_Gar._ Which reformation must be sudden too, 20 My noble lords; for those that tame wild horses Pace 'em not in their hands to make 'em gentle, But stop their mouths with stubborn bits and spur 'em, Till they obey the manage. If we suffer, Out of our easiness and childish pity 25 To one man's honour, this contagious sickness, Farewell all physic: and what follows then? Commotions, uproars, with a general taint Of the whole state: as of late days our neighbours, The upper Germany, can dearly witness, 30 Yet freshly pitied in our memories. _Cran._ My good lords, hitherto, in all the progress Both of my life and office, I have labour'd, And with no little study, that my teaching And the strong course of my authority 35 Might go one way, and safely; and the end Was ever to do well: nor is there living, I speak it with a single heart, my lords, A man that more detests, more stirs against,[813] Both in his private conscience and his place, 40 Defacers of a public peace, than I do.[814] Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart With less allegiance in it! Men that make Envy and crooked malice nourishment Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, 45 That, in this case of justice, my accusers, Be what they will, may stand forth face to face, And freely urge against me. _Suf._ Nay, my lord, That cannot be: you are a councillor, And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you. 50 _Gar._ My lord, because we have business of more moment,[815] We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' pleasure, And our consent, for better trial of you, From hence you be committed to the Tower; Where, being but a private man again, 55 You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, More than, I fear, you are provided for. _Cran._ Ah, my good Lord of Winchester, I thank you;[816] You are always my good friend; if your will pass, I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, 60 You are so merciful. I see your end; 'Tis my undoing. Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition: Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, 65 Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, I make as little doubt as you do conscience In doing daily wrongs. I could say more, But reverence to your calling makes me modest. _Gar._ My lord, my lord, you are a sectary; 70 That's the plain truth: your painted gloss discovers, To men that understand you, words and weakness.[817]