Page 1697 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Thou art a proud traitor, priest.

WOLSEY
Proud lord, thou liest.
Within these forty hours Surrey durst better
Have burnt that tongue than said so.

SURREY
Thy ambition,

Thou scarlet sin, robbed this bewailing land [255]
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law.
The heads of all thy brother Cardinals,
With thee and all thy best parts bound together,

Weighed not a hair of his. Plague of your policy!
You sent me deputy for Ireland, [260]
Far from his succour, from the King, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav’st him;

Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Absolved him with an axe.

WOLSEY
This, and all else
This talking lord can lay upon my credit, [265]

I answer is most false. The Duke by law
Found his deserts. How innocent I was
From any private malice in his end,
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I loved many words, lord, I should tell you [270]

You have as little honesty as honour,
That in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the King, my ever royal master,

Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be,
And all that love his follies.

SURREY
By my soul, [275]
Your long coat, priest, protects you; thou shouldst feel
My sword i’th’life-blood of thee else. My lords,