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There will be woe indeed, lords; the fly whorefons
Sands. The devil fiddle 'em; I'm glad they're going,
Cham. Well faid, lord Sands,
Nor fhall not, while I have a ftump.
Lov. To the Cardinal's;
Your lordship is a guest too.
This night he makes a fupper, and a great one,
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 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 stays;
Sands. I'm your lordship's.
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.
Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sands and Lovell.
O my lord, y'are tardy;
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 refted; I think would better pleafe '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 eafie penance.
Lov. 'Faith, how easy?
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 thefe ladies.
Sands. By my faith,
And thank your lordship. By your leave fweet ladies
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me:
Anne. Was he mad, Sir?
Sands. O very mad, exceeding mad in love too;
So now y'are fairly feated: gentlemen,
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
Is not my friend. This to confirm my welcome,
Sands. Your Grace is noble:
Let me have fuch a bowl may hold my thanks,
Wol. My lord Sands,
I am beholden to you; cheer your neighbour:
Sands. The red Wine firft must rife
In their fair cheeks, my lord, then we shall have 'em
Anne. You're a merry gamefter,
Sands. Yes, if I make my play,
Here's to your lady fhip, and pledge it, madam:
Anne. You cannot fhew me.
Sands. I told your Grace that they would talk anon.
Cham. Look out there, fome of ye.
And to what end is this? nay, ladies, fear not;
Enter a Servant.
Cham. How now, what is't?
Ser. A noble troop of strangers,
For fo they feem, have left their barge, and landed, And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign Princes
Wol. Good Lord Chamberlain,
Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue,
And pray receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em
Hautboys. Enter King and others as maskers, habited like Shepherds, ufher'd by the Lord Chamberlain. They pafs directly before the Cardinal, and gracefully falute him..
A noble company! what are their pleafures?
This night to meet here, they could do no lefs,
Wol. Say, Lord Chamberlain,
They've done my poor houfe grace: for which I pay
A thoufand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures. [Chufe ladies, King and Anne Bullen.
King. The faireft hand I ever touch'd! O beauty, Till now I never knew thee.
Wol. My lord.
Cham. Your Grace?
Wol. Pray tell 'em thus much from me:
Cham. I will, my lord.
Cham. Such a one, they all confefs,,
Wol. Let me fee then:
By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make My royal choice.
King. You've found him, Cardinal :
You hold a fair affembly: you do well, lord.
Wel. I am glad
Your Grace is grown fo pleasant.
Pry'thee come hither, what fair lady's that? Cham. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter,
King. I fear too much.
Wol. There's frefher air, my lord,
(The Viscount Rochford,) one of her Highness' women.
Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
Lov. Yes, my lord. Wol. Your Grace,
I fear, with dancing is a little heated.
In the next chamber.
King. Lead in your ladies every one: sweet partner, I must not yet forfake you: let's be merry,