Cranmer

King
Stand up, good Canterbury!
Thy truth and thy integrity is rooted
In us, thy friend. Give me thy hand. Stand up.
 Cranmer rises.
Prithee, let’s walk. Now by my halidom,
What manner of man are you? My lord, I looked
You would have given me your petition that
I should have ta’en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers and to have heard you
Without endurance further.
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Chancellor
My good lord Archbishop, I’m very sorry
To sit here at this present and behold
That chair stand empty. But we all are men,
In our own natures frail, and capable
Of our flesh—few are angels—out of which frailty
And want of wisdom you, that best should teach us,
Have misdemeaned yourself, and not a little,
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Cranmer
Is there no other way of mercy
But I must needs to th’ Tower, my lords?
Gardiner
What other
Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.
Let some o’ th’ guard be ready there.
 Enter the Guard.
Cranmer
For me?
Must I go like a traitor thither?
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Cranmer
Let me speak, sir,
For heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they’ll find ’em truth.
This royal infant—heaven still move about her!—
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
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