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.
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