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Is there no other way of mercy

Is there no other way of mercy
But I must needs to th’ Tower, my lords?
What other
Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome.
Let some o’ th’ guard be ready there.
 Enter the Guard.
For me?
Must I go like a traitor thither?
Receive him,
And see him safe i’ th’ Tower.

I told you all,
When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,
’Twould fall upon ourselves.

Stay, good my lords,
I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords.
 He holds out the ring.
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
Out of the grips of cruel men and give it
To a most noble judge, the King my master.
This is the King’s ring.
’Tis no counterfeit.
’Tis the right ring, by heaven! I told you all,
When we first put this dangerous stone a-rolling,
’Twould fall upon ourselves.
Do you think, my lords,
The King will suffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vexed?
’Tis now too certain.
How much more is his life in value with him!
Would I were fairly out on ’t!
My mind gave me,
In seeking tales and informations
Against this man, whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,
You blew the fire that burns you. Now, have at you!
 Enter King, frowning on them; takes his seat.
Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to heaven
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince,
Not only good and wise, but most religious;
One that in all obedience makes the Church
The chief aim of his honor, and to strengthen
That holy duty out of dear respect,
His royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
You were ever good at sudden commendations,
Bishop of Winchester. But know I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence
They are too thin and base to hide offenses.
To me you cannot reach. You play the spaniel,
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me;
But whatsoe’er thou tak’st me for, I’m sure
Thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.—
Good man, sit down.Cranmer takes his seat.
Now let me see the proudest
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee.
By all that’s holy, he had better starve
Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
May it please your Grace—
No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought I had had men of some understanding
And wisdom of my Council, but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man—few of you deserve that title—
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At chamber door? And one as great as you are?
Why, what a shame was this! Did my commission
Bid you so far forget yourselves? I gave you
Power as he was a councillor to try him,
Not as a groom. There’s some of you, I see,
More out of malice than integrity,
Would try him to the utmost, had you mean,
Which you shall never have while I live.
Thus far,
My most dread sovereign, may it like your Grace
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purposed
Concerning his imprisonment was rather,
If there be faith in men, meant for his trial
And fair purgation to the world than malice,
I’m sure, in me.
Well, well, my lords, respect him.
Take him, and use him well; he’s worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him: if a prince
May be beholding to a subject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him.
Be friends, for shame, my lords.
 They embrace Cranmer.