MORE. Fair prison, welcome; yet, methinks, For thy fair building tis too foul a name. Many a guilty soul, and many an innocent, Have breathed their farewell to thy hollow rooms. I oft have entered into thee this way; Yet, I thank God, ne’er with a clear conscience Than at this hour: This is my comfort yet, how hard sore My lodging prove, the cry of the poor suitor, Fatherless orphan, or distressed widow, Shall not disturb me in my quiet sleep. On, then, a God’s name, to our close abode! God is as strong here as he is abroad. [Exeunt.] SCENE II. More’s House. [Enter Butler, Porter, and Horsekeeper several ways.] BUTLER. Robin brewer, how now, man! what cheer, what cheer? BREWER. Faith, Ned butler, sick of thy disease; and these our other fellows here, Rafe horsekeeper and Giles porter, sad, sad; they say my lord goes to his trial today. HORSEKEEPER. To it, man! why, he is now at it, God send him well to speed! PORTER. Amen; even as i wish to mine own soul, so speed it with my honorable lord and master, Sir Thomas More. BUTLER. I cannot tell, I have nothing to do with matters above my capacity; but, as God judge me, if I might speak my mind, I think there lives not a more harmless gentleman in the universal world. BREWER. Nor a wiser, nor a merrier, nor an honester; go to, I’ll put that in upon mine own knowledge. PORTER. Nay, and ye bait him his due of his housekeeping, hang ye all! ye have many Lord Chancellor’s comes in debt at the year’s end, and for very housekeeping. HORSEKEEPER. Well, he was too good a lord for us, and therefore, I fear, God himself will take him: but I’ll be hanged, if ever I have such an other service. BREWER. Soft, man, we are not discharged yet: my lord may come home again, and all will be well. BUTLER. I much mistrust it; when they go to raining once, there’s ever foul weather for a great while after. But soft; here comes Master Gough and Master Catesby: now we shall hear more. [Enter Gough and Catesby with a paper.] HORSEKEEPER. Before God, they are very sad; I doubt my lord is condemned. PORTER. God bless his soul! and a fig then for all wordly condemnation. GOUGH. Well said, Giles porter, I commend thee for it; Twas spoken like a well affected servant Of him that was a kind lord to us all. CATESBY. Which now no more he shall be; for, dear fellows, Now we are masterless, though he may live So long as please the king: but law hath made him A dead man to the world, and given the axe his head, But his sweet soul to live among the saints.