[♦] That can sore no higher than a Falkons pitch.
Card. I thought your grace would be aboue the cloudes.
[♦] Humph. I my Lord Cardinall, were it not good
[15] Your grace could fllie to heauen.
Card. Thy heauen is on earth, thy words and thoughts beat on a Crowne, proude Protector dangerous Peere, to smooth it thus [♦] with King and common-wealth.
Humphrey. How now my Lord, why this is more then needs,
[20] Church-men so hote. Good vnckle can you doate.
[♦] Suffolke. Why not Hauing so good a quarrell & so bad a cause.
Humphrey. As how, my Lord?
[♦] Suffolke. As you, my Lord. And it like your Lordly