Chapter: Noyse and Tumult within: Enter Porter and his man.

Port. You'l leaue your noyse anon ye Rascals: doe
you take the Court for Parish Garden: ye rude Slaues,
    leaue your gaping

    Within. Good M[aster]. Porter I belong to th' Larder

    Port. Belong to th' Gallowes, and be hang'd ye Rogue:
    Is this a place to roare in? Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree
    staues, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em:
    Ile scratch your heads; you must be seeing Christenings?
    Do you looke for Ale, and Cakes heere, you rude
    Raskalls?
    Man. Pray Sir be patient; 'tis as much impossible,
    Vnlesse wee sweepe 'em from the dore with Cannons,
    To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleepe
    On May-day Morning, which will neuer be:
    We may as well push against Powles as stirre 'em

    Por. How got they in, and be hang'd?
    Man. Alas I know not, how gets the Tide in?
    As much as one sound Cudgell of foure foote,
    (You see the poore remainder) could distribute,
    I made no spare Sir

    Port. You did nothing Sir

    Man. I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand,
    To mow 'em downe before me: but if I spar'd any
    That had a head to hit, either young or old,
    He or shee, Cuckold or Cuckold-maker:
    Let me ne're hope to see a Chine againe,
    And that I would not for a Cow, God saue her

    Within. Do you heare M[aster]. Porter?
    Port. I shall be with you presently, good M[aster]. Puppy,
    Keepe the dore close Sirha

    Man. What would you haue me doe?
    Por. What should you doe,
    But knock 'em downe by th' dozens? Is this More fields
    to muster in? Or haue wee some strange Indian with the
    great Toole, come to Court, the women so besiege vs?
    Bless me, what a fry of Fornication is at dore? On my
    Christian Conscience this one Christening will beget a
    thousand, here will bee Father, God-father, and all together

    Man. The Spoones will be the bigger Sir: There is
    a fellow somewhat neere the doore, he should be a Brasier
    by his face, for o' my conscience twenty of the Dogdayes
    now reigne in's Nose; all that stand about him are
    vnder the Line, they need no other pennance: that FireDrake
    did I hit three times on the head, and three times
    was his Nose discharged against mee; hee stands there
    like a Morter-piece to blow vs. There was a Habberdashers
    Wife of small wit, neere him, that rail'd vpon me,
    till her pinck'd porrenger fell off her head, for kindling
    such a combustion in the State. I mist the Meteor once,
    and hit that Woman, who cryed out Clubbes, when I
    might see from farre, some forty Truncheoners draw to
    her succour, which were the hope o'th' Strond where she
    was quartered; they fell on, I made good my place; at
    length they came to th' broome staffe to me, I defide 'em
    stil, when sodainly a File of Boyes behind 'em, loose shot,
    deliuer'd such a showre of Pibbles, that I was faine to
    draw mine Honour in, and let 'em win the Worke, the
    Diuell was amongst 'em I thinke surely

    Por. These are the youths that thunder at a Playhouse,
    and fight for bitten Apples, that no Audience but the
    tribulation of Tower Hill, or the Limbes of Limehouse,
    their deare Brothers are able to endure. I haue some of
    'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance
    these three dayes; besides the running Banquet of two
    Beadles, that is to come.
    Enter Lord Chamberlaine.

    Cham. Mercy o' me: what a Multitude are heere?
    They grow still too; from all Parts they are comming,
    As if we kept a Faire heere? Where are these Porters?
    These lazy knaues? Y'haue made a fine hand fellowes?
    Theres a trim rabble let in: are all these
    Your faithfull friends o'th' Suburbs? We shall haue
    Great store of roome no doubt, left for the Ladies,
    When they passe backe from the Christening?
    Por. And't please your Honour,
    We are but men; and what so many may doe,
    Not being torne a pieces, we haue done:
    An Army cannot rule 'em

    Cham. As I liue,
    If the King blame me for't; Ile lay ye all
    By th' heeles, and sodainly: and on your heads
    Clap round Fines for neglect: y'are lazy knaues,
    And heere ye lye baiting of Bombards, when
    Ye should doe Seruice. Harke the Trumpets sound,
    Th'are come already from the Christening,
    Go breake among the preasse, and finde away out
    To let the Troope passe fairely; or Ile finde
    A Marshallsey, shall hold ye play these two Monthes

    Por. Make way there, for the Princesse

    Man. You great fellow,
    Stand close vp, or Ile make your head ake

    Por. You i'th' Chamblet, get vp o'th' raile,
    Ile pecke you o're the pales else.

    Exeunt.

 In the Council meeting, the lords finally let Cranmer in--after they've discussed why they're meeting. The Lord Chancellor informs Cranmer that he's heard some nasty rumors around town about the Archbishop. Gardiner joins in on the dog pile. The rumors are that Cranmer is committing heresy. Gasp--that's pretty bad. When Cranmer gets his turn to answer, he defends himself: he's never knowingly taught the wrong thing, and he's always tried to uphold the peace. Suffolk points out that because Cranmer is a council member, no one can actually bring charges against him. Boo-ya. Gardiner interprets this as: let's toss Cranmer in the Tower. That'll knock him down a peg so others will be able to complain against him to the council. But Cranmer doesn't feel threatened--in fact he's even kind to Gardiner, telling the guy that it's better to be nice than to be ambitious. Gardiner wants a fight. We get the sense he's bummed when Cranmer agrees to go to the Tower, so he figures he'll push a few buttons to rile the guy up. He calls Cranmer a weak Protestant. This time, Cromwell steps in to tell Gardiner that he needs to back off: he's being too cruel, and he needs to cool it. Gardiner retaliates by calling Cromwell a Protestant. This guy's all loaded and ready to fire. That does it. Cromwell and Gardiner fight like cats and dogs until the Lord Chancellor intercepts. Lord Chancellor asks if everyone is in agreement that Cranmer should head off to the Tower. Everyone is, so a guard comes in to take Cranmer away. Cranmer asks if there is another way. When he's told that there isn't, he pulls out a ring. This isn't just any ring; it belongs to the king, and it's a sign of the king's favor. Uh-oh. The council members figure out that they've made a wrong move. Maybe they shouldn't be picking on someone the king likes so much. Henry and Butts have been listening at a window. They've heard enough, so in they come. Gardiner speaks first and thanks Henry for being wise enough to know when to step back and let the Church rule. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge? Henry points out how much Gardiner always flatters him and says he sees right through it. He's disappointed that the men have treated Cranmer so badly. It's not cool to leave your peer out in the cold, or to want to ship him off to the Tower to die. Henry wants everyone to just get along. He likes Cranmer, and he wants the council members to like him, too. Group hug. No, really: Henry wants them to all "embrace and love this man." With that settled, Henry asks for the council to baptize his daughter. The men leave with a word from Henry about Cranmer: even if you're mean to him, says Henry, Cranmer's still you're friend. That's just how he rolls.

