University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

The Queen's Closet. Queen alone.
QUEEN.
How great were man without his appetites—
The sensual impulses that brand our nature!
Then were we all intelligence like Angels;
And the enlarged developement of mind
Might grapple with eternal verities;
And virtue be, once more, a primal instinct.
[She takes a paper from a table.
—Why did I leave thee there—thou basilisk—
To fascinate mine eyes?—again I read thee—
O insult upon insult! shame on shame!
What gibbeted in ballads? get thee gone!
[Flings it aside.
Though 'twere the last time, Philip, we must meet:
And my despairing cry shall reach thee yet!

[Rests her head on the table.
Enter Margaret.
QUEEN.
Is it the King?—speak quickly—comes he not?

MARGARET.
The Chancellor; may it please you.

QUEEN.
It doth not please.
Yet hold—I must concentrate thought—recall him!—
This dreaming while awake is dangerous:
I must eschew it; or I shall act dreams;—
Enter Gardiner.
And so men think me mad—All postures tire.
I'll sit me down. This chamber is too small
For one long used to pace and muse. I love
To talk in exercise—come you from the King?—
Build me some gallery full of light and air—
Your purpose?—speak! speak! speak!

GARDINER
[kneeling].
With your permission,
A letter from the Pope, touching my lord
The Cardinal.

QUEEN.
The Cardinal?—fly, Margaret,
And call my friend. Wait till he come.
[Apart.]
This friendship
Doth like a thoughtful builder, course by course,
From a firm base upraise a superstructure
That should endure through time. The fiery passion
Without distinction feeds on flowers and weeds:
But friendship, is select, considerate;
Needs concord of the Reason—I am watched!
[Aloud.]
My lord of Winton, what do you here unbidden?

GARDINER.
I have stated, under pardon, that I hold
Despatches from his Holiness, wherein—

QUEEN.
Now I remember. But the Cardinal
Must be in presence. Bishops can backbite—welcome!
Enter Cardinal.
My hand—no! no! it smells of blood! good Man,
Thou shalt not kiss it!

CARDINAL.
Daughter, calm yourself:
Your pleasure? Good my lord of Winton, speak:
Hath any evil chanced?

GARDINER
[aside].
Missives from Rome;
Which touch your Eminence: she knows them not.

QUEEN.
Speak to your errand.

GARDINER.
May it please your Grace,
His Holiness, hereby, recalls the Legate;
And summons him to answer certain charges.

QUEEN.
What means the Pope? Are we not Queen? Forgets he
Our father? what!—recall the Cardinal,
Our cousin, counsellor; our leave unasked?

GARDINER.
The Cardinal Peyto shall attend your Grace,
Duly deputed with legantine powers.

QUEEN.
Who is this Peyto?—poor, Franciscan friar!—
Legate to us in place of royal Pole?
What is Pole's crime? the King he serves, and Us,
And People, as becomes an Englishman.
This Pope maltreats me. We have, in all things, laboured
To serve the Apostolick See. What dangers
Shall not this Pole's departure loose on England?
It is as though you took from a sick soul
Its best physician. Sir, he shall not go!

CARDINAL.
Some old spite rankles here. No Pope before
E'er dealt with trusted Legate thus. Some charge
Should be set forth, before recall. He knows not
A colourable fault, or he had named it.

QUEEN.
You shall not go—that's flat: nor Peyto come!
Without circumlocution tell them so.
Passion o' God! we'll not be trifled with!

CARDINAL.
My duty as a subject binds me here
To your Grace's will: but to his Holiness
Ecclesiastical subordination
Compels me to respect his interdict,
No more a legate.

QUEEN.
I will have no other.
Let's talk of something else. Lord Chancellor,
Touching this thing, remember we prohibit
The promulgation of the Papal Bull.
And now I do bethink me, let our Attorney
Enquire how far the Papal jurisdiction
Affects this realm. Methinks his Holiness
Hereafter more advisedly shall use us.
[Exit Gardiner and Pole.
No words upon't: retire!—O Margaret!
Sweet cousin, pity me! I am stung and scourged
With piled indignities. But—did not He—
My Saviour, meekly wear his thorny crown?
Why should I murmur?

MARGARET.
Madam, peruse his Word:
And it shall be thy comfort.

QUEEN.
Hush! you know not
All you dare think. Beneath the soul there sleep
The founts of a great Deep. Unseal them not—
Retire, fair girl: I long for silent thought.
[Exit Margaret.
[She paces about: then stops before a veiled picture.
To thee I turn; and not the Virgin Mother!
Forgive me, Heaven! thou canst not hear, O Philip,
My secret sighs: blind art thou to my weeping.
Yet I would kneel to thy insensate image,
And plead for pity. Never, never breathed
A wife more fond and faithful!

PHILIP
[entering.]
Wherefore thus?
Rise from thy grovelling—I help thee not.

QUEEN.
Great God of heaven! look down and judge!

PHILIP.
How, Madam?
Do you impeach me? what is your complaint?

QUEEN.
Strengthen me, Thou, Almighty One! for I
Am very weak and miserable.

PHILIP.
Well:
Ere I go hence, you have besought this visit.
My horse is at the gate, pawing the air;
Impatient, like his master, to be gone.
My sail is on the sea: fair blows the wind:
Prithee, detain me not.

QUEEN.
If not a heart,
Have you no conscience?

PHILIP.
For my confessor.
Alphonse de Castro looks to that.

QUEEN.
Yet, Sir,
You countenance the foreign ribaldries
That offer shame to our pure manners.

PHILIP.
Prude!
Go to! We, Southrons, know the hottest fires
Smoulder beneath the mountain capped with snow.
Vesuvian lava sleeps in English bosoms,
Pure though they seem.

QUEEN.
No such retort you ventured
To my chaste maiden, Lady Magdalene;
Who smote you, as a Dacre knows to smite,
When with licentious arm you clasped her waist.

PHILIP.
I warrant you an Amazon! I' faith!
My error was to judge her by her name;
Deeming she might have earned it.

QUEEN.
This to me?

PHILIP.
Ay, most discreet of dames! and what's to thee
The carriage of your ladies? watch your own.

QUEEN.
I guard my ladies' honour as mine own.

PHILIP.
Then guard yourself.

QUEEN.
I stand in the open day,
A Queen, a loyal wife, before all eyes.
While you, Sir, rove at night, and give occasion
For losel scandal.

PHILIP.
Ha! indeed?—who dares
Whisper of Philip to his wife?

QUEEN.
No whisper!
See here—a ballad jest—“How the King likes
The baker's daughter in her russet gown
Better than Queen Mary without her crown”—

PHILIP.
'Sdeath!—I could stab the knave who—

QUEEN.
Stab this heart—
No more your pillow. I would gladly die!

PHILIP.
Talk you thus, Madam, with the Cardinal?

QUEEN.
O, Philip! I have never breathed my grief
Into another ear.

PHILIP.
With Pole your counsels
Are long—and private.

QUEEN.
Truest—holiest friend!

PHILIP.
In Spain we hold these pious—counsellors,
Ticklish companions in a lady's chamber.

QUEEN.
What is your drift, my lord?

PHILIP.
O nothing—nothing!
I am not jealous of you, my good Queen:
Though you to me have hazarded plain words.
Nay, lady, 'tis not that I trust the nature
Of any woman: but I trust experience.
A fast of forty years is wholesome practice!

QUEEN.
Begone! I must bear insult—I am helpless—
But you pollute my chaste mind with your gibes.
It is enough. I know my fate. Begone!

PHILIP
[after regarding her for some time, scornfully].
For ever!

[He turns from her suddenly and goes.
QUEEN.
[alone].
I submit to God's decree!
Was it for this my maiden liberty
Was yielded?—to be spurned—despised—and still
Bear on without redress? O grief! O shame!
[She approaches the picture of Philip.
Back, silken folds! that hide what was my joy,
And is my torture! Back!—See, I have rent you—
False, senseless idol, from thy tinselled frame.
I wrench thee forth—I look on thee no more!
And thus—and thus—
[She tears up the picture.
I scatter thee from out
The desecrated temple of my heart!—
[A pause.
My brain is hot—this swoln heart chokes my throat.
Yet am I better thus than self-deceived.
Die, wretched Queen! O die, dishonoured wife!
I pant for the cold blessing of the grave!

Scene II.

The Hall of Lambeth.
Procession of Prelates, followed by Nobles, &c.
PEMBROKE.
Well, Oxford, what says Cranmer? Will he bide
The penalty?

OXFORD.
Marking his vacillation,
I should say no: but ay, if well provoked.

PEMBROKE.
Here come they—Latymer, the lion, first.
Nor he, nor Ridley, quail: these look like martyrs.
The Queen!

[The Queen passes, attended.
OXFORD.
Good God! how changed! Speak, Underhill—
You serve beside her Grace. Is not this sudden?

UNDERHILL.
My lord, she is dying.

OXFORD.
Why her surgeons say
She soon will have an heir.

UNDERHILL.
It is delusion.

PEMBROKE.
You, I believe, have served her since her childhood?

UNDERHILL.
I knew her when a girl: and not Jane Grey,
Whom she resembled, in her prime was fairer.
Then grief and passion had not stamped their hoofs
On her high brow: and her acquirements answered
The intellectual promise. Small of stature,
Her form was symmetry; her face well shaped,
With features feminine, perhaps too grave.
Her penetrating eye was to be feared,
Large, dark, intent. Her voice was musical;
Albeit at times too piercing; her rich hair
A golden brown, like sunshine on a chestnut:
Her full, red lip ripe ever to pettishness.

OXFORD.
This is not Mary now: alas! for pity!
The age she hath attained abates not beauty:
But grief drives like a ploughshare thro' its garden.

UNDERHILL.
I sketched the features of her prime! 'Tis thus
A woman should be shown to after time.

OXFORD.
A word with thee, good servant. Go to Hatfield:
And bid the princess, by the truth forearmed,
Be ready for the time—wary of Philip—
Above all, bold.

PEMBROKE.
Now, wait upon the Queen.

UNDERHILL.
We are in charge, my lords, that none shall pass
Save the Lord Chancellor and Cardinal.

PEMBROKE.
Peyto or Pole?

OXFORD.
This Peyto skulks in lanes,
Like a proved knave. The Queen denies to see him.

PEMBROKE.
The less of Rome, the better hope for England.

[Exeunt severally.

Scene III.

Gallery in Lambeth Palace.
Queen, Pole, Gardiner, Cranmer, Ridley, Latymer.
GARDINER.
We but await your Grace's word.

QUEEN
[after a pause.]
The order
Of your procedure shall be grave; the manner
Stringent. I shall observe you, though in pain.
Should my mind wander, as 'tis apt to wander,
Recall attention without ceremony.

GARDINER.
This is no legal process; but a test
How far these obdurate men by frank confession
May clear their great offence, and spare the fagot.
My lord of Canterbury we cite not
Till due authority from Rome shall issue.
Yet let me pray him seize this precious moment
For penitence. You, Latymer and Ridley,
Speak: have you ought to urge?

LATYMER.
I am too old
For controversy. I come here to die.

GARDINER.
With fagot at your beard this is vain glory.
Your learning, Sir, is lost. Well—turn in time;
And trust her Grace's mercy.

LATYMER.
Hope not that.
My prayer hath daily been—may the Queen turn!

GARDINER.
Oh obdurate! Hear this!

QUEEN.
Proceed with the others.

GARDINER.
What says the doctor Ridley? Thou art a man
Whose subtile wit would illustrate an Arius.

RIDLEY.
Say on. We change not. From your coming sentence
To God we make appeal. Our names, we trust,
Though not of your communion, shall be found
Writ in His book of life.

LATYMER.
I thank my God
Most heartily, that He hath thus preserved me
To glorify him by this kind of death.

GARDINER.
You see, my liege, what manner of men these be:—
Unmannerly, audacious. What need we more?

CARDINAL.
Let the Archbishop speak. It is his right.

GARDINER.
Speak, Thomas Cranmer.

CRANMER.
First my lords, I pray you,
To intercede for me, touching my sin
Of treason, which with penitence I own.
I am prepared to wrestle, as becomes
My sacred calling in my soul's defence.
Give me but patient hearing.

GARDINER.
That is granted.

CRANMER.
My lords, I doubt the law of your procedure.

GARDINER.
We act upon commission; which for us
Is full acquittance. Hereticks despatched,
Their friends may sue the law, if so it pleaseth.

QUEEN.
You go too fast, my lord. I halt behind
Your expedite advance. Let law be law.
The secular arm is nerveless till conviction
At competent tribunals. See to this.

RIDLEY.
You keep us prisoners, deprived of service,
Or free communication with our fellows—

GARDINER.
Ay? who be they?

RIDLEY.
Our solitude, 'tis true,
Is little cheered by offices of kindness
From brother scholars: but the Poor, unlettered,
Have shown us sympathy.

LATYMER.
My soul, my soul
Finds in the prison house a holy cell
For meditation. 'Tis like a pitcher filled
To the brim, with scripture; which so mightily
Endows the spirit, that all infirmities
Of flesh fall from me. I am strong through faith.

CARDINAL.
My lord of Canterbury, when you dispute,
Observe, the parliament prohibits use
Of all suspect translations of the Bible;
And your own book upon the Sacraments.
You must rely on writings orthodox.
The Fathers such; and Scripture, as the Church
Expounds.

CRANMER.
In chains I fight not. I deny
The truth of your expounding.

GARDINER.
Hear, my liege!
He doth deny the truth!

CARDINAL.
Wrest not his words.
What would you say, Archbishop?

CRANMER.
I entreat
License to utter freely all my thought.
'Tis true her Grace mislikes me, and with cause;—
That Reformation is her royal province;—
Yet speak I must in duty to my God.

LATYMER.
Why speak you not more roundly? they have scourged
Our brethren with their rods; burned them with fagots;
Famished and drowned; ripped up their buried bodies,
And flung to dogs. 'Tis true—these are not lies.—
Eyes have beheld—your consciences bear witness!
The blood of Abel crieth unto God—
And at your hands shall be required! Great Queen,
I supplicate you, by a mother's love,
Have pity on your children, spare your people!

QUEEN.
Fearful old man! why thus adjur'st thou me?

CRANMER.
Be temperate, Latymer: this will not serve.

LATYMER.
Not serve—will it avenge?

QUEEN.
Intemperate man!
I press not thee more than I would endure.
If right, you are a martyr, worthy heaven:
If wrong, deserve no pity.

CARDINAL.
Had ye been
Endowed with judgment equal to your courage,
Ye had not missed the mark of genuine greatness.
That little which ye lack bewrays your life.

RIDLEY.
We enter life as on a battle field
Where principle must be asserted bravely.
This shakes us not—that God with us should deal
As with his chosen Captains in old time:
Nor yet repine we that our mortal state
Partakes the customed penalties of man.

GARDINER.
You waste the time.

LATYMER.
He speaks as the time needs!—
The Truth of God ye hide within a cave,
Sealed with a seal, and guarded by a guard:
But that which died shall live; and, shining wide
On all the white-robed synod of the Saints,
Keep, in the face of Christendom restored,
Its joyful Passover! Lords, we defy you!
What should we shrink from who look back on Him—
Our Master—whose great sacrifice began
When time was as an infant, pure and tearful,
And still bleeds on through every martyr's wound?
He, massacred with Abel; tempest-tost
With Noah; bound upon the pile with Isaak;
A miracle of patience as in Job;
Betrayed with Joseph; and like Daniel cast
Amid the lions—No! we will not shrink!

GARDINER.
I' faith you speak bold words. Can you do boldly?

RIDLEY.
There have been men of fearless mind, who dared
All, for their Country. One—the Roman—leaped
Alive into his grave, earth's yawning chasm.
Shall then a Christian falter in his faith?—
His faith in Him who laid heaven's crown aside
To win immortal palms for those He loved?

GARDINER.
Palms—palms? for such as you? Presumptuous fools!
Who scarce can boast the name of Church.

RIDLEY.
Our Church
Is as the grape of Ephraim; better worth
Than Abiezer's vintage. In her pale
All wholesome comfort, honest aids are centered.
The pleasures she affords are of the soul,
Inward, yet shared by all; perdurable.
She spreads no peacock feathers in the sun
To lure the eye; nor scatters on the air
Sweet odours, to entrap the sense. All blessing
She knows included in the Word of God!
What are the joys of sense to joys like hers,
That grow for ever?—

CARDINAL.
This is very grievous!
Madam, so please you, these be heated men,
Who may not be convinced, and will not bend.
With Cranmer I would crave some separate speech.
[Exeunt Ridley and Latymer attended.
Cranmer, my friend, you much mistake, believe me,
The interest of the Church. The Church is one,
And indivisible; though you have split
Her walls, seceding. You should have trained with care,
Not rent, the wild shoots of the immortal tree.
If sand be mixed with gold, men purge the dross,
But change not gold for lead. Work with us, Cranmer!
Say you that things need mending? You but say
What pious men within our pale say also,
Albeit that task they trust not to base hands.
In her own breast the Church retains the cure
Of ills that vex her. Men in conference met,
Learned and saintly monitors, take counsel;
Whereby all points of difference are settled.
Ay, men must work in concert, and the few
Yield to the many, or we'll see no end.

CRANMER.
Your words show more the statesman than the churchman.
'Tis not the voice of Rome.

CARDINAL.
In that you err.
The amplitude of Rome hath space reserved
Where Freedom may indulge her dreams. How else
Our Carmelites, Dominicans, Franciscans?
We wink; they kneel: enough—the Church stands firm.
—I can no more. We must not lose this man.
Gardiner, strive thou.

GARDINER.
Commit to me his keeping,
And I will strive—

CRANMER.
To thee? Have mercy, Christ!
My vineyard is too near the house of Ahab.

GARDINER
[aside].
Ha! Philip's word!

CRANMER.
O Queen! my heart is full.
And I could prophesy, but I refrain.
The bitter cup is brimming: it is enough—
We both must drain our portion. Are you happy?
See what has come of my prosperity!
Prosperity? alas! what part hast thou
In real joys—cankered prosperity?
—The conquest of our passions is true joy.
Content is joy: and there's a spiritual joy
In converse with our God; capacity
For learning and high art; and these used rightly
In aid of fellow men, and for God's glory!
But there's a joy beyond; transcendent, holy;
The joy when saints take up their Master's cross—
The joy of pain that testifies of faith—
Shining abroad, significant of grace,
And coming glory! such as Peter found
Upon his cross—Stephen beneath the stones—
Paul in his cavern—Lawrence o'er the flames!
—I have wandered—pardon me!

CARDINAL.
We stayed to teach:
And have been taught. Thanks for your sermon, Cranmer!
The Queen grows pale: be quick in your retiring.
Lean on my arm, my liege. Cranmer, adieu!
We meet again. Would that thy faith were true!

[Exeunt severally.

Scene IV.

Queen's Closet, Whitehall.
Queen and Cardinal.
CARDINAL.
The silent moth gnaws not more fatally
Tissue of gold, than sadness gnaws our heart.
Let us apply the moral.

QUEEN.
Cousin, why blame
Me, not my fate?

CARDINAL.
Fate?—In your body dwells there
An evil spirit, that your life must be
A purgatory? Think you God directs
'Gainst you alone his thunders? arms 'gainst you
His judgments? O what torture like self-torture!
See yourself as I see you, heavy-browed,
With troubled eye, and countenance aghast—

QUEEN.
God made me weak and fallible.

CARDINAL.
Poor Soul!
Be to yourself more charitable. Think
That One there is who answers for your faults,
And multiplies your merits.

QUEEN.
Hope rests there:
Or I were mad.

CARDINAL.
All men are born to suffer.
What are the consolations of the Scripture,
The fruit of exhortation and of prayer,
If now you quail? No, you shall quail no more.

QUEEN.
My web of life was woven with the nettle:
My very triumphs were bedewed with tears.
What now is left?

CARDINAL.
Religion. As the sunbow
Shines in the showery gloom, and makes the cloud
A shape of glory, in thy path she stands
A herald of high promise. Blessed emblem!
Religion bids thee hope! This gloomy life
Must be amended; we must draw thee hence.

QUEEN.
Thanks be to God! time works while we grieve on.
Deprive not sorrow of the shade she needs;
The sad quiescence of desponding thought.
Job also raised his voice, and wailed aloud,
And so was comforted. Remember, also,
In weeping I can pray: should I not?

CARDINAL.
Yea.
Pray with thanksgiving: 'tis the sum of duty!

QUEEN.
Whene'er I turn my thoughts to God, one image
Stands between me and heaven. Instead of prayer
A sigh for Philip trembles on my lip.

CARDINAL.
To pine thus for the absent, as men mourn
The dead, is sinful.

QUEEN.
Speak no more of him.
Thoughts holier be my guide. You pity one
Who twines her heart to the decaying creature,
Yet may earn heaven. All earthly vows are light
As winds; faithless as ice. I raise my eyes:
There find I love enduring—ever loyal!
Ay, loyal; for the Saviour, through our flesh,
Hath bound himself to man's community;
And with immortal garlands, without thorns,
Shall crown his chosen.

CARDINAL.
Hear me, Queen of England!
Thus I preach comfort to thee. Live for thy People!
Make England happy! It is a noble thing
To stablish thrones on bounty; reign through love:
To make the spacious heart of man our kingdom.
O'er such a Prince the hand of God shakes forth
Blessings like rain on the green lap of Spring.
For him no stabber lurks in palace courts:
His march is tranquil in the front of battle:
Good luck attends his counsels. Prosperous
At home, and reverenced in lands remote,
All eyes wake for him, and all tongues pray for him:
His life shall be a blessing to his people;
And his just memory their rightful dower.

QUEEN.
But how make good the portraiture? alas!
We cannot pace the avenue to glory,
Until with blood its sacred palms are sprinkled.
Our churches were baptized with martyrs' gore,
Which holocausts must purge!

CARDINAL.
I spake not, daughter,
Of glory: I besought thee to be good.
The chief of greatness is surpassing goodness:
And that outsoars the ken of mortal eyes;
Hidden with God. Yet I would have thee glorious:
Radiant with all heroic qualities;
Magnanimously bent on great designs;
Profuse in liberality; sedate
Even in devotion; scrupulously just;—
All this hath Mary been: why not so still?

QUEEN.
O Reginald! thou guiding, this might be.
To thy pure hands I would confide the staff
Now feebly held by the apostate Cranmer.

CARDINAL.
To speak of him I sought you.

QUEEN.
First decide:
Will you accept this charge?

CARDINAL.
And Winton curse
The hand that doth supplant him?

QUEEN.
He deserves
Promotion: but not thus—

CARDINAL
[musing].
He who hath stood
Upon the first step of the Papal throne,
And vacant left the Vatican, may look
With eye undazzled on the chair of Lambeth.

QUEEN.
The Church requires your service: you must yield it.

CARDINAL.
I answer to her call, and yours. A wrong
It were to both if Stephen Gardiner made
The crozier but a bloody battle-axe.
You must spare Cranmer. Hear me. He hath been
Your mother's foe—a false friend to her rival:
Therefore 'tis great to spare. But in the main,
Though weak, he is good; ardent in search of truth,
Though apt to wander; generous when not fearful;
Clear-sighted, where self-interest blinds him not.
Such men are dangerous, if desperate:
We must not make him so—for such make martyrs;
And martyrdoms make error popular.

QUEEN.
I wish not for his death.

CARDINAL.
But Gardiner wills it:
Ay, and will have it, if you be not watchful.
Strange things are rumoured of the Council's doings
While you lay sick.

QUEEN.
What can I do?

CARDINAL.
No evil,
That good may follow. Openly remove
The heretick prelate by prerogative;
And, though most irksome, I will bear his burthen.

QUEEN.
I have long thought it strange that you refused
The greater honour though the heavier burthen:
The proffered crown of Rome.

CARDINAL
[after much agitation].
Look not alarmed—
[A pause.
You touch the mind's immedicable wound.—
O God! that I had died before I knew thee!—
Pardon me—pardon me!

QUEEN.
We both need pardon.
Let us forget the past. God strengthen us!

CARDINAL.
Fear not. Henceforth we gaze upon each other,
As the two Cherubim upon the Ark;
The living God between!

QUEEN.
Then take my hand.
—It will be colder soon. May God be with you!

[Exeunt.

Scene V.

Oxford, interior of a Prison.
Cranmer, Ridley, Latymer.
RIDLEY.
We stand upon the confines of two worlds;
Which are as kingdoms in hostility.
Here every passion, here all woes are banded;
And from the throne of death an Anarch rules.
There infinite peace, beneath the shield of faith;
Angelick knowledge; immortality!
At length we stoop o'er the dividing ridge,
After sore labour. Fear not to descend.
Our grievous perils past, all sorrows o'er.
The kingdom of our God unfolds! Hosanna!

LATYMER.
Thank God that I have lived to see this day,
And bless him from the midst of purging fires!
Brother, through God's grace, we this day shall kindle,
Throughout this English land, a light whereby
True Faith shall shine for ever.

RIDLEY.
Praise to Him,
Our Strength alone!—Thou art reserved, dear Cranmer—
God give our Captain courage for the fight!

CRANMER.
My soul is sad. I need your dying prayers.
Too prosperous, too dainty in my ways,
I have been, for this reverse. The coming doom
Shakes me, as shames a soldier of the cross.

RIDLEY.
Kneel, and pour forth thy fainting spirit in prayer,
When we go forth. Think not of what we suffer:
But gaze upon the vision of our glory,
Till thou shalt long to share it.

CRANMER.
Not as thine
Is my poor heart; but sluggish as my blood
Creeps my slow mind. God shapes us wonderfully!
We seem both formed alike; yet that free spirit
Which sparkles in thine eyes looks dull from mine.
Are we indeed slaves of our elements?

RIDLEY.
In truth the moral and the physical
Are wondrously compacted: God's good purpose
Pervading all.

LATYMER.
Come, brother; it is time
To wean our thoughts from Earth. To prayer—to prayer!
So shall our psalms rise on our flames to Heaven!
Dear Cranmer take our last embrace. Be firm,
And faithful to the end!

[Exeunt Ridley and Latymer.
CRANMER
[alone].
Incarnate Spirits
Of martyrdom! ye will ascend the pile
As 'twere Elijah's chariot:—this poor heart,
The while with palpitating terrors torn.
O cease, ye earthly tremours! Faith, support me!
Surely I have not called on God aright?
—Alas! alas! that, knowing well my fault,
I have not strength to mend it—I will pray!—

[He retires to a side oriel, kneels, rises, looks from the window.
Enter Gardiner, who watches unobserved.
CRANMER.
O God! was it in kindness or despite
They placed me here? My heart was not prepared
To quit, without a pang, this fair, fair world.
Look on that breadth of woodland; breezy hills;
And waters that wind through, like placid thoughts.
Here could I live a hermit, praising God:
Forgetful of all cares;—the carnal pomps
Of Lambeth;—court cabals. Go forth, my soul—
And commune with the things thou lov'dst in youth.
Oh! is it not a goodly thing to hold
Discourse with the great forest, face to face;
Near murmuring waters, with free-warbling birds,
And throng of insect life that veils the porch
Of the great Temple? Then our souls converse
With that Intelligence diffused through all!—
Who thinks of cunning stops, metals or woods,
Or the trained finger, when the organ's breath
Blows perfect music through capacious domes?—
Our spirit commingles with the spirit of sound,
Participant of all its harmonies.
Thus penetrates the soul all that is good
And beautiful in Nature: drawing from all
The flavour and the aliment of joy.
How great his goodness, sharing all perfections
Among his creatures:—wisdom that proportions
Each to his want! O! love Him—He is thine—
And thou art His! His arms surround—His grace
Protects—His liberalities enrich thee!—
[Loud shouting outside.
I wake—O miserable man!—behold!
Does God indeed protect thee? Hark those yells—
Great God! that fearful death! the most abhorred!
[He beats the ground.
Hide me, cold stones! thou gelid Earth, ope for me!
[Starts up again.
I must look on it—ha! it drags me forward
[A sudden glare.
With a wild fascination—see—they gather
Around—a ring of fiends!—O women! women!
What brings ye there?—is this a sight? I'm blasted!
[He reels back.
The smoke—breaks off—the flames—O Latymer!
I am very faint—too much!—I cannot bear it.

GARDINER.
Nor need you, master Cranmer. In your ear;
One little word.

[Whispers.
CRANMER.
Avoid thee, Satan!

GARDINER.
Pshaw!
You are to blame. Hard words shall not avail you.
But I forgive. You weep away your brains.

CRANMER.
Gardiner, I am ashamed that you should see
A Christian thus.

GARDINER.
Tut, man! the bravest soldier
Would shake to see a brother roast alive:
Especially, if waiting for his turn.
Why, what a fool are you to take your turn!
You will not bear it. You being head of all
These hereticks, ay you they'll torture slowly.
Sick fancy shudders to behold thee—blackening
And withering mid the coals—and hear thy shrieks—
And all so soon!

CRANMER.
When, when?—

GARDINER.
Perhaps—to morrow

CRANMER.
I cannot bear it. I'll sign—anything!

GARDINER.
Then this—go to! Your hand shakes: take more time.
Why men will say—No matter what they say,
Now it is done.

CRANMER.
And am I safe?

GARDINER.
'Tis likely

CRANMER.
Is it not certain?

GARDINER.
Only probable.
But I shall be your friend. Trust not in Pole!

CRANMER.
Palter not with me. Why not trust in Pole?
I have ever found him gentle.

GARDINER.
Men are mortal.

CRANMER.
Pole's in good health—

GARDINER.
Yet prophecies go round
That he stands foremost on death's calendar.

CRANMER.
He shall outlive us both.

GARDINER.
I think not so.
Enough—If you uphold what's here subscribed,
You may be saved.

CRANMER.
Yet lost eternally!

GARDINER.
Possibly both ways, if you so speak to others.
We shall see—we shall see! God keep you, Dr. Cranmer!

[Exit.
CRANMER.
Oh madman! recreant! I am lost for ever!

[Scene closes.