PAGET. My Lord, the world is like a drunken man, Who cannot move straight to his end--but reels Now to the right, then as far to the left, Push'd by the crowd beside--and underfoot An earthquake; for since Henry for a doubt-- Which a young lust had clapt upon the back, Crying, 'Forward!'--set our old church rocking, men Have hardly known what to believe, or whether They should believe in anything; the currents So shift and change, they see not how they are borne, Nor whither. I conclude the King a beast; Verily a lion if you will--the world A most obedient beast and fool--myself Half beast and fool as appertaining to it; Altho' your Lordship hath as little of each Cleaving to your original Adam-clay, As may be consonant with mortality. HOWARD. We talk and Cranmer suffers. The kindliest man I ever knew; see, see, I speak of him in the past. Unhappy land! Hard-natured Queen, half-Spanish in herself, And grafted on the hard-grain'd stock of Spain-- Her life, since Philip left her, and she lost Her fierce desire of bearing him a child, Hath, like a brief and bitter winter's day, Gone narrowing down and darkening to a close. There will be more conspiracies, I fear. PAGET. Ay, ay, beware of France. HOWARD. O Paget, Paget! I have seen heretics of the poorer sort, Expectant of the rack from day to day, To whom the fire were welcome, lying chain'd In breathless dungeons over steaming sewers, Fed with rank bread that crawl'd upon the tongue, And putrid water, every drop a worm, Until they died of rotted limbs; and then Cast on the dunghill naked, and become Hideously alive again from head to heel, Made even the carrion-nosing mongrel vomit With hate and horror. PAGET. Nay, you sicken _me_ To hear you. HOWARD. Fancy-sick; these things are done, Done right against the promise of this Queen Twice given. PAGET. No faith with heretics, my Lord! Hist! there be two old gossips--gospellers, I take it; stand behind the pillar here; I warrant you they talk about the burning. _Enter_ TWO OLD WOMEN. JOAN, _and after her_ TIB. JOAN. Why, it be Tib! TIB. I cum behind tha, gall, and couldn't make tha hear. Eh, the wind and the wet! What a day, what a day! nigh upo' judgement daay loike. Pwoaps be pretty things, Joan, but they wunt set i' the Lord's cheer o' that daay. JOAN. I must set down myself, Tib; it be a var waay vor my owld legs up vro' Islip. Eh, my rheumatizy be that bad howiver be I to win to the burnin'. TIB. I should saay 'twur ower by now. I'd ha' been here avore, but Dumble wur blow'd wi' the wind, and Dumble's the best milcher in Islip. JOAN. Our Daisy's as good 'z her. TIB. Noa, Joan. JOAN. Our Daisy's butter's as good'z hern. TIB. Noa, Joan. JOAN. Our Daisy's cheeses be better. TIB. Noa, Joan. JOAN. Eh, then ha' thy waay wi' me, Tib; ez thou hast wi' thy owld man.