to the business, master secretary.Why are we met in council?CROMWELL.Please your honours,The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.GARDINER.Has he had knowledge of it?CROMWELL.Yes.NORFOLK.Who waits there?KEEPER.Without, my noble lords?GARDINER.Yes.KEEPER.My lord Archbishop,And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.CHANCELLOR.Let him come in.KEEPER.Your Grace may enter now.Cranmerapproaches the council table.CHANCELLOR.My good lord Archbishop, I’m very sorryTo sit here at this present and beholdThat chair stand empty. But we all are men,In our own natures frail, and capableOf our flesh—few are angels—out of which frailtyAnd want of wisdom, you that best should teach us,Have misdemeaned yourself, and not a little,Toward the King first, then his laws, in fillingThe whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains’—For so we are informed—with new opinions,Divers and dangerous, which are heresiesAnd, not reformed, may prove pernicious.GARDINER.Which reformation must be sudden too,My noble lords; for those that tame wild horsesPace ’em not in their hands to make ’em gentle,But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur ’emTill they obey the manage. If we suffer,Out of our easiness and childish pityTo one man’s honour, this contagious sickness,Farewell, all physic. And what follows then?Commotions, uproars, with a general taintOf the whole state, as of late days our neighbours,The upper Germany, can dearly witness,Yet freshly pitied in our memories.CRANMER.My good lords, hitherto in all the progressBoth of my life and office, I have laboured,And with no little study, that my teachingAnd the strong course of my authorityMight go one way, and safely; and the endWas 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 heartWith less allegiance in it! Men that makeEnvy and crooked malice nourishmentDare bite the best. I do beseech your lordshipsThat, in this case of justice, my accusers,Be what they will, may stand forth face to faceAnd 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.My lord, because we have business of more moment,We will be short with you. ’Tis his Highness’ pleasureAnd 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 conscienceIn 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.My Lord of Winchester, you are a little,By your good favour, too sharp. Men so noble,However faulty, yet should find respectFor what they have been. ’Tis a crueltyTo load a falling man.GARDINER.Good master secretary,I cry your honour mercy: you may worstOf all this table say so.CROMWELL.Why, my lord?GARDINER.Do not I know you for a favourerOf 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.CHANCELLOR.This is too much.Forbear, for shame, my lords.GARDINER.I have done.CROMWELL.And I.CHANCELLOR.Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,I take it, by all voices, that forthwithYou be conveyed to th’ Tower a prisoner,There to remain till the King’s further pleasureBe known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?ALL.We are.CRANMER.Is there no other way of mercyBut I must needs to th’ Tower, my lords?GARDINER.What otherWould you expect? You are strangely troublesome.Let some o’ th’ guard be ready there.Enter theguard.CRANMER.For me?Must I go like a traitor thither?GARDINER.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.By virtue of that ring, I take my causeOut of the gripes of cruel men and give itTo a most noble judge, the King my master.CHAMBERLAIN.This is the King’s ring.SURREY.’Tis no counterfeit.SUFFOLK.’Tis the right ring, by heaven! 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 fingerOf this man to be vexed?CHAMBERLAIN.’Tis now too certain.How much more is his life in value with him?Would I were fairly out on’t!CROMWELL.My mind gave me,In seeking tales and informationsAgainst this man, whose honesty the devilAnd his disciples only envy at,Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!EnterKing, frowning on them; takes his seat.GARDINER.Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heavenIn daily thanks, that gave us such a prince,Not only good and wise, but most religious;One that, in all obedience, makes the ChurchThe chief aim of his honour and, to strengthenThat holy duty out of dear respect,His royal self in judgement comes to hearThe cause betwixt her and this great offender.KING.You were ever good at sudden commendations,Bishop of Winchester. But know I come notTo hear such flattery now, and in my presenceThey are too thin and bare 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 sureThou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.[To Cranmer.] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudestHe, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee.By all that’s holy, he had better starveThan but once think this place becomes thee not.SURREY.May it please your Grace—KING.No, sir, it does not please me.I had thought I had had men of some understandingAnd 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 footboyAt chamber door? And one as great as you are?Why, what a shame was this! Did my commissionBid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave yePower 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.CHANCELLOR.Thus far,My most dread sovereign, may it like your GraceTo let my tongue excuse all. What was purposedConcerning his imprisonment was rather,If there be faith in men, meant for his trialAnd fair purgation to the world than malice,I’m sure, in me.KING.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 princeMay be beholding to a subject, IAm, for his love and service, so to him.Make me no more ado, but all embrace him.Be friends, for shame, my lords! 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 gloryIn such an honour. How may I deserve it,That am a poor and humble subject to you?KING.Come, come, my lord, you’d spare your spoons. You shall have two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk and Lady Marquess Dorset. Will these please you?Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,Embrace and love this man.GARDINER.With a true heartAnd brother-love I do it.CRANMER.And let heavenWitness how dear I hold this confirmation.KING.Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.The common voice, I see, is verifiedOf thee, which says thus: “Do my Lord of CanterburyA shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.”Come, lords, we trifle time away. I longTo 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.]SCENE III. The palace yard.Noise and tumult within. EnterPorterand hisMan.PORTER.You’ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you take the court for Parish 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? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones. These are but switches to ’em. I’ll scratch your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?PORTER’S 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 sleepOn 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?PORTER’S MAN.Alas, I know not. How gets the tide in?As much as one sound cudgel of four foot—You see the poor remainder—could distribute,I made no spare, sir.PORTER.You did nothing, sir.PORTER’S MAN.I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,To mow ’em down before me; but if I spared anyThat 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?PORTER.I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.—Keep the door close, sirrah.PORTER’S MAN.What would you have me do?PORTER.What should you do, but knock ’em down by th’ dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.PORTER’S MAN.The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door—he should be a brazier by his face, for, o’ my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in’s nose. All that stand about him are under the line; they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me. He stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher’s wife of small wit near him that railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once and hit that woman, who cried out “Clubs!” when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o’ th’ Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th’ broomstaff to me; I defied ’em still, when suddenly a file of boys behind ’em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles that I was fain to draw mine honour in and let ’em win the work. The devil was amongst ’em, I think, surely.PORTER.These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse and fight for bitten apples, that no audience but the tribulation of Tower Hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of ’em inLimbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days, besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.EnterLord Chamberlain.CHAMBERLAIN.Mercy o’ me, what a multitude are here!They grow still too. From all parts they are coming,As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,These lazy knaves? You’ve made a fine hand, fellows!There’s a trim rabble let in. Are all theseYour faithful friends o’ th’ suburbs? We shall haveGreat store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,When they pass back from the christening.PORTER.An’t please your honour,We are but men; and what so many may do,Not being torn a-pieces, we have done.An army cannot rule ’em.CHAMBERLAIN.As I live,If the King blame me for’t, I’ll lay ye allBy th’ heels, and suddenly, and on your headsClap round fines for neglect. You’re lazy knaves,And here ye lie baiting of bombards, whenYe should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound!They’re come already from the christening.Go break among the press, and find a way outTo let the troops pass fairly, or I’ll findA Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.PORTER.Make way there for the Princess!PORTER’S MAN.You great fellow,Stand close up, or I’ll make your head ache.PORTER.You i’ th’ camlet, get up o’ th’ rail!I’ll peck you o’er the pales else.[Exeunt.]SCENE IV. The palace.Enter Trumpets, sounding; then twoAldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolkwith his marshal’s staff,Duke of Suffolk, twoNoblemenbearing great standing bowls for the christening gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which theDuchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, etc., train borne by aLady; then follows theMarchioness Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, andGarterspeaks.GARTER.Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long and ever happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England, Elizabeth.Flourish. EnterKingand Guard.CRANMER.[Kneeling.] And to your royal Grace and the good Queen,My noble partners and myself thus prayAll comfort, joy, in this most gracious ladyHeaven ever laid up to make parents happyMay hourly fall upon ye!KING.Thank you, good lord Archbishop.What is her name?CRANMER.Elizabeth.KING.Stand up, lord.[TheKingkisses the child.]With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee,Into whose hand I give thy life.CRANMER.Amen.KING.My noble gossips, you’ve have been too prodigal.I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,When she has so much English.CRANMER.Let me speak, sir,For heaven now bids me; and the words I utterLet none think flattery, for they’ll find ’em truth.This royal infant—heaven still move about her!—Though in her cradle, yet now promisesUpon this land a thousand thousand blessings,Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be—But few now living can behold that goodness—A pattern to all princes living with herAnd all that shall succeed. Saba was neverMore covetous of wisdom and fair virtueThan this pure soul shall be. All princely gracesThat mould up such a mighty piece as this is,With all the virtues that attend the good,Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her;Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her.She shall be loved and feared. Her own shall bless her;Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her.In her days every man shall eat in safetyUnder his own vine what he plants, and singThe merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.God shall be truly known, and those about herFrom her shall read the perfect ways of honourAnd by those claim their greatness, not by blood.Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as whenThe bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,Her ashes new create another heirAs great in admiration as herself,So shall she leave her blessedness to one,When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,Who from the sacred ashes of her honourShall star-like rise as great in fame as she wasAnd so stand fixed. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,That were the servants to this chosen infant,Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him.Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,His honour and the greatness of his nameShall be, and make new nations. He shall flourish,And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branchesTo all the plains about him. Our children’s childrenShall see this and bless heaven.KING.Thou speakest wonders.CRANMER.She shall be to the happiness of EnglandAn aged princess; many days shall see her,And yet no day without a deed to crown it.Would I had known no more! But she must die,She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,A most unspotted lily, shall she pass to the ground,And all the world shall mourn her.KING.O lord Archbishop,Thou hast made me now a man. Never beforeThis happy child did I get anything.This oracle of comfort has so pleased meThat when I am in heaven I shall desireTo see what this child does and praise my Maker.I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,And you, good brethren, I am much beholding.I have received much honour by your presence,And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords.Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye;She will be sick else. This day, no man think’Has business at his house, for all shall stay.This little one shall make it holiday.[Exeunt.]EpilogueEnterEpilogue.EPILOGUE.’Tis ten to one this play can never pleaseAll that are here. Some come to take their ease,And sleep an act or two—but those, we fear,We’ve frighted with our trumpets; so, ’tis clear,They’ll say ’tis naught—others, to hear the cityAbused extremely and to cry “That’s witty!”—Which we have not done neither—that I fearAll the expected good we’re like to hearFor this play at this time is only inThe merciful construction of good women,For such a one we showed ’em. If they smileAnd say ’twill do, I know within a whileAll the best men are ours; for ’tis ill hapIf they hold when their ladies bid ’em clap.[Exit.]
EnterGardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page with a torch before him, met bySir Thomas Lovell.
GARDINER.It’s one o’clock, boy, is’t not?
PAGE.It hath struck.
GARDINER.These should be hours for necessities,Not for delights; times to repair our natureWith comforting repose, and not for usTo waste these times. Good hour of night, Sir Thomas!Whither so late?
LOVELL.Came you from the King, my lord?
GARDINER.I did, Sir Thomas, and left him at primeroWith the Duke of Suffolk.
LOVELL.I must to him too,Before he go to bed. I’ll take my leave.
GARDINER.Not yet, Sir Thomas Lovell. What’s the matter?It seems you are in haste. An if there beNo great offence belongs to’t, give your friendSome touch of your late business. Affairs that walk,As they say spirits do, at midnight haveIn them a wilder nature than the businessThat seeks despatch by day.
LOVELL.My lord, I love you,And durst commend a secret to your earMuch weightier than this work. The Queen’s in labour—They say in great extremity, and fearedShe’ll with the labour end.
GARDINER.The fruit she goes withI pray for heartily, that it may findGood time, and live; but for the stock, Sir Thomas,I wish it grubbed up now.
LOVELL.Methinks I couldCry the amen, and yet my conscience saysShe’s a good creature and, sweet lady, doesDeserve our better wishes.
GARDINER.But, sir, sir,Hear me, Sir Thomas. You’re a gentlemanOf mine own way. I know you wise, religious;And let me tell you, it will ne’er be well,’Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovell, take’t of me,Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and sheSleep in their graves.
LOVELL.Now, sir, you speak of twoThe most remarked i’ th’ kingdom. As for Cromwell,Beside that of the Jewel House, is made MasterO’ th’ Rolls, and the King’s secretary; further, sir,Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,With which the time will load him. Th’ ArchbishopIs the King’s hand and tongue, and who dare speakOne syllable against him?
GARDINER.Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,There are that dare, and I myself have venturedTo speak my mind of him. And indeed this day,Sir—I may tell it you, I think—I haveIncensed the lords o’ th’ Council, that he is—For so I know he is, they know he is—A most arch heretic, a pestilenceThat does infect the land; with which they, moved,Have broken with the King, who hath so farGiven ear to our complaint, of his great graceAnd princely care foreseeing those fell mischiefsOur reasons laid before him, hath commandedTomorrow morning to the Council boardHe be convented. He’s a rank weed, Sir Thomas,And we must root him out. From your affairsI hinder you too long. Good night, Sir Thomas.
LOVELL.Many good nights, my lord. I rest your servant.
[ExeuntGardinerandPage.]
EnterKingandSuffolk.
KING.Charles, I will play no more tonight.My mind’s not on’t; you are too hard for me.
SUFFOLK.Sir, I did never win of you before.
KING.But little, Charles,Nor shall not, when my fancy’s on my play.Now, Lovell, from the Queen what is the news?
LOVELL.I could not personally deliver to herWhat you commanded me, but by her womanI sent your message, who returned her thanksIn the great’st humbleness, and desired your HighnessMost heartily to pray for her.
KING.What sayst thou, ha?To pray for her? What, is she crying out?
LOVELL.So said her woman, and that her suff’rance madeAlmost each pang a death.
KING.Alas, good lady!
SUFFOLK.God safely quit her of her burden, andWith gentle travail, to the gladding ofYour Highness with an heir!
KING.’Tis midnight, Charles.Prithee, to bed, and in thy prayers rememberTh’ estate of my poor Queen. Leave me alone,For I must think of that which companyWill not be friendly to.
SUFFOLK.I wish your HighnessA quiet night, and my good mistress willRemember in my prayers.
KING.Charles, good night.
[ExitSuffolk.]
EnterSir Anthony Denny.
Well, sir, what follows?
DENNY.Sir, I have brought my lord the Archbishop,As you commanded me.
KING.Ha! Canterbury?
DENNY.Ay, my good lord.
KING.’Tis true. Where is he, Denny?
DENNY.He attends your Highness’ pleasure.
KING.Bring him to us.
[ExitDenny.]
LOVELL.[Aside.] This is about that which the Bishop spake.I am happily come hither.
EnterCranmerandDenny.
KING.Avoid the gallery. [Lovell seems to stay.]Ha! I have said. Be gone.What!
[ExeuntLovellandDenny.]
CRANMER.[Aside.] I am fearful. Wherefore frowns he thus?’Tis his aspect of terror. All’s not well.
KING.How now, my lord? You do desire to knowWherefore I sent for you.
CRANMER.[Kneeling.] It is my dutyT’ attend your Highness’ pleasure.
KING.Pray you, arise,My good and gracious Lord of Canterbury.Come, you and I must walk a turn together.I have news to tell you. Come, come, give me your hand.Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,And am right sorry to repeat what follows.I have, and most unwillingly, of lateHeard many grievous—I do say, my lord,Grievous—complaints of you, which, being considered,Have moved us and our Council that you shallThis morning come before us, where I know,You cannot with such freedom purge yourselfBut that, till further trial in those chargesWhich will require your answer, you must takeYour patience to you and be well contentedTo make your house our Tower. You a brother of us,It fits we thus proceed, or else no witnessWould come against you.
CRANMER.[Kneeling.] I humbly thank your Highness,And am right glad to catch this good occasionMost throughly to be winnowed, where my chaffAnd corn shall fly asunder. For I knowThere’s none stands under more calumnious tonguesThan I myself, poor man.
KING.Stand up, good Canterbury!Thy truth and thy integrity is rootedIn us, thy friend. Give me thy hand. Stand up.Prithee, let’s walk. Now, by my halidom,What manner of man are you? My lord, I lookedYou would have given me your petition thatI should have ta’en some pains to bring togetherYourself and your accusers and to have heard youWithout endurance, further.
CRANMER.Most dread liege,The good I stand on is my truth and honesty.If they shall fail, I with mine enemiesWill triumph o’er my person, which I weigh not,Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothingWhat can be said against me.
KING.Know you notHow your state stands i’ th’ world, with the whole world?Your enemies are many, and not small; their practicesMust bear the same proportion, and not everThe justice and the truth o’ th’ question carriesThe due o’ th’ verdict with it. At what easeMight corrupt minds procure knaves as corruptTo swear against you? Such things have been done.You are potently opposed, and with a maliceOf as great size. Ween you of better luck,I mean in perjured witness, than your master,Whose minister you are, whiles here he livedUpon this naughty earth? Go to, go to.You take a precipice for no leap of danger,And woo your own destruction.
CRANMER.God and your MajestyProtect mine innocence, or I fall intoThe trap is laid for me.
KING.Be of good cheer.They shall no more prevail than we give way to.Keep comfort to you, and this morning seeYou do appear before them. If they shall chance,In charging you with matters, to commit you,The best persuasions to the contraryFail not to use, and with what vehemencyTh’ occasion shall instruct you. If entreatiesWill render you no remedy, this ringDeliver them, and your appeal to usThere make before them. Look, the good man weeps!He’s honest, on mine honour. God’s blest mother,I swear he is true-hearted, and a soulNone better in my kingdom.—Get you gone,And do as I have bid you.
[ExitCranmer.]
He has strangledHis language in his tears.
LOVELL.[Within.] Come back! What mean you?
EnterOld Lady; Lovellfollows.
OLD LADY.I’ll not come back. The tidings that I bringWill make my boldness manners. Now, good angelsFly o’er thy royal head and shade thy personUnder their blessed wings!
KING.Now by thy looksI guess thy message. Is the Queen delivered?Say “Ay, and of a boy”.
OLD LADY.Ay, ay, my liege,And of a lovely boy. The God of heavenBoth now and ever bless her! ’Tis a girlPromises boys hereafter. Sir, your QueenDesires your visitation, and to beAcquainted with this stranger. ’Tis as like youAs cherry is to cherry.
KING.Lovell.
LOVELL.Sir?
KING.Give her an hundred marks. I’ll to the Queen.
[ExitKing.]
OLD LADY.An hundred marks? By this light, I’ll ha’ more.An ordinary groom is for such payment.I will have more or scold it out of him.Said I for this the girl was like to him?I’ll have more, or else unsay’t. And now,While ’tis hot, I’ll put it to the issue.
[Exeunt.]
EnterCranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.
CRANMER.I hope I am not too late, and yet the gentlemanThat was sent to me from the Council prayed meTo make great haste. All fast? What means this? Ho!Who waits there?
EnterKeeper.
Sure you know me?
KEEPER.Yes, my lord,But yet I cannot help you.
CRANMER.Why?
KEEPER.Your Grace must wait till you be called for.
EnterDoctor Butts.
CRANMER.So.
BUTTS.[Aside.] This is a piece of malice. I am gladI came this way so happily. The KingShall understand it presently.
[Exit.]
CRANMER.[Aside.] ’Tis Butts,The King’s physician. As he passed along,How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!Pray heaven he sound not my disgrace. For certain,This is of purpose laid by some that hate me—God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice—To quench mine honour. They would shame to make meWait else at door, a fellow councillor,’Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasuresMust be fulfilled, and I attend with patience.
Enter theKingandButtsat a window above.
BUTTS.I’ll show your Grace the strangest sight.
KING.What’s that, Butts?
BUTTS.I think your Highness saw this many a day.
KING.Body o’ me, where is it?
BUTTS.There, my lord:The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,Who holds his state at door, ’mongst pursuivants,Pages, and footboys.
KING.Ha! ’Tis he, indeed.Is this the honour they do one another?’Tis well there’s one above ’em yet. I had thoughtThey had parted so much honesty among ’em—At least good manners—as not thus to sufferA man of his place, and so near our favour,To dance attendance on their lordships’ pleasures,And at the door too, like a post with packets.By holy Mary, Butts, there’s knavery!Let ’em alone, and draw the curtain close.We shall hear more anon.
[Exeunt.]
A council table brought in with chairs and stools and placed under the state. EnterLord Chancellor, places himself at the upper end of the table on the left hand, a seat being left void above him, as for Canterbury’s seat.Duke of Suffolk, Duke of Norfolk, Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, Gardinerseat themselves in order on each side;Cromwellat lower end, as secretary.
CHANCELLOR.Speak to the business, master secretary.Why are we met in council?
CROMWELL.Please your honours,The chief cause concerns his Grace of Canterbury.
GARDINER.Has he had knowledge of it?
CROMWELL.Yes.
NORFOLK.Who waits there?
KEEPER.Without, my noble lords?
GARDINER.Yes.
KEEPER.My lord Archbishop,And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures.
CHANCELLOR.Let him come in.
KEEPER.Your Grace may enter now.
Cranmerapproaches the council table.
CHANCELLOR.My good lord Archbishop, I’m very sorryTo sit here at this present and beholdThat chair stand empty. But we all are men,In our own natures frail, and capableOf our flesh—few are angels—out of which frailtyAnd want of wisdom, you that best should teach us,Have misdemeaned yourself, and not a little,Toward the King first, then his laws, in fillingThe whole realm, by your teaching and your chaplains’—For so we are informed—with new opinions,Divers and dangerous, which are heresiesAnd, not reformed, may prove pernicious.
GARDINER.Which reformation must be sudden too,My noble lords; for those that tame wild horsesPace ’em not in their hands to make ’em gentle,But stop their mouth with stubborn bits and spur ’emTill they obey the manage. If we suffer,Out of our easiness and childish pityTo one man’s honour, this contagious sickness,Farewell, all physic. And what follows then?Commotions, uproars, with a general taintOf the whole state, as of late days our neighbours,The upper Germany, can dearly witness,Yet freshly pitied in our memories.
CRANMER.My good lords, hitherto in all the progressBoth of my life and office, I have laboured,And with no little study, that my teachingAnd the strong course of my authorityMight go one way, and safely; and the endWas 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 heartWith less allegiance in it! Men that makeEnvy and crooked malice nourishmentDare bite the best. I do beseech your lordshipsThat, in this case of justice, my accusers,Be what they will, may stand forth face to faceAnd 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.My lord, because we have business of more moment,We will be short with you. ’Tis his Highness’ pleasureAnd 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 conscienceIn 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.My Lord of Winchester, you are a little,By your good favour, too sharp. Men so noble,However faulty, yet should find respectFor what they have been. ’Tis a crueltyTo load a falling man.
GARDINER.Good master secretary,I cry your honour mercy: you may worstOf all this table say so.
CROMWELL.Why, my lord?
GARDINER.Do not I know you for a favourerOf 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.
CHANCELLOR.This is too much.Forbear, for shame, my lords.
GARDINER.I have done.
CROMWELL.And I.
CHANCELLOR.Then thus for you, my lord: it stands agreed,I take it, by all voices, that forthwithYou be conveyed to th’ Tower a prisoner,There to remain till the King’s further pleasureBe known unto us. Are you all agreed, lords?
ALL.We are.
CRANMER.Is there no other way of mercyBut I must needs to th’ Tower, my lords?
GARDINER.What otherWould you expect? You are strangely troublesome.Let some o’ th’ guard be ready there.
Enter theguard.
CRANMER.For me?Must I go like a traitor thither?
GARDINER.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.By virtue of that ring, I take my causeOut of the gripes of cruel men and give itTo a most noble judge, the King my master.
CHAMBERLAIN.This is the King’s ring.
SURREY.’Tis no counterfeit.
SUFFOLK.’Tis the right ring, by heaven! 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 fingerOf this man to be vexed?
CHAMBERLAIN.’Tis now too certain.How much more is his life in value with him?Would I were fairly out on’t!
CROMWELL.My mind gave me,In seeking tales and informationsAgainst this man, whose honesty the devilAnd his disciples only envy at,Ye blew the fire that burns ye. Now have at ye!
EnterKing, frowning on them; takes his seat.
GARDINER.Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heavenIn daily thanks, that gave us such a prince,Not only good and wise, but most religious;One that, in all obedience, makes the ChurchThe chief aim of his honour and, to strengthenThat holy duty out of dear respect,His royal self in judgement comes to hearThe cause betwixt her and this great offender.
KING.You were ever good at sudden commendations,Bishop of Winchester. But know I come notTo hear such flattery now, and in my presenceThey are too thin and bare 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 sureThou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.[To Cranmer.] Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudestHe, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee.By all that’s holy, he had better starveThan but once think this place becomes thee not.
SURREY.May it please your Grace—
KING.No, sir, it does not please me.I had thought I had had men of some understandingAnd 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 footboyAt chamber door? And one as great as you are?Why, what a shame was this! Did my commissionBid ye so far forget yourselves? I gave yePower 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.
CHANCELLOR.Thus far,My most dread sovereign, may it like your GraceTo let my tongue excuse all. What was purposedConcerning his imprisonment was rather,If there be faith in men, meant for his trialAnd fair purgation to the world than malice,I’m sure, in me.
KING.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 princeMay be beholding to a subject, IAm, for his love and service, so to him.Make me no more ado, but all embrace him.Be friends, for shame, my lords! 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 gloryIn such an honour. How may I deserve it,That am a poor and humble subject to you?
KING.Come, come, my lord, you’d spare your spoons. You shall have two noble partners with you: the old Duchess of Norfolk and Lady Marquess Dorset. Will these please you?Once more, my Lord of Winchester, I charge you,Embrace and love this man.
GARDINER.With a true heartAnd brother-love I do it.
CRANMER.And let heavenWitness how dear I hold this confirmation.
KING.Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart.The common voice, I see, is verifiedOf thee, which says thus: “Do my Lord of CanterburyA shrewd turn, and he is your friend for ever.”Come, lords, we trifle time away. I longTo 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.]
Noise and tumult within. EnterPorterand hisMan.
PORTER.You’ll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do you take the court for Parish 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? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones. These are but switches to ’em. I’ll scratch your heads. You must be seeing christenings? Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?
PORTER’S 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 sleepOn 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?
PORTER’S MAN.Alas, I know not. How gets the tide in?As much as one sound cudgel of four foot—You see the poor remainder—could distribute,I made no spare, sir.
PORTER.You did nothing, sir.
PORTER’S MAN.I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,To mow ’em down before me; but if I spared anyThat 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?
PORTER.I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.—Keep the door close, sirrah.
PORTER’S MAN.What would you have me do?
PORTER.What should you do, but knock ’em down by th’ dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.
PORTER’S MAN.The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door—he should be a brazier by his face, for, o’ my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in’s nose. All that stand about him are under the line; they need no other penance. That fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me. He stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There was a haberdasher’s wife of small wit near him that railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head for kindling such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once and hit that woman, who cried out “Clubs!” when I might see from far some forty truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o’ th’ Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place; at length they came to th’ broomstaff to me; I defied ’em still, when suddenly a file of boys behind ’em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles that I was fain to draw mine honour in and let ’em win the work. The devil was amongst ’em, I think, surely.
PORTER.These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse and fight for bitten apples, that no audience but the tribulation of Tower Hill or the limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of ’em inLimbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days, besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come.
EnterLord Chamberlain.
CHAMBERLAIN.Mercy o’ me, what a multitude are here!They grow still too. From all parts they are coming,As if we kept a fair here! Where are these porters,These lazy knaves? You’ve made a fine hand, fellows!There’s a trim rabble let in. Are all theseYour faithful friends o’ th’ suburbs? We shall haveGreat store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,When they pass back from the christening.
PORTER.An’t please your honour,We are but men; and what so many may do,Not being torn a-pieces, we have done.An army cannot rule ’em.
CHAMBERLAIN.As I live,If the King blame me for’t, I’ll lay ye allBy th’ heels, and suddenly, and on your headsClap round fines for neglect. You’re lazy knaves,And here ye lie baiting of bombards, whenYe should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound!They’re come already from the christening.Go break among the press, and find a way outTo let the troops pass fairly, or I’ll findA Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.
PORTER.Make way there for the Princess!
PORTER’S MAN.You great fellow,Stand close up, or I’ll make your head ache.
PORTER.You i’ th’ camlet, get up o’ th’ rail!I’ll peck you o’er the pales else.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Trumpets, sounding; then twoAldermen, Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmer, Duke of Norfolkwith his marshal’s staff,Duke of Suffolk, twoNoblemenbearing great standing bowls for the christening gifts; then four Noblemen bearing a canopy, under which theDuchess of Norfolk, godmother, bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, etc., train borne by aLady; then follows theMarchioness Dorset, the other godmother, and Ladies. The troop pass once about the stage, andGarterspeaks.
GARTER.Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send prosperous life, long and ever happy, to the high and mighty Princess of England, Elizabeth.
Flourish. EnterKingand Guard.
CRANMER.[Kneeling.] And to your royal Grace and the good Queen,My noble partners and myself thus prayAll comfort, joy, in this most gracious ladyHeaven ever laid up to make parents happyMay hourly fall upon ye!
KING.Thank you, good lord Archbishop.What is her name?
CRANMER.Elizabeth.
KING.Stand up, lord.
[TheKingkisses the child.]
With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee,Into whose hand I give thy life.
CRANMER.Amen.
KING.My noble gossips, you’ve have been too prodigal.I thank ye heartily; so shall this lady,When she has so much English.
CRANMER.Let me speak, sir,For heaven now bids me; and the words I utterLet none think flattery, for they’ll find ’em truth.This royal infant—heaven still move about her!—Though in her cradle, yet now promisesUpon this land a thousand thousand blessings,Which time shall bring to ripeness. She shall be—But few now living can behold that goodness—A pattern to all princes living with herAnd all that shall succeed. Saba was neverMore covetous of wisdom and fair virtueThan this pure soul shall be. All princely gracesThat mould up such a mighty piece as this is,With all the virtues that attend the good,Shall still be doubled on her. Truth shall nurse her;Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her.She shall be loved and feared. Her own shall bless her;Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her.In her days every man shall eat in safetyUnder his own vine what he plants, and singThe merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.God shall be truly known, and those about herFrom her shall read the perfect ways of honourAnd by those claim their greatness, not by blood.Nor shall this peace sleep with her; but as whenThe bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,Her ashes new create another heirAs great in admiration as herself,So shall she leave her blessedness to one,When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,Who from the sacred ashes of her honourShall star-like rise as great in fame as she wasAnd so stand fixed. Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,That were the servants to this chosen infant,Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him.Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,His honour and the greatness of his nameShall be, and make new nations. He shall flourish,And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branchesTo all the plains about him. Our children’s childrenShall see this and bless heaven.
KING.Thou speakest wonders.
CRANMER.She shall be to the happiness of EnglandAn aged princess; many days shall see her,And yet no day without a deed to crown it.Would I had known no more! But she must die,She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,A most unspotted lily, shall she pass to the ground,And all the world shall mourn her.
KING.O lord Archbishop,Thou hast made me now a man. Never beforeThis happy child did I get anything.This oracle of comfort has so pleased meThat when I am in heaven I shall desireTo see what this child does and praise my Maker.I thank ye all. To you, my good Lord Mayor,And you, good brethren, I am much beholding.I have received much honour by your presence,And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords.Ye must all see the Queen, and she must thank ye;She will be sick else. This day, no man think’Has business at his house, for all shall stay.This little one shall make it holiday.
[Exeunt.]
EnterEpilogue.
EPILOGUE.’Tis ten to one this play can never pleaseAll that are here. Some come to take their ease,And sleep an act or two—but those, we fear,We’ve frighted with our trumpets; so, ’tis clear,They’ll say ’tis naught—others, to hear the cityAbused extremely and to cry “That’s witty!”—Which we have not done neither—that I fearAll the expected good we’re like to hearFor this play at this time is only inThe merciful construction of good women,For such a one we showed ’em. If they smileAnd say ’twill do, I know within a whileAll the best men are ours; for ’tis ill hapIf they hold when their ladies bid ’em clap.
[Exit.]