Will you not sign it now?
CRANMER. No, Villa Garcia,
I sign no more. Will they have mercy on me?
VILLA GARCIA. Have you good hopes of mercy!
So, farewell.
[_Exit_.
CRANMER. Good hopes, not theirs, have I that I am fixt,
Fixt beyond fall; however, in strange hours,
After the long brain-dazing colloquies,
And thousand-times recurring argument
Of those two friars ever in my prison,
When left alone in my despondency,
Without a friend, a book, my faith would seem
Dead or half-drown'd, or else swam heavily
Against the huge corruptions of the Church,
Monsters of mistradition, old enough
To scare me into dreaming, 'what am I,
Cranmer, against whole ages?' was it so,
Or am I slandering my most inward friend,
To veil the fault of my most outward foe--
The soft and tremulous coward in the flesh?
O higher, holier, earlier, purer church,
I have found thee and not leave thee any more.
It is but a communion, not a mass--
No sacrifice, but a life-giving feast!
(_Writes_.) So, so; this will I say--thus will I pray.
[_Puts up the paper_.
_Enter_ BONNER.
BONNER. Good day, old friend; what, you look somewhat worn;
And yet it is a day to test your health
Ev'n at the best: I scarce have spoken with you
Since when?--your degradation.
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