Imatges de pÓgina
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As to the Tower, I thought; I would have plaid
The part my father meant to act upon

Th' ufurper Richard, who being at Salisbury, Made fuit to come in's prefence; which, if granted, (As he made femblance of his duty) would

Have put his knife into him.

King. A giant traitor!

Wol. Now, Madam, may his Highness live in freedom, And this man out of prifon?

Queen. God mend all.

King. There's fomething more would out of thee; what fay'ft?

Surv. After the Duke his father with the knife, He ftretch'd him, and with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breaft, mounting his eyes, He did discharge a horrible oath, whofe tenour. Was, were he evil us'd, he would out-go His father, by as much as a performance Does an irrefolute purpofe.

King. There's his period,

To fheath his knife in us: he is attach'd,
Call him to prefent tryal; if he may
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his, if none,
Let him not feek't of us: by day and night
He's traitor to the height.

[Exeunt

SCENE VI.

Enter Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands.

Chamb. S't poffible the fpells of France fhould juggle
I
Men into fuch ftrange myfteries?

Sands, New customs,

Though they be never fo ridiculous,

Nay let 'em be unmanly yet are follow'd.

Cham. As far as I fee, all the good our English
Have got by the laft voyage is but meerly
A fit or two o'th' face, but they are fhrewd ones;
For when they held 'em, you would fwear directly

Their.

Their very nofes had been counsellors

To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep ftate fo.

Sands. They've all new legs, and lame ones; one would take it.

(That never faw 'em pace before) the spavin. And fpring-halt reign'd among 'em.

Cham. Death! my lord,

Their clothes are after fuch a pagan cut too,

That fure they've worn out Christendom: how now? What news Sir Thomas Lovell?

Enter Sir Thomas Lovell.

Lov. 'Faith, my lord,

I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clap'd upon the court-gate.

Cham. What is't for?

Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk and tailors. Cham. I'm glad 'tis there; now I would pray out

Monfieurs

To think an English courtier may be wife,
And never fee the Louvre.

Lov. They must either

(For fo run the conditions) leaye thofe remnants
Of fool and feather, that they got in France,
With all their honourable points of ignorance
Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fire-works;
Abufing better men than they can be

Out of a foreign wifdom, clean renouncing
The faith they have in tennis, and tall ftockings,
Short bolfter'd breeches, and thofe types of travel,
And understand again like honeft men

Or pack to their old play-fellows; there, I take it,
They may, cum privilegio, wear away

The lag-end of their lewdnefs, and be laugh'd at. Sands. 'Tis time to give them phyfick, their diseases are grown fo catching.

Cham. What a lols our ladies

Will have of these trim vanities?
Lov. Ay marry,

There

There will be woe indeed, lords; the fly whorefons
Have gota fpeeding trick to lay down ladies:
A French fong and a fiddle has no fellow.

Sands. The devil fiddle 'em; I'm glad they're going,
For fure there's no converting 'em now Sirs,
An honeft country lord, as I am, beaten

A long time out of play, may bring his plain fong,
And have an hour of hearing, and by'r lady
Held current mufick too.

Cham. Well faid, lord Sands,
Your colt's tooth is not caft yet?
Sands. No, my lord,

Nor fhall not, while I have a ftump.
Cham, Sir Thomas,
Whither are you going?

Lov. To the Cardinal's;

Your lordship is a guest too.
Cham. O, 'tis true;

This night he makes a fupper, and a great one,
To many lords and ladies; there will be

The beauty of this kingdom, I'll affure you.

Lov. The churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed; A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us,

His dew falls ev'ry where.

Cham. No doubt, he's noble;

He had a black mouth that faid other of him.

Sands. He may, my lord, h'as wherewithal in him; Sparing would fhew a worfe fin than ill doctrine. Men of his way should be moft liberal, They're fet here for examples.

Cham. True, they are fo;

But few now give fo great ones: my barge ftays;
Your lordship fhall along: come, good Sir Thomas,
We fhall be late elfe, which I would not be,

For I was fpoke to, with Sir Henry Guilford,
This night to be comptrollers.

Sands. I'm your lordship's.

Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE VII.

Hautboys. A Small table under a ftate for the Cardinal, a longer table for the guests. Then enter Anne Bullen, and divers other ladies and gentlemen, as guests, at one door; at another door enter Sir Henry Guilford.

Guil. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
Salutes ye all this night he dedicates

To fair content and you: none here he hopes,
In all this noble bevy, has brought with her
One care abroad: he would have all as merry,

As, firft, good company, good wine, good welcome,
Can make good people.

1

Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands and Lovell.
O my lord, y'are tardy;

The very thoughts of this fair company
Clap'd wings to me.

Cham. You're young, Sir Harry Guilford.
Sand. Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinal
But half my lay-thoughts in him, some of these
Should find a running banquet ere they rested;
I think would better please 'em: by my life,
They are a fweet fociety of fair ones

Lov. O that your lordship were but now confeffor To one or two of these.

Sands. I would I were,

They fhould find easie

penance. Lov. 'Faith, how eafy?

Sands. As easy as a down bed would afford it. Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you fit: Sir Harry, Place you that fide, I'll take the charge of this: His grace is entring; nay you must not freeze: Two women plac'd together make cold weather:: My lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking; Pray fit between these ladies.

Sands. By my

faith,

And thank your lordship. By your leave fweet ladies;

If

If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me:
I had it from my father.

Anne. Was he mad, Sir?

Sands. O very mad, exceeding mad in love too; But he would bite none; juft as I do now, He'd kifs you twenty with a breath.

Cham. Well faid, my lord:

So now y'are fairly feated: gentlemen,

The penance lyes on you, if these fair ladies
Pafs away frowning.

Sands. For my little cue,

Let me alone.

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolfey, and takes

his ftate.

Wol. Y'are welcome, my fair guefts; that noble lady Or gentleman that is not freely merry

Is not my friend. This to confirm my welcome,
And to you all good health.

Sands. Your Grace is noble:

Let me have fuch a bowl may hold my thanks,
And fave me fo much talking.

Wol. My lord Sands,

I am beholden to you; cheer your neighbour:
Ladies, you are not merry; gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?

Sands. The red Wine firft muft rife

In their fair cheeks, my lord, then we fhall have 'em Talk us to filence.

Anne. You're a merry gamester,

My lord Sands.

Sands. Yes, if I make my play,

Here's to your lady fhip, and pledge it, madam:

For 'tis to fuch a thing

Anne. You cannot fhew me.

Sands. I told your Grace that they would talk anon. [Drum and trumpets, chambers difcharged

Wol. What's that?

Cham. Look out there, fome of ye.

Wol. What warlike voice,

And

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