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.
KING.
And when came you to court?
COBHAM.
Last night, my Lord.
KING.
By this it seems, he is not guilty of it,
And you have done him wrong t'accuse him so.
BISHOP.
But it was done, my lord, by his appointment,
Or else his man durst ne'er have been so bold.
KING.
Or else you durst be bold to interrupt,
And fill our ears with frivolous complaints.
Is this the duty you do bear to us?
Was't not sufficient we did pass our word
To send for him, but you, misdoubting it,
Or--which is worse--intending to forestall
Our regal power, must likewise summon him?
This savors of Ambition, not of zeal,
And rather proves you malice his estate,
Than any way that he offends the law.
Go to, we like it not; and he your officer,
That was employed so much amiss herein,
Had his desert for being insolent.
[Enter Huntington.]
So, Cobham, when you please you may depart.
COBHAM.
I humbly bid farewell unto my liege.
[Exit.]
KING.
Farewell.--What's the news by Huntington?
HUNTINGTON.
Sir Roger Acton and a crew, my Lord,
Of bold seditious rebels are in Arms,
Intending reformation of Religion.
And with their Army they intend to pitch
In Ficket field, unless they be repulsed.
KING.
So near our presence? Dare they be so bold?
And will proud war, and eager thirst of blood,
Whom we had thought to entertain far off,
Press forth upon us in our native bounds?
Must we be forced to hansell our sharp blades
In England here, which we prepared for France?
Well, a God's name be it! What's their number, say,
Or who's the chief commander of this rout?
HUNTINGTON.
Their number is not known, as yet, my Lord,
But tis reported Sir John Old-castle
Is the chief man on whom they do depend.
KING.
How, the Lord Cobham?
HUNTINGTON.
Yes, my gracious Lord.
BISHOP.
I could have told your majesty as much
Before he went, but that I saw your Grace
Was too much blinded by his flattery.
SUFFOLK.
Send post, my Lord, to fetch him back again.
BUTLER.
Traitor unto his country, how he smoothed,
And seemed as innocent as Truth it self!
KING.
I cannot think it yet he would be false;
But if he be, no matter; let him go.
We'll meet both him and them unto their woe.
[Exeunt all but Bishop.]
BISHOP.
This falls out well, and at the last I hope
To see this heretic die in a rope.
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