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_. SCENE III.--ST. PAUL'S CROSS. FATHER BOURNE _in the pulpit_. A CROWD. MARCHIONESS OF EXETER, COURTENAY. _The_ SIEUR DE NOAILLES _and his man_ ROGER _in front of the stage. Hubbub_. NOAILLES. Hast thou let fall those papers in the palace? ROGER. Ay, sir. NOAILLES. 'There will be no peace for Mary till Elizabeth lose her head.' ROGER. Ay, sir. NOAILLES. And the other, 'Long live Elizabeth the Queen!' ROGER. Ay, sir; she needs must tread upon them. NOAILLES. Well. These beastly swine make such a grunting here, I cannot catch what Father Bourne is saying. ROGER. Quiet a moment, my masters; hear what the shaveling has to say for himself. CROWD. Hush--hear! BOURNE.--and so this unhappy land, long divided in itself, and sever'd from the faith, will return into the one true fold, seeing that our gracious Virgin Queen hath---- CROWD. No pope! no pope! ROGER (_to those about him, mimicking_ BOURNE).--hath sent for the holy legate of the holy father the Pope, Cardinal Pole, to give us all that holy absolution which---- FIRST CITIZEN. Old Bourne to the life! SECOND CITIZEN. Holy absolution! holy Inquisition! THIRD CITIZEN. Down with the Papist! [_Hubbub_.