and Clergy of England."[294] It is not very easy to see what Henry proposed to himself by requiring this designation, at so early a stage in the movement.  The breach with the pope was still distant, and he was prepared to make many sacrifices before he would even seriously contemplate a step which he so little desired.  It may have been designed as a reply to the papal censures:  it may have been to give effect to his own menaces, which Clement to the last believed to be no more than words;[295] or perhaps (and this is the most likely) he desired by some emphatic act, to make his clergy understand the relation in which thenceforward they were to be placed towards the temporal authority.  It is certain only that this title was not intended to imply what it implied when, four years later, it was conferred by act Of parliament, and when virtually England was severed by it from the Roman communion.

But whatever may have been the king’s motive, he was serious in requiring that the title should be granted to him.  Only by acknowledging Henry as Head of the Church should the clergy receive their pardon, and the longer they hesitated, the more peremptorily he insisted on their obedience.  The clergy had defied the lion, and the lion held them in his grasp; and they could but struggle helplessly, supplicate and submit.  Archbishop Warham, just drawing his life to a close, presided for the last time in the miserable scene, imagining that the clouds were gathering for the storms of the latter day, and that Antichrist was coming in his power.

There had been a debate of three days, whether they should or should not consent, when, on the 9th of February, a deputation of the judges appeared in Convocation, to ask whether the Houses were agreed, and to inform them finally that the king had determined to allow no qualifications.  The clergy begged for one more day, and the following morning the bishops held a private meeting among themselves, to discuss some plan to turn aside the blow.  They desired to see Cromwell, to learn, perhaps, if there was a chance of melting the hard heart of Henry; and after an interview with the minister which could not have been encouraging, they sent two of their number, the Bishops of Exeter and Lincoln, to attempt the unpromising task.  It was in vain; the miserable old men were obliged to return with the answer that the king would not see them—­they had seen only the judges, who had assured them, in simple language, that the pardon was not to be settled until the supremacy was admitted.  The answer was communicated to the House, and again “debated.”  Submission was against the consciences of the unhappy clergy; to obey their consciences involved forfeiture of property; and naturally in such a dilemma they found resolution difficult.  They attempted another appeal, suggesting that eight of their number should hold a conference with the privy council, and “discover, if they might, some possible expedient.”  But Henry