And see that all things be 128 in readiness, As best beseems this solemn festival. CARDINAL OF FRANCE. First, may it please your sacred Holiness To view the sentence of the reverend synod Concerning Bruno and the Emperor? POPE. What needs this question? did I not tell you, To-morrow we would sit i' the consistory, And there determine of his punishment? You brought us word even now, it was decreed That Bruno and the cursed Emperor Were by the holy council both condemn'd For loathed Lollards and base schismatics:      Then wherefore would you have me view that book? CARDINAL OF FRANCE. Your grace mistakes; you gave us no such charge. RAYMOND. Deny it not; we all are witnesses That Bruno here was late deliver'd you, With his rich triple crown to be reserv'd And put into the church's treasury. BOTH CARDINALS. By holy Paul, we saw them not! POPE. By Peter, you shall die, Unless you bring them forth immediately!—      Hale them to 129 prison, lade their limbs with gyves.—      False prelates, for this hateful treachery Curs'd be your souls to hellish misery!           [Exeunt ATTENDANTS with the two CARDINALS.]       FAUSTUS. So, they are safe. Now, Faustus, to the feast:      The Pope had never such a frolic guest. POPE. Lord Archbishop of Rheims, sit down with us.       ARCHBISHOP. 130 I thank your Holiness. FAUSTUS. Fall to; the devil choke you, 131 an you spare! POPE. Who is that spoke?—Friars, look about.—      Lord Raymond, pray, fall to. I am beholding 132 To the Bishop of Milan for this so rare a present. FAUSTUS. I thank you, sir.           [Snatches the dish.]       POPE. How now! who snatch'd the meat from me? Villains, why speak you not?—      My good Lord Archbishop, here's a most dainty dish Was sent me from a cardinal in France. FAUSTUS. I'll have that too.           [Snatches the dish.]       POPE. What Lollards do attend our holiness, That we receive such 133 great indignity? Fetch me some wine. FAUSTUS. Ay, pray, do, for Faustus is a-dry. POPE. Lord Raymond, I drink unto your grace. FAUSTUS. I pledge your grace.           [Snatches the cup.]       POPE. My wine gone too!—Ye lubbers, look about, And find the man that doth this villany, Or, by our sanctitude, you all shall die!—      I pray, my lords, have patience at this Troublesome banquet. ARCHBISHOP. Please it 134 your Holiness, I think it be some ghost crept out of Purgatory, and now is come unto your Holiness for his pardon. POPE. It may be so.—      Go, then, command our priests to sing a dirge, To lay the fury of this same troublesome ghost.           

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