ACT I. SCENE 1.  London. The palace  Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other, the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and the LORD ABERGAVENNY    BUCKINGHAM. Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done     Since last we saw in France?   NORFOLK. I thank your Grace,     Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer     Of what I saw there.   BUCKINGHAM. An untimely ague     Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when     Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,     Met in the vale of Andren.   NORFOLK. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde-     I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;     Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung     In their embracement, as they grew together;     Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have weigh'd     Such a compounded one?   BUCKINGHAM. All the whole time     I was my chamber's prisoner.   NORFOLK. Then you lost     The view of earthly glory; men might say,     Till this time pomp was single, but now married     To one above itself. Each following day     Became the next day's master, till the last     Made former wonders its. To-day the French,     All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,     Shone down the English; and to-morrow they     Made Britain India: every man that stood     Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were     As cherubins, an gilt; the madams too,     Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear     The pride upon them, that their very labour     Was to them as a painting. Now this masque     Was cried incomparable; and th' ensuing night     Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,     Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,     As presence did present them: him in eye     still him in praise; and being present both,     'Twas said they saw but one, and no discerner     Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns-     For so they phrase 'em-by their heralds challeng'd     The noble spirits to arms, they did perform     Beyond thought's compass, that former fabulous story,     Being now seen possible enough, got credit,     That Bevis was believ'd.   BUCKINGHAM. O, you go far!   NORFOLK. As I belong to worship, and affect     In honour honesty, the tract of ev'rything     Would by a good discourser lose some life     Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal:     To the disposing of it nought rebell'd;     Order gave each thing view. The office did     Distinctly his full function.   BUCKINGHAM. Who did guide-     I mean, who set the body and the limbs     Of this great sport together, as you guess?   NORFOLK. One, certes, that promises no element     In such a business.   BUCKINGHAM. I pray you, who, my lord?   NORFOLK. All this was ord'red by the good discretion     Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.   BUCKINGHAM. The devil speed him! No man's pie is freed     From his ambitious finger. What had he     To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder     That such a keech can with his very bulk     Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun,     And keep it from the earth.   NORFOLK. Surely, sir,     There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;     For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace     Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon     For high feats done to th' crown, neither allied     To eminent assistants, but spider-like,     Out of his self-drawing web, 'a gives us note     The force of his own merit makes his way-     A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys     A place next to the King.   ABERGAVENNY. I cannot tell     What heaven hath given him-let some graver eye     Pierce into that; but I can see his pride     Peep through each part of him. Whence has he that?     If not from hell, the devil is a niggard     Or has given all before, and he begins     A new hell in himself.   BUCKINGHAM. Why the devil,     Upon this French going out, took he upon him-     Without the privity o' th' King-t' appoint     Who should attend on him? He makes up the file     Of all the gentry; for the most part such     To whom as great a charge as little honour     He meant to lay upon; and his own letter,     The honourable board of council out,     Must fetch him in he papers.   ABERGAVENNY. I do know     Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have     By this so sicken'd their estates that never     They shall abound as formerly.   BUCKINGHAM. O, many     Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em     For this great journey. What did this vanity     But minister communication of     A most poor issue?   NORFOLK. Grievingly I think     The peace between the French and us not values     The cost that did conclude it.   BUCKINGHAM. Every man,     After the hideous storm that follow'd, was     A thing inspir'd, and, not consulting, broke     Into a general prophecy-that this tempest,     Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded     The sudden breach on't.   NORFOLK. Which is budded out;     For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd     Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux.   ABERGAVENNY. Is it therefore     Th' ambassador is silenc'd?   NORFOLK. Marry, is't.   ABERGAVENNY. A proper tide of a peace, and purchas'd     At a superfluous rate!   BUCKINGHAM. Why, all this business     Our reverend Cardinal carried.   NORFOLK. Like it your Grace,     The state takes notice of the private difference     Betwixt you and the Cardinal. I advise you-     And take it from a heart that wishes towards you     Honour and plenteous safety-that you read     The Cardinal's malice and his potency     Together; to consider further, that     What his high hatred would effect wants not     A minister in his power. You know his nature,     That he's revengeful; and I know his sword     Hath a sharp edge-it's long and't may be said     It reaches far, and where 'twill not extend,     Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel     You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock     That I advise your shunning.        Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, the purse borne before       him, certain of the guard, and two SECRETARIES       with papers. The CARDINAL in his passage fixeth his       eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him,       both full of disdain    WOLSEY. The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor? Ha!     Where's his examination?   SECRETARY. Here, so please you.   WOLSEY. Is he in person ready?   SECRETARY. Ay, please your Grace.   WOLSEY. Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham     shall lessen this big look.                                           Exeunt WOLSEY and his train   BUCKINGHAM. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I     Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best     Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book     Outworths a noble's blood.   NORFOLK. What, are you chaf'd?     Ask God for temp'rance; that's th' appliance only     Which your disease requires.   BUCKINGHAM. I read in's looks     Matter against me, and his eye revil'd     Me as his abject object. At this instant     He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' King;     I'll follow, and outstare him.   NORFOLK. Stay, my lord,     And let your reason with your choler question     What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills     Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like     A full hot horse, who being allow'd his way,     Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England     Can advise me like you; be to yourself     As you would to your friend.   BUCKINGHAM. I'll to the King,     And from a mouth of honour quite cry down     This Ipswich fellow's insolence; or proclaim     There's difference in no persons.   NORFOLK. Be advis'd:     Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot     That it do singe yourself. We may outrun     By violent swiftness that which we run at,     And lose by over-running. Know you not     The fire that mounts the liquor till't run o'er     In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis'd.     I say again there is no English soul     More stronger to direct you than yourself,     If with the sap of reason you would quench     Or but allay the fire of passion.   BUCKINGHAM. Sir,     I am thankful to you, and I'll go along     By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow-     Whom from the flow of gan I name not, but     From sincere motions, by intelligence,     And proofs as clear as founts in July when     We see each grain of gravel-I do know     To be corrupt and treasonous.   NORFOLK. Say not treasonous.   BUCKINGHAM. To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong     As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox,     Or wolf, or both-for he is equal rav'nous     As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief     As able to perform't, his mind and place     Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally-     Only to show his pomp as well in France     As here at home, suggests the King our master     To this last costly treaty, th' interview     That swallowed so much treasure and like a glass     Did break i' th' wrenching.   NORFOLK. Faith, and so it did.   BUCKINGHAM. Pray, give me favour, sir; this cunning cardinal     The articles o' th' combination drew     As himself pleas'd; and they were ratified     As he cried 'Thus let be' to as much end     As give a crutch to th' dead. But our Count-Cardinal     Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,     Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,     Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy     To th' old dam treason: Charles the Emperor,     Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt-     For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came     To whisper Wolsey-here makes visitation-     His fears were that the interview betwixt     England and France might through their amity     Breed him some prejudice; for from this league     Peep'd harms that menac'd him-privily     Deals with our Cardinal; and, as I trow-     Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor     Paid ere he promis'd; whereby his suit was granted     Ere it was ask'd-but when the way was made,     And pav'd with gold, the Emperor thus desir'd,     That he would please to alter the King's course,     And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know,     As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal     Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,     And for his own advantage.   NORFOLK. I am sorry     To hear this of him, and could wish he were     Something mistaken in't.   BUCKINGHAM. No, not a syllable:     I do pronounce him in that very shape     He shall appear in proof.         Enter BRANDON, a SERGEANT-AT-ARMS before him,               and two or three of the guard    BRANDON. Your office, sergeant: execute it.   SERGEANT. Sir,     My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl     Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I     Arrest thee of high treason, in the name     Of our most sovereign King.   BUCKINGHAM. Lo you, my lord,     The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish     Under device and practice.   BRANDON. I am sorry     To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on     The business present; 'tis his Highness' pleasure     You shall to th' Tower.   BUCKINGHAM. It will help nothing     To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me     Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heav'n     Be done in this and all things! I obey.     O my Lord Aberga'ny, fare you well!   BRANDON. Nay, he must bear you company.     [To ABERGAVENNY]  The King     Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, till you know     How he determines further.   ABERGAVENNY. As the Duke said,     The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure     By me obey'd.   BRANDON. Here is warrant from     The King t' attach Lord Montacute and the bodies     Of the Duke's confessor, John de la Car,     One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor-   BUCKINGHAM. So, so!     These are the limbs o' th' plot; no more, I hope.   BRANDON. A monk o' th' Chartreux.   BUCKINGHAM. O, Nicholas Hopkins?   BRANDON. He.   BUCKINGHAM. My surveyor is false. The o'er-great Cardinal     Hath show'd him gold; my life is spann'd already.     I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,     Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on     By dark'ning my clear sun. My lord, farewell.     Exeunt     ACT I. SCENE 2.  London. The Council Chamber  Cornets. Enter KING HENRY, leaning on the CARDINAL'S shoulder, the NOBLES, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL, with others. The CARDINAL places himself under the KING'S feet on his right side    KING. My life itself, and the best heart of it,     Thanks you for this great care; I stood i' th' level     Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks     To you that chok'd it. Let be call'd before us     That gentleman of Buckingham's. In person     I'll hear his confessions justify;     And point by point the treasons of his master     He shall again relate.        A noise within, crying 'Room for the Queen!'       Enter the QUEEN, usher'd by the DUKES OF NORFOLK       and SUFFOLK; she kneels. The KING riseth       from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her       by him    QUEEN KATHARINE. Nay, we must longer kneel: I am suitor.   KING. Arise, and take place by us. Half your suit     Never name to us: you have half our power.     The other moiety ere you ask is given;     Repeat your will, and take it.   QUEEN KATHARINE. Thank your Majesty.     That you would love yourself, and in that love     Not unconsidered leave your honour nor     The dignity of your office, is the point     Of my petition.   KING. Lady mine, proceed.   QUEEN KATHARINE. I am solicited, not by a few,     And those of true condition, that your subjects     Are in great grievance: there have been commissions     Sent down among 'em which hath flaw'd the heart     Of all their loyalties; wherein, although,     My good Lord Cardinal, they vent reproaches     Most bitterly on you as putter-on     Of these exactions, yet the King our master-     Whose honour Heaven shield from soil!-even he escapes not     Language unmannerly; yea, such which breaks     The sides of loyalty, and almost appears     In loud rebellion.   NORFOLK. Not almost appears-     It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,     The clothiers all, not able to maintain     The many to them 'longing, have put of     The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who     Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger     And lack of other means, in desperate manner     Daring th' event to th' teeth, are all in uproar,     And danger serves among them.   KING. Taxation!     Wherein? and what taxation? My Lord Cardinal,     You that are blam'd for it alike with us,     Know you of this taxation?   WOLSEY. Please you, sir,     I know but of a single part in aught     Pertains to th' state, and front but in that file     Where others tell steps with me.   QUEEN KATHARINE. No, my lord!     You know no more than others! But you frame     Things that are known alike, which are not wholesome     To those which would not know them, and yet must     Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions,     Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are     Most pestilent to th' hearing; and to bear 'em     The back is sacrifice to th' load. They say     They are devis'd by you, or else you suffer     Too hard an exclamation.   KING. Still exaction!     The nature of it? In what kind, let's know,     Is this exaction?   QUEEN KATHARINE. I am much too venturous     In tempting of your patience, but am bold'ned     Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief     Comes through commissions, which compels from each     The sixth part of his substance, to be levied     Without delay; and the pretence for this     Is nam'd your wars in France. This makes bold mouths;     Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze     Allegiance in them; their curses now     Live where their prayers did; and it's come to pass     This tractable obedience is a slave     To each incensed will. I would your Highness     Would give it quick consideration, for     There is no primer business.   KING. By my life,     This is against our pleasure.   WOLSEY. And for me,     I have no further gone in this than by     A single voice; and that not pass'd me but     By learned approbation of the judges. If I am     Traduc'd by ignorant tongues, which neither know     My faculties nor person, yet will be     The chronicles of my doing, let me say     'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake     That virtue must go through. We must not stint     Our necessary actions in the fear     To cope malicious censurers, which ever     As rav'nous fishes do a vessel follow     That is new-trimm'd, but benefit no further     Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,     By sick interpreters, once weak ones, is     Not ours, or not allow'd; what worst, as oft     Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up     For our best act. If we shall stand still,     In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,     We should take root here where we sit, or sit     State-statues only.   KING. Things done well     And with a care exempt themselves from fear:     Things done without example, in their issue     Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent     Of this commission? I believe, not any.     We must not rend our subjects from our laws,     And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?     A trembling contribution! Why, we take     From every tree lop, bark, and part o' th' timber;     And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,     The air will drink the sap. To every county     Where this is question'd send our letters with     Free pardon to each man that has denied     The force of this commission. Pray, look tot;     I put it to your care.   WOLSEY. [Aside to the SECRETARY]  A word with you.     Let there be letters writ to every shire     Of the King's grace and pardon. The grieved commons     Hardly conceive of me-let it be nois'd     That through our intercession this revokement     And pardon comes. I shall anon advise you     Further in the proceeding.                         Exit SECRETARY                      Enter SURVEYOR    QUEEN KATHARINE. I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham     Is run in your displeasure.   KING. It grieves many.     The gentleman is learn'd and a most rare speaker;     To nature none more bound; his training such     That he may furnish and instruct great teachers     And never seek for aid out of himself. Yet see,     When these so noble benefits shall prove     Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt,     They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly     Than ever they were fair. This man so complete,     Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,     Almost with ravish'd list'ning, could not find     His hour of speech a minute-he, my lady,     Hath into monstrous habits put the graces     That once were his, and is become as black     As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us; you shall hear-     This was his gentleman in trust-of him     Things to strike honour sad. Bid him recount     The fore-recited practices, whereof     We cannot feel too little, hear too much.   WOLSEY. Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,     Most like a careful subject, have collected     Out of the Duke of Buckingham.   KING. Speak freely.   SURVEYOR. First, it was usual with him-every day     It would infect his speech-that if the King     Should without issue die, he'll carry it so     To make the sceptre his. These very words     I've heard him utter to his son-in-law,     Lord Aberga'ny, to whom by oath he menac'd     Revenge upon the Cardinal.   WOLSEY. Please your Highness, note     This dangerous conception in this point:     Not friended by his wish, to your high person     His will is most malignant, and it stretches     Beyond you to your friends.   QUEEN KATHARINE. My learn'd Lord Cardinal,     Deliver all with charity.   KING. Speak on.     How grounded he his title to the crown     Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him     At any time speak aught?   SURVEYOR. He was brought to this     By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Henton.   KING. What was that Henton?   SURVEYOR. Sir, a Chartreux friar,     His confessor, who fed him every minute     With words of sovereignty.   KING. How know'st thou this?   SURVEYOR. Not long before your Highness sped to France,     The Duke being at the Rose, within the parish     Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand     What was the speech among the Londoners     Concerning the French journey. I replied     Men fear'd the French would prove perfidious,     To the King's danger. Presently the Duke     Said 'twas the fear indeed and that he doubted     'Twould prove the verity of certain words     Spoke by a holy monk 'that oft' says he     'Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit     John de la Car, my chaplain, a choice hour     To hear from him a matter of some moment;     Whom after under the confession's seal     He solemnly had sworn that what he spoke     My chaplain to no creature living but     To me should utter, with demure confidence     This pausingly ensu'd: "Neither the King nor's heirs,     Tell you the Duke, shall prosper; bid him strive     To gain the love o' th' commonalty; the Duke     Shall govern England."'   QUEEN KATHARINE. If I know you well,     You were the Duke's surveyor, and lost your office     On the complaint o' th' tenants. Take good heed     You charge not in your spleen a noble person     And spoil your nobler soul. I say, take heed;     Yes, heartily beseech you.   KING. Let him on.     Go forward.   SURVEYOR. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.     I told my lord the Duke, by th' devil's illusions     The monk might be deceiv'd, and that 'twas dangerous       for him     To ruminate on this so far, until     It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd,     It was much like to do. He answer'd 'Tush,     It can do me no damage'; adding further     That, had the King in his last sickness fail'd,     The Cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovell's heads     Should have gone off.   KING. Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!     There's mischief in this man. Canst thou say further?   SURVEYOR. I can, my liege.   KING. Proceed.   SURVEYOR. Being at Greenwich,     After your Highness had reprov'd the Duke     About Sir William Bulmer-   KING. I remember     Of such a time: being my sworn servant,     The Duke retain'd him his. But on: what hence?   SURVEYOR. 'If' quoth he 'I for this had been committed-     As to the Tower I thought-I would have play'd     The part my father meant to act upon     Th' usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury,     Made suit to come in's presence, which if granted,     As he made semblance of his duty, would     Have put his knife into him.'   KING. A giant traitor!   WOLSEY. Now, madam, may his Highness live in freedom,     And this man out of prison?   QUEEN KATHARINE. God mend all!   KING. There's something more would out of thee: what say'st?   SURVEYOR. After 'the Duke his father' with the 'knife,'     He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,     Another spread on's breast, mounting his eyes,     He did discharge a horrible oath, whose tenour     Was, were he evil us'd, he would outgo     His father by as much as a performance     Does an irresolute purpose.   KING. There's his period,     To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd;     Call him to present trial. If he may     Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none,     Let him not seek't of us. By day and night!     He's traitor to th' height.                                Exeunt     ACT I. SCENE 3.  London. The palace  Enter the LORD CHAMBERLAIN and LORD SANDYS    CHAMBERLAIN. Is't possible the spells of France should juggle     Men into such strange mysteries?   SANDYS. New customs,     Though they be never so ridiculous,     Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.   CHAMBERLAIN. As far as I see, all the good our English     Have got by the late voyage is but merely     A fit or two o' th' face; but they are shrewd ones;     For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly     Their very noses had been counsellors     To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.   SANDYS. They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it,     That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin     Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.   CHAMBERLAIN. Death! my lord,     Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to't,     That sure th' have worn out Christendom.             Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL      How now?     What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?   LOVELL. Faith, my lord,     I hear of none but the new proclamation     That's clapp'd upon the court gate.   CHAMBERLAIN. What is't for?   LOVELL. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,     That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.   CHAMBERLAIN. I am glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs     To think an English courtier may be wise,     And never see the Louvre.   LOVELL. They must either,     For so run the conditions, leave those remnants     Of fool and feather that they got in France,     With all their honourable points of ignorance     Pertaining thereunto-as fights and fireworks;     Abusing better men than they can be,     Out of a foreign wisdom-renouncing clean     The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings,     Short blist'red breeches, and those types of travel     And understand again like honest men,     Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it,     They may, cum privilegio, wear away     The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at.   SANDYS. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases     Are grown so catching.   CHAMBERLAIN. What a loss our ladies     Will have of these trim vanities!   LOVELL. Ay, marry,     There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons     Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies.     A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.   SANDYS. The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,     For sure there's no converting 'em. Now     An honest country lord, as I am, beaten     A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong     And have an hour of hearing; and, by'r Lady,     Held current music too.   CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, Lord Sandys;     Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.   SANDYS. No, my lord,     Nor shall not while I have a stamp.   CHAMBERLAIN. Sir Thomas,     Whither were you a-going?   LOVELL. To the Cardinal's;     Your lordship is a guest too.   CHAMBERLAIN. O, 'tis true;     This night he makes a supper, and a great one,     To many lords and ladies; there will be     The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.   LOVELL. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,     A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;     His dews fall everywhere.   CHAMBERLAIN. No doubt he's noble;     He had a black mouth that said other of him.   SANDYS. He may, my lord; has wherewithal. In him     Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:     Men of his way should be most liberal,     They are set here for examples.   CHAMBERLAIN. True, they are so;     But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;     Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,     We shall be late else; which I would not be,     For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford,     This night to be comptrollers.   SANDYS. I am your lordship's.                                Exeunt     ACT I. SCENE 4.  London. The Presence Chamber in York Place  Hautboys. A small table under a state 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 GUILDFORD    GUILDFORD. 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, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,     Can make good people.         Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDYS, and SIR                   THOMAS LOVELL      O, my lord, y'are tardy,     The very thought of this fair company     Clapp'd wings to me.   CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.   SANDYS. 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 sweet society of fair ones.   LOVELL. O that your lordship were but now confessor     To one or two of these!   SANDYS. I would I were;     They should find easy penance.   LOVELL. Faith, how easy?   SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it.   CHAMBERLAIN. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,     Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this.     His Grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not freeze:     Two women plac'd together makes cold weather.     My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep 'em waking:     Pray sit between these ladies.   SANDYS. By my faith,     And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies.                  [Seats himself between ANNE BULLEN and another lady]     If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;     I had it from my father.   ANNE. Was he mad, sir?   SANDYS. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too.     But he would bite none; just as I do now,     He would kiss you twenty with a breath.              [Kisses her]   CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord.     So, now y'are fairly seated. Gentlemen,     The penance lies on you if these fair ladies     Pass away frowning.   SANDYS. For my little cure,     Let me alone.           Hautboys. Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, attended; and                          takes his state    WOLSEY. Y'are welcome, my fair guests. 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!                             [Drinks]   SANDYS. Your Grace is noble.     Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks     And save me so much talking.   WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys,     I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours.     Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,     Whose fault is this?   SANDYS. The red wine first must rise     In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em     Talk us to silence.   ANNE. You are a merry gamester,     My Lord Sandys.   SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play.     Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam,     For 'tis to such a thing-   ANNE. You cannot show me.   SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon.                              [Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharg'd]   WOLSEY. What's that?   CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye.             Exit a SERVANT   WOLSEY. What warlike voice,     And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not:     By all the laws of war y'are privileg'd.              Re-enter SERVANT    CHAMBERLAIN. How now! what is't?   SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers-     For so they seem. Th' have left their barge and landed,     And hither make, as great ambassadors     From foreign princes.   WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain,     Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;     And pray receive 'em nobly and conduct 'em     Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty     Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.               Exit CHAMBERLAIN attended. All rise, and tables remov'd     You have now a broken banquet, but we'll mend it.     A good digestion to you all; and once more     I show'r a welcome on ye; welcome all.        Hautboys. Enter the KING, and others, as maskers,       habited like shepherds, usher'd by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN.       They pass directly before the CARDINAL,       and gracefully salute him      A noble company! What are their pleasures?   CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd     To tell your Grace, that, having heard by fame     Of this so noble and so fair assembly     This night to meet here, they could do no less,     Out of the great respect they bear to beauty,     But leave their flocks and, under your fair conduct,     Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat     An hour of revels with 'em.   WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain,     They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay 'em     A thousand thanks, and pray 'em take their pleasures.                    [They choose ladies. The KING chooses ANNE BULLEN]   KING. The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,     Till now I never knew thee!                        [Music. Dance]   WOLSEY. My lord!   CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace?   WOLSEY. Pray tell 'em thus much from me:     There should be one amongst 'em, by his person,     More worthy this place than myself; to whom,     If I but knew him, with my love and duty     I would surrender it.   CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord.                                          [He whispers to the maskers]   WOLSEY. What say they?   CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one, they all confess,     There is indeed; which they would have your Grace     Find out, and he will take it.   WOLSEY. Let me see, then.                    [Comes from his state]     By all your good leaves, gentlemen, here I'll make     My royal choice.   KING.  [Unmasking]  Ye have found him, Cardinal.     You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord.     You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, Cardinal,     I should judge now unhappily.   WOLSEY. I am glad     Your Grace is grown so pleasant.   KING. My Lord Chamberlain,     Prithee come hither: what fair lady's that?   CHAMBERLAIN. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's       daughter-     The Viscount Rochford-one of her Highness' women.   KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweet heart,     I were unmannerly to take you out     And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!     Let it go round.   WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready     I' th' privy chamber?   LOVELL. Yes, my lord.   WOLSEY. Your Grace,     I fear, with dancing is a little heated.   KING. I fear, too much.   WOLSEY. There's fresher air, my lord,     In the next chamber.   KING. Lead in your ladies, ev'ry one. Sweet partner,     I must not yet forsake you. Let's be merry:     Good my Lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths     To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure     To lead 'em once again; and then let's dream     Who's best in favour. Let the music knock it.                                                 Exeunt, with trumpets