Last night, I dream'd the faggots were alight,
And that myself was fasten'd to the stake, I
And found it all a
visionary
flame,
Cool as the light in old decaying wood;
And then King Harry look'd from out a cloud,
And bad me have good courage; and I heard
An angel cry 'There is more joy in Heaven,'--
And after that, the trumpet of the dead.
Tennyson
Enough, my Lords.
It is God's will, the Holy Father's will,
And Philip's will, and mine, that he should burn.
He is pronounced anathema.
HOWARD. Farewell, Madam,
God grant you ampler mercy at your call
Than you have shown to Cranmer.
[_Exeunt_ LORDS.
POLE. After this,
Your Grace will hardly care to overlook
This same petition of the foreign exiles
For Cranmer's life.
MARY. Make out the writ to-night.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II.--OXFORD. CRANMER IN PRISON.
CRANMER.
Last night, I dream'd the faggots were alight,
And that myself was fasten'd to the stake, I
And found it all a
visionary
flame,
Cool as the light in old decaying wood;
And then King Harry look'd from out a cloud,
And bad me have good courage; and I heard
An angel cry 'There is more joy in Heaven,'--
And after that, the trumpet of the dead.
[_Trumpets without_.
Why, there are trumpets blowing now: what is it?
_Enter_ FATHER COLE.
COLE. Cranmer, I come to question you again;
Have you remain'd in the true Catholic faith
I left you in?
CRANMER. In the true Catholic faith,
By Heaven's grace, I am more and more confirm'd.
Why are the trumpets blowing, Father Cole?
COLE. Cranmer, it is decided by the Council
That you to-day should read your recantation
Before the people in St. Mary's Church.
And there be many heretics in the town,
Who loathe you for your late return to Rome,
And might assail you passing through the street,
And tear you piecemeal: so you have a guard.
CRANMER. Or seek to rescue me. I thank the Council.
