Chapter 2

CRANMER. To Strasburg, Antwerp, Frankfort, Zurich, Worms, Geneva, Basle--our Bishops from their sees Or fled, they say, or flying--Poinet, Barlow, Bale, Scory, Coverdale; besides the Deans Of Christchurch, Durham, Exeter, and Wells-- Ailmer and Bullingham, and hundreds more; So they report: I shall be left alone. No: Hooper, Ridley, Latimer will not fly.

_Enter_ PETER MARTYR.

PETER MARTYR. Fly, Cranmer! were there nothing else, your name Stands first of those who sign'd the Letters Patent That gave her royal crown to Lady Jane.

CRANMER. Stand first it may, but it was written last: Those that are now her Privy Council, sign'd Before me: nay, the Judges had pronounced That our young Edward might bequeath the crown Of England, putting by his father's will. Yet I stood out, till Edward sent for me. The wan boy-king, with his fast-fading eyes Fixt hard on mine, his frail transparent hand, Damp with the sweat of death, and griping mine, Whisper'd me, if I loved him, not to yield His Church of England to the Papal wolf And Mary; then I could no more--I sign'd. Nay, for bare shame of inconsistency, She cannot pass her traitor council by, To make me headless.

PETER MARTYR. That might be forgiven. I tell you, fly, my Lord. You do not own The bodily presence in the Eucharist, Their wafer and perpetual sacrifice: Your creed will be your death.

CRANMER. Step after step, Thro' many voices crying right and left, Have I climb'd back into the primal church, And stand within the porch, and Christ with me: My flight were such a scandal to the faith, The downfall of so many simple souls, I dare not leave my post.

PETER MARTYR. But you divorced Queen Catharine and her father; hence, her hate Will burn till you are burn'd.

CRANMER. I cannot help it. The Canonists and Schoolmen were with me. 'Thou shalt not wed thy brother's wife.'--'Tis written, 'They shall be childless.' True, Mary was born, But France would not accept her for a bride As being born from incest; and this wrought Upon the king; and child by child, you know, Were momentary sparkles out as quick Almost as kindled; and he brought his doubts And fears to me. Peter, I'll swear for him He _did_ believe the bond incestuous. But wherefore am I trenching on the time That should already have seen your steps a mile From me and Lambeth? God be with you! Go.

PETER MARTYR. Ah, but how fierce a letter you wrote against Their superstition when they slander'd you For setting up a mass at Canterbury To please the Queen.

CRANMER. It was a wheedling monk Set up the mass.

PETER MARTYR. I know it, my good Lord. But you so bubbled over with hot terms Of Satan, liars, blasphemy, Antichrist, She never will forgive you. Fly, my Lord, fly!

CRANMER. I wrote it, and God grant me power to burn!

PETER MARTYR. They have given me a safe conduct: for all that I dare not stay. I fear, I fear, I see you, Dear friend, for the last time; farewell, and fly.

CRANMER. Fly and farewell, and let me die the death. [_Exit_ PETER MARTYR.

_Enter_ OLD SERVANT.

O, kind and gentle master, the Queen's Officers Are here in force to take you to the Tower.

CRANMER. Ay, gentle friend, admit them. I will go. I thank my God it is too late to fly.

[_Exeunt_.