BISHOP.
That is not our suit, my Lord, that he be ta’en,
And brought in question for his heresy.
Beside, two letters brought me out of Wales,
Wherein my Lord Hereford writes to me,
What tumult and sedition was begun,
About the Lord Cobham at the Sises there,
(For they had much ado the calm the rage),
And that the valiant Herbert is there slain.
SUFFOLK.
A fire that must be quenched. Well, say no more,
The King anon goes to the counsel chamber,
There to debate of matters touching France:
As he doth pass by, I’ll inform his grace
Concerning your petition: Master Butler,
If I forget, do you remember me.
BUTLER.
I will, my Lord.
[Offer him a purse.]
BISHOP.
Not for a recompence,
But as a token of our love to you,
By me my Lords of the clergy do present
This purse, and in it full a thousand Angels,
Praying your Lordship to accept their gift.
SUFFOLK.
I thank them, my Lord Bishop, for their love,
But will not take they money; if you please
To give it to this gentleman, you may.
BISHOP.
Sir, then we crave your furtherance herein.
BUTLER.
The best I can, my Lord of Rochester.
BISHOP.
Nay, pray ye take it; trust me but you shall.
SIR JOHN.
—Were ye all thee upon New Market heath,
You should not need strain curtsey who should ha’t;
Sir John would quickly rid ye of that care.