“You wish to speak, then?” answered Pope. “Nevertheless, I believe
it would be better not to anger the king more.”
“No, no!” replied Sir Thomas, “my dear Master Pope, you are mistaken. Since the king desires it, I will not speak. Most certainly I intended doing so; but since he forbids it, I will forbear. If they refuse me permission to see my daughter,” replied Sir Thomas, “I hope, at least, I may be able to see the Bishop of Rochester; since he has taken the oath, they will not fear.”
“Taken the oath!” cried Pope. “Why, he has been executed; he died to-day!”
“He died to-day!” repeated Sir Thomas. “My friend died to-day! O Cromwell! May God, whose power is infinite, hear my voice, grant my requests: may the same dangers unite us, that, following close in thy footsteps, my last sigh may be breathed with thine!”
And More, plunged in the deepest grief, slowly repeated the memorable words, the solemn words, which the holy bishop had pronounced in presence of the Lord and of his friend during the vigil of St. Thomas, when they were alone together in his home at Chelsea.
“Rochester would not take the oath, then!” continued More in a stifled voice, clasping his hands and elevating them toward heaven.
“Alas! no,” replied Pope.
“Cromwell told me he had.”
“He lied,” answered Pope, and his eyes filled with tears.