[Enter King Henry and Huntington in talk.] KING. My Lord of Suffolk, Was it not said the Clergy did refuse To lend us money toward our wars in France? SUFFOLK. It was, my Lord, but very wrongfully. KING. I know it was, for Huntington here tells me, They have been very bountiful of late. SUFFOLK. And still they vow, my gracious Lord, to be so, Hoping your majesty will think of them As of your loving subjects, and suppress All such malicious errors as begin To spot their calling, and disturb the church. KING. God else forbid: why, Suffolk, is there Any new rupture to disquiet them? SUFFOLK. No new, my Lord; the old is great enough, And so increasing as, if not cut down, Will breed a scandal to your royal state, And set your Kingdom quickly in an uproar. The Kentish knight, Lord Cobham, in despite Of any law, or spiritual discipline, Maintains this upstart new religion still, And divers great assemblies by his means And private quarrels are commenced abroad, As by this letter more at large, my liege, Is made apparent. KING. We do find it here: There was in Wales a certain fray of late, Between two noblemen, but what of this? Follows it straight, Lord Cobham must be he Did cause the same? I dare be sworn, good knight, He never dreamt of any such contention. BISHOP. But in his name the quarrel did begin, About the opinion which he held, my liege. KING. How if it did? was either he in place, To take part with them, or abet them in it? If brabling fellows, whose inkindled blood, Seethes in their fiery veins, will needs go fight, Making their quarrels of some words that past Either of you, or you, amongst their cups, Is the fault yours, or are they guilty of it? SUFFOLK. With pardon of your Highness, my dread lord, Such little sparks, neglected, may in time Grow to a might flame: but that’s not all; He doth, beside, maintain a strange religion, And will not be compelled to come to mass. BISHOP. We do beseech you, therefore, gracious prince, Without offence unto your majesty, We may be bold to use authority. KING. As how? BISHOP. To summon him unto the Arches, Where such offences have their punishment. KING. To answer personally? is that your meaning? BISHOP. It is, my lord. KING. How, if he appeal? BISHOP. He cannot, my Lord, in such a case as this. SUFFOLK. Not where Religion is the plea, my lord. KING. I took it always, that our self stood out, As a sufficient refuge, unto whom Not any but might lawfully appeal. But we’ll not argue now upon that point. For Sir John Old-castle, whom you accuse, Let me entreat you to dispence awhile With your high title of pre-eminence. [In scorn.]