When the vulgar sort Sit on their Ale-bench, with their cups and cans, Matters of state be not their common talk, Nor pure religion by their lips profaned. Let us return unto the Bench again, And there examine further of this fray.

[Enter a Bailiff and a Servant.]

SHERIFF. Sirs, have ye taken the lord Powesse yet?

BAILIFF. No, nor heard of him.

SERVANT. No, he's gone far enough.

SECOND JUDGE. They that are left behind shall answer all.

[Exeunt.]

ACT I. SCENE II. Eltham. An antechamber in the palace.

[Enter Suffolk, Bishop of Rochester, Butler, parson of Wrotham.]

SUFFOLK. Now, my lord Bishop, take free liberty To speak your mind: what is your suit to us?

BISHOP. My noble Lord, no more than what you know, And have been oftentimes invested with: Grievous complaints have past between the lips Of envious persons to upbraid the Clergy, Some carping at the livings which we have, And others spurning at the ceremonies That are of ancient custom in the church. Amongst the which, Lord Cobham is a chief: What inconvenience may proceed hereof, Both to the King and to the commonwealth, May easily be discerned, when like a frenzy This innovation shall possess their minds. These upstarts will have followers, to uphold Their damned opinion, more than Harry shall To undergo his quarrel gainst the French.

SUFFOLK. What proof is there against them to be had, That what you say the law may justify?

BISHOP. They give themselves the name of Protestants, And meet in fields and solitary groves.

SIR JOHN. Was ever heard, my Lord, the like til now? That thieves and rebels--sblood, heretics, Plain heretics, I'll stand tooth to their teeth-- Should have, to colour their vile practices, A title of such worth as Protestant?

[Enter one with a letter.]

SUFFOLK. O, but you must not swear; it ill becomes One of your coat to rap out bloody oaths.

BISHOP. Pardon him, good my Lord, it is his zeal; An honest country prelate, who laments To see such foul disorder in the church.

SIR JOHN. There's one--they call him Sir John Old-castle-- He has not his name for naught: for like a castle Doth he encompass them within his walls; But till that castle be subverted quite, We ne'er shall be at quiet in the realm.

BISHOP. That is not our suit, my Lord, that he be ta'en, And brought in question for his heresy. Beside, two letters brought me out of Wales, Wherein my Lord Hereford writes to me, What tumult and sedition was begun, About the Lord Cobham at the Sises there, (For they had much ado the calm the rage), And that the valiant Herbert is there slain.

SUFFOLK. A fire that must be quenched. Well, say no more, The King anon goes to the counsel chamber, There to debate of matters touching France: As he doth pass by, I'll inform his grace Concerning your petition: Master Butler, If I forget, do you remember me.

BUTLER. I will, my Lord.

[Offer him a purse.]

BISHOP. Not for a recompence, But as a token of our love to you, By me my Lords of the clergy do present This purse, and in it full a thousand Angels, Praying your Lordship to accept their gift.

SUFFOLK. I thank them, my Lord Bishop, for their love, But will not take they money; if you please To give it to this gentleman, you may.

BISHOP. Sir, then we crave your furtherance herein.

BUTLER. The best I can, my Lord of Rochester.

BISHOP. Nay, pray ye take it; trust me but you shall.

SIR JOHN. --Were ye all thee upon New Market heath, You should not need strain curtsey who should ha't; Sir John would quickly rid ye of that care.

SUFFOLK. The King is coming. Fear ye not, my Lord; The very first thing I will break with him Shall be about your matter.

[Enter King Henry and Huntington in talk.]

KING. My Lord of Suffolk, Was it not said the Clergy did refuse To lend us money toward our wars in France?

SUFFOLK. It was, my Lord, but very wrongfully.

KING. I know it was, for Huntington here tells me, They have been very bountiful of late.

SUFFOLK. And still they vow, my gracious Lord, to be so, Hoping your majesty will think of them As of your loving subjects, and suppress All such malicious errors as begin To spot their calling, and disturb the church.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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Sir Thomas More