Anthony Munday - Sir Thomas More ACT 4. SCENE 5. lyrics

Chelsea. A Room in More's House. Enter Sir Thomas More, his Lady, Daughters, Master Roper, Gentlemen, and Servants, as in his house at Chelsea. More. Good morrow, good son Roper.— Sit, good madame, Low stools. Upon an humble seat; the time so craves; Rest your good heart on earth, the roof of graves: You see the floor of greatness is uneven; The cricket and high throne alike near heaven.— Now, daughters, you that like to branches spread, And give best shadow to a private house, Be comforted, my girls; your hopes stand fair: Virtue breeds gentry, she makes the best heir. Both Daughters. Good morrow to your honor. More. Nay, good night rather; Your honor's crest-fain with your happy father. Roper. Oh, what formality, what square observance, Lives in a little room! here public care Gags not the eyes of slumber; here fierce riot Ruffles not proudly in a coat of trust, Whilst, like a pawn at chess, he keeps in rank With kings and mighty fellows; yet indeed Those men that stand on tiptoe smile to see Him pawn his fortunes. More. True, son,…. Nor does the wanton tongue here screw itself Into the ear, that like a vise drinks up The iron instrument. Lady More. We are here at peace. More. Then peace, good wife. Lady More. For, keeping still in compa**, a strange point In times new navigation we have sailed Beyond our course. More. Have done. Lady More. We are exiled the court. More. Still thou harpest on that: Tis sin for to deserve that banishment; But he that ne'er knew court, courts sweet content. Lady More. Oh, but, dear husband— More. I will not hear thee, wife; The winding labyrinth of thy strange discourse Will ne'er have end. Sit still; and, my good wife, Entreat thy tongue be still; or, credit me, Thou shalt not understand a word we speak; We'll talk in Latin. Humida vallis raros patitur fulminis ictus, More rest enjoys the subject meanly bred Than he that bears the kingdom in his head. Great men are still musicians, else the world lies; They learn low strains after the notes that rise. Roper. Good sir, be still yourself, and but remember How in this general court of short-lived pleasure, The world, creation is the ample food That is digested in the maw of time: If man himself be subject to such ruin, How shall his garment, then, or the loose points That tie respect unto his awful place, Avoid destruction? Most honored father-in-law, The blood you have bequeathed these several hearts To nourish your posterity, stands firm; And, as with joy you led us first to rise, So with like hearts we'll lock preferment's eyes. More. Close them not, then, with tears: for that ostent Gives a wet signal of your discontent. If you will share my fortunes, comfort then; An hundred smiles for one sigh: what! we are men: Resign wet pa**ion to these weaker eyes, Which proves their s**, but grants it ne'er more wise. Let's now survey our state. Here sits my wife, And dear esteemed issue; yonder stand My loving servants: now the difference Twixt those and these. Now you shall hear my speak Like More in melancholy. I conceive that nature Hath sundry metals, out of which she frames Us mortals, each in valuation Outprizing other: of the finest stuff The finest features come: the rest of earth, Receive base fortune even before their birth; Hence slaves have their creation; and I think Nature provides content for the base mind; Under the whip, the burden, and the toil, Their low-wrought bodies drudge in patience; As for the prince in all his sweet-gorged maw, And his rank flesh, that sinfully renews The noon's excess in the night's dangerous surfeits. What means or misery from our birth doth flow Nature entitles to us; that we owe: But we, being subject to the rack of hate, Falling from happy life to bondage state, Having seen better days, now know the lack Of glory that once reared each high-fed back. But you, that in your age did ne'er view better, Challenged not fortune for your thriftless debter. Catesby. Sir, we have seen far better days than these. More. I was the patron of those days, and know Those were but painted days, only for show. Then grieve not you to fall with him that gave them: Generosis servis gloriosum mori. Dear Gough, thou art my learned secretary; You, Master Catesby, steward of my house; The rest like you have had fair time to grow In sun-shine of my fortunes. But I must tell ye, Corruption is fled hence with each man's office; Bribes, that make open traffic twixt the soul And netherland of hell, deliver up Their guilty homage to the second lords. Then, living thus untainted, you are well: Truth is no pilot for the land of hell. Enter a Servant. Servant. My lord, there are new lighted at the gate The Earls of Surrey and of Shrewsbury, And they expect you in the inner court. More. Entreat their lordships come into the hall. Exit Servant. Lady More. Oh, God, what news with them? More. Why, how now, wife! They are but come to visit their old friend. Lady More. Oh, God, I fear, I fear! More. What shouldst thou fear, fond woman? Justum, si fractus illabatur orbis, inpavidum ferient ruinae. Here let me live estranged from great men's looks; They are like golden flies on leaden hooks. Enter the Earls, Downs with his mace, and Attendants. Shrewsbury. Good morrow, good Sir Thomas. Kind salutations. Surrey. Good day, good madame. More. Welcome, my good lords. What ails your lordships look so melancholy? Oh, I know; you live in court, and the court diet Is only friend to physic. Surrey. Oh, Sir Thomas, Our words are now the kings, and our sad looks The interest of your love! We are sent to you From our mild sovereign, once more to demand If you'll subscribe unto those articles He sent ye th' other day: be well advised; For, on mine honor, lord, grave Doctor Fisher Bishop of Rochester, at the self same instant Attached with you, is sent unto the Tower For the like obstinacy: his majesty Hath only sent you prisoner to your house; But, if you now refuse for to subscribe, A stricter course will follow. Lady More. Oh, dear husband! Kneeling and weeping. Both Daughters. Dear father! More. See, my lords, This partner and these subjects to my flesh Prove rebels to my conscience! But, my good lords, If I refuse, must I unto the Tower? Shrewsbury. You must, my lord; here is an officer Ready for to arrest you of high treason. Lady More and Daughters. Oh, God, oh, God! Roper. Be patient, good madam. More. Aye, Downs, ist thou? I once did save thy life, When else by cruel riotous a**ault Thou hadst been torn in pieces: thou art reserved To be my summoner to yond spiritual court. Give me thy hand; good fellow, smooth thy face: The diet that thou drinkst is spic'd with mace, And I could ne'er abide it; 'twill not disgest, Twill lie too heavily, man, on my weak breast. Shrewsbury. Be brief, my lord, for we are limited Unto an hour. More. Unto an hour! tis well: The bell soon shall toll my knell. Lady More. Dear loving husband, if you respect not me, Yet think upon your daughters. Kneeling. More. Wife, stand up; I have bethought me, And I'll now satisfy the king's good pleasure. Pointing to himself. Both Daughters. Oh, happy alteration! Shrewsbury. Come, then, subscribe, my lord. Surrey. I am right glad of this your fair conversion. More. Oh, pardon me! I will subscribe to go unto the Tower With all submissive willingness, and thereto add My bones to strengthen the foundation Of Julius Caesar's palace. Now, my lord, I'll satisfy the king, even with my blood; Now will I wrong your patience.—Friend, do thine office. Downes. Sir thomas More, Lord Chancellor of England, I arrest you in the king's name of high treason. More. Gramercies, friend. To a great prison, to discharge the strife Commenc'd twixt conscience and my frailer life, More now must march. Chelsea, adieu, adieu! Strange farewell! thou shalt ne'er more see More true, For I shall ne'er see thee more.—Servants, farewell.— Wife, mar not thine indifferent face; be wise: More's widow's husband, he must make thee rise.— Daughters….: —what's here, what's here? Mine eye had almost parted with a tear.— Dear son, possess my virtue, that I ne'er gave.— Grave More thus lightly walks to a quick grave. Roper. Curae leves loquuntur, ingentes stupent. More. You that way in; mind you my course in prayer: By water I to prison, to heaven through air. Exeunt.