ENDICOTT. 
And what more can be done?

NORTON. 
                  The hand that cut
The Red Cross from the colors of the king
Can cut the red heart from this heresy. 
Fear not.  All blasphemies immediate
And heresies turbulent must be suppressed
By civil power.

ENDICOTT. 
          But in what way suppressed?

NORTON. 
The Book of Deuteronomy declares
That if thy son, thy daughter, or thy wife,
Ay, or the friend which is as thine own soul,
Entice thee secretly, and say to thee,
Let us serve other gods, then shalt thine eye
Not pity him, but thou shalt surely kill him,
And thine own hand shall be the first upon him
To slay him.

ENDICOTT. 
         Four already have been slain;
And others banished upon pain of death. 
But they come back again to meet their doom,
Bringing the linen for their winding-sheets. 
We must not go too far.  In truth, I shrink
From shedding of more blood.  The people murmur
At our severity.

NORTON. 
                Then let them murmur! 
Truth is relentless; justice never wavers;
The greatest firmness is the greatest mercy;
The noble order of the Magistracy
Cometh immediately from God, and yet
This noble order of the Magistracy
Is by these Heretics despised and outraged.

ENDICOTT. 
To-night they sleep in prison.  If they die,
They cannot say that we have caused their death. 
We do but guard the passage, with the sword
Pointed towards them; if they dash upon it,
Their blood will be on their own heads, not ours.

NORTON. 
Enough.  I ask no more.  My predecessor
Coped only with the milder heresies
Of Antinomians and of Anabaptists. 
He was not born to wrestle with these fiends. 
Chrysostom in his pulpit; Augustine
In disputation; Timothy in his house! 
The lantern of St. Botolph’s ceased to burn
When from the portals of that church he came
To be a burning and a shining light
Here in the wilderness.  And, as he lay
On his death-bed, he saw me in a vision
Ride on a snow-white horse into this town. 
His vision was prophetic; thus I came,
A terror to the impenitent, and Death
On the pale horse of the Apocalypse
To all the accursed race of Heretics!
                               [Exeunt.

SCENE II. —­ A street.  On one side, NICHOLAS UPSALL’s house; on the other, WALTER MERRY’s, with a flock of pigeons on the roof.  UPSALL seated in the porch of his house.

UPSALL. 
O day of rest!  How beautiful, how fair,
How welcome to the weary and the old! 
Day of the Lord! and truce to earthly cares! 
Day of the Lord, as all our days should be! 
Ah, why will man by his austerities
Shut out the blessed sunshine and the light,
And make of thee a dungeon of despair!