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Lov. My lord, I love you;

And durst commend a secret to your ear

Much weightier than this work. The queen's in

labour,

They say, in great extremity; and fear'd,

She'll with the labour end.

Gard. The fruit, she goes with,

I pray for heartily; that it may find

Good time, and live: but for the stock, Sir Thomas, I wish it grubb'd up now.

Lov. Methinks, I could

Cry the amen; and yet my conscience says
She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
Deserve our better wishes.

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Hear me, Sir Thomas: You are a gentleman
Of mine own way; I know you wise, religious;
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well-

'Twill not, Sir Thomas Lovel, take't of me→

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'Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she, Sleep in their graves.

Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two

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The most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for Crom

well

Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master
O' the rolls, and the king's secretary; further, sir,
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments,
With which the time will load him: The archbishop
Is the king's hand, and tongue; And who dare speak
One syllable against him?

Gard.

Gard. Yes, yes, Sir Thomas,

There are that dare; and I myself have ventur'd
To speak my mind of him: and, indeed, this day,
Sir (I may tell it you), I think, I have

Incens'd the lords o' the council, that he is
(For so I know he is, they know he is)

A most arch heretick, a pestilence

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That does infect the land: with which they moved,
Have broken with the king; who hath so far
Given ear to our complaint (of his great grace
And princely care; foreseeing those fell mischiefs
Our reasons laid before him), he hath commanded,
To-morrow morning to the council-board
He be convented. He's a rank weed, Sir Thomas,
And we must root him out. From your affairs
I hinder you too long: good night, Sir Thomas.
Lov. Many good nights, my lord; I rest your ser-
[Exeunt GARDINER, and Page.

vant.

As LOVEL is going out, enter the King, and the Duke of SUFFOLK.

King. Charles, I will play no more to-night; My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me. Suf. Sir, I did never win of you before.

King. But little, Charles;

Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play.-
Now, Lovel, from the queen what is the news?

Lov. I could not personally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
I sent your message; who return'd her thanks

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In the greatest humbleness, and desir'd your hignness

Most heartily to pray for her.

King. What say'st thou ha!

Το pray for her what, is she crying out?

Lov. So said her woman; and that her sufferance

made

Almost each pang a death.

King. Alas, good lady!

Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and
With gentle travel, to the gladding of
Your highness with an heir!

King. 'Tis midnight, Charles,

Pr'ythee, to bed; and in thy prayers remember
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone;
For I must think of that, which company
Would not be friendly to.

Suf. I wish your highness

A quiet night, and my good mistress will

Remember in my prayers.

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King. Charles, good night.

[Exit SUFFOLK.

Enter Sir ANTHONY DENNY.

Well, sir, what follows?

Denny. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop,

As you commanded me.

King. Hal Canterbury >

Denny. Ay, my good lord.

King. 'Tis true: Where is he, Denny?

Denny. He attends your highness' pleasure.
King. Bring him to us.

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[Exit DENNY.

I am happily come hither.

Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake ;

Re-enter DENNY, with CRANMER.

[Aside.

King. Avoid the gallery.

[LOVEL seemeth to stay.

Ha! I have said.-Be gone.

What!

[Exeunt LovEL, and DENNY.

'Tis his aspect of terror.

All's not well.

Cran. I am fearful:-Wherefore frowns he thus ?

King. How now, my lord? You do desire to know

Wherefore I sent for you.

Cran. It is my duty

To attend your highness' pleasure.

King. Pray you, arise,

My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.

Come, you and I must walk a turn together;

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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 late
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,

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Grievous complaints of you; which, being consider'd,
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall
This morning come before us; where, I know,
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself,
But that, 'till further trial, in those charges
Which will require your answer, you must take
Your patience to you, and be well contented

To

To make your house our Tower: You a brother of

us,

It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.

Cran. I humbly thank your highness;

And am right glad to catch this good occasion

Most thoroughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
And corn shall fly asunder: for, I know,

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There's none stands under more calumnious tongues, Than I myself, poor man.

King. Stand up, good Canterbury;

Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted

In us, thy friend: Give me thy hand, stand up; Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy dame, What manner of man are you? My lord, I look'd You would have given me your petition, that

I should have ta'en some pains to bring together

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Yourself and your accusers; and to have heard you, Without indurance, further.

Cran. Most dread liege,

The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty;
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies,

Will triumph o'er my person; which I weigh not,
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
What can be said against me.

King. Know you not

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How your state stands i' the world, with the whole

world?

Your enemies are many, and not small; their prac

tices

Must

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