MURLEY. Paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro, upon occasion I have ten thousand pound to spend, and ten too. And rather than the Bishop shall have his will of me for my conscience, it shall out all. Flame and flax, flame and flax! it was got with water and malt, and it shall fly with fire and gun powder. Sir Roger, a cart load of money till the axetree crack, my self and my men in Ficket field on Friday next: remember my Knighthood, and my place. There's my hand; I'll be there.
[Exit.]
ACTON. See what Ambition may persuade men to, In hope of honor he will spend himself.
BOURNE. I never thought a Brewer half so rich.
BEVERLY. Was never bankerout Brewer yet but one, With using too much malt, too little water.
ACTON. That's no fault in Brewers now-adays. Come, away, about our business.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II. SCENE III. An audience-chamber in the palace at Eltham.
[Enter King Henry, Suffolk, Butler, and Old-castle kneeling to the King.]
KING. Tis not enough, Lord Cobham, to submit; You must forsake your gross opinion. The Bishops find themselves much injured, And though, for some good service you have done, We for our part are pleased to pardon you, Yet they will not so soon be satisfied.
COBHAM. My gracious Lord, unto your Majesty, Next unto my God, I owe my life: And what is mine, either by nature's gift, Or fortune's bounty, all is at your service. But, for obedience to the Pope of Rome, I owe him none, nor shall his shaveling priests That are in England alter my belief. If out of holy Scripture they can prove, That I am in an error I will yield, And gladly take instruction at their hands; But otherwise, I do beseech your grace, My conscience may not be encroached upon.
KING. We would be loath to press our subjects' bodies, Much less their souls, the dear redeemed part Of him that is the ruler of us all; Yet let me counsel ye, that might command: Do not presume to tempt them with ill words, Nor suffer any meetings to be had Within your house, but to the uttermost, Disperse the flocks of this new gathering sect.
COBHAM. My liege, if any breathe, that dares come forth, And say my life in any of these points Deserves th'attaindor of ignoble thoughts, Here stand I, craving no remorse at all, But even the utmost rigor may be shown.
KING. Let it suffice; we know your loyalty. What have you there?
COBHAM. A deed of clemency; Your Highness' pardon for Lord Powis' life, Which I did beg, and you, my noble Lord, Of gracious favour did vouchsafe to grant.
KING. But yet it is not signed with our hand.
COBHAM. Not yet, my Liege.
[One ready with pen and ink.]
KING. The fact, you say, was done, Not of prepensed malice, but by chance.
COBHAM. Upon mine honor so, no otherwise.
KING. There is his pardon; bid him make amends,
[Writes.]
And cleanse his soul to God for his offence. What we remit, is but the body's scourge--
[Enter Bishop.]
How now, Lord Bishop?
BISHOP. Justice, dread Sovereign! As thou art King, so grant I may have justice.
KING. What means this exclamation? let us know.
BISHOP. Ah, my good Lord, the state's abused, And our decrees most shamefully profaned.
KING. How? or by whom?
BISHOP. Even by this heretic, This Jew, this Traitor to your majesty.
COBHAM. Prelate, thou liest, even in thy greasy maw, Or whosoever twits me with the name Of either traitor, or of heretic.
KING. Forbear, I say: and, Bishop, shew the cause >From whence this late abuse hath been derived.
BISHOP. Thus, mighty King:--By general consent, A messenger was sent to cite this Lord, To make appearance in the consistory; And coming to his house, a ruffian slave, One of his daily followers, met the man, Who, knowing him to be a parroter, Assaults him first and after, in contempt Of us and our proceedings, makes him cate The written process, parchment, scale and all: Whereby his master neither was brought forth, Nor we but scorned for our authority.
KING. When was this done?
BISHOP. At six a clock this morning.