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London. An ante-chamber in the palace.
Enter the DUKE OF NORFOLK at one door; at the other, the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and the LORD ABERGAVENNY.

Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done

Since last we saw in France?

I thank your grace,

Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer

Of what I saw there.

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.

'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; (11)

Which had they, what four throned ones could have weigh'd

Such a compounded one?

All the whole time

I was my chamber's prisoner.

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 (21)

Made Britain India: every man that stood

Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were

As cherubins, all gilt: the madams too,

Not used 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 the ensuing night

Made it a fool and beggar. The two kings,

Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst, (30)

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 challenged

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 believed.

O, you go far.

As I belong to worship and affect (40)

In honour honesty, the tract of every thing

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.

Who did guide,

I mean, who set the body and the limbs

Of this great sport together, as you guess?

One, certes, that promises no element

In such a business.

I pray you, who, my lord? (50)

All this was order'd by the good discretion

Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.

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' the beneficial sun

And keep it from the earth.

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 the crown; neither allied

To eminent assistants; but, spider-like,

Out of his self-drawing web, he 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.

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, (70)

If not from hell? the devil is a niggard,

Or has given all before, and he begins

A new hell in himself.

Why the devil,

Upon this French going out, took he upon him,

Without the privity o' the king, to 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 the papers. (80)

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.

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?

Grievingly I think,

The peace between the French and us not values

The cost that did conclude it.

Every man, (90)

After the hideous storm that follow'd, was

A thing inspired; and, not consulting, broke

Into a general prophecy; That this tempest,

Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded

The sudden breach on't.

Which is budded out;

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd

Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

Is it therefore

The ambassador is silenced?

Marry, is't.

A proper title of a peace; and purchased

At a superfluous rate!

Why, all this business

Our reverend cardinal carried. (100)

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 (110)

Math 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.

The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?

Where's his examination?

First Secr.
Here, so please you.

Is he in person ready?

First Secr.
Ay, please your grace.

Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham

Shall lessen this big look. Exeunt Wolsey and his Train.

This butcher's cur is venommouth'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.

What, are you chafed?

Ask God for temperance; that's the appliance only

Which your disease requires.

I read in's looks

Matter against me; and his eye reviled

Me, as his abject object: at this instant

He bores me with some trick: he's gone to the king;

I'll follow and outstare him.

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.

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.

Be advised; (140)

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,

That fire that mounts the liquor till't run o'er,

In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised:

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.

Sir, (150)

I am thankful to you; and I'll go along

By your prescription: but this top-proud fellow,

Whom from the flow of gall 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.

Say not 'treasonous.'

To the 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 ravenous (160)

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, the interview

That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass

Did break i' the rinsing.

Faith, and so it did.

Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning cardinal (169)

The articles o' the combination drew

As himself pleased; and they were ratified

As he cried 'Thus let be': to as much end

As give a crutch to the dead: but our countcardinal

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 the 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: (180)

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 menaced him: he privily

Deals with our cardinal; and, as I trow,--

Which I do well; for I am sure the emperor

Paid ere he promised; whereby his suit was granted

Ere it was ask'd; but when the way was made,

And paved with gold, the emperor thus desired,

That he would please to alter the king's course, (190)

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.

I am sorry

To hear this of him; and could wish he were

Something mistaken in't.

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.

Your office, sergeant; execute it.


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.

Lo, you, my lord,

The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish

Under device and practice.

I am sorry

To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on

The business present: 'tis his highness' pleasure

You shall to the Tower.

It will help me nothing

To plead mine innocence; for that dye is on me,

Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven (210)

Be done in this and all things! I obey.

O my Lord Abergavenny, fare you well!

Nay, he must bear you company. The king [To Abergavenny.

Is pleased you shall to the Tower, till you know

How he determines further.

As the duke said,

The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure

By me obey'd!

Here is a warrant from

The king to attach Lord Montacute; and the bodies

Of the duke's confessor, John de la Car,

One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor,-- (219)

So, so;

These are the limbs o' the pot: no more, I hope.

A monk o' the Chartreux.

O, Nicholas Hopkins?


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 darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell. Exeunt.


The same. The council-chamber.
Cornets. Enter the KING, leaning on the CARDINAL'S shoulder, the Nobles, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL; the CARDINAL places himself under the KING'S feet on his right side.

My life itself, and the best heart of it,

Thanks you for this great care: I stood i' the level

Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks

To you that choked it. Let be call'd before us

That gentleman of Buckingham's; in person

I'll hear him 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 QUEEN KATHARINE, ushered by the DUKE OF NORFOLK, and the DUKE OF SUFFOLK: she kneels. The KING riseth from his state, takes her up, kisses and placeth her by him.

Q. Kath.
Nay, we must longer kneel: I am a suitor. (10)

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.

Q. Kath.
Thank your majesty.

That you would love yourself, and in that love

Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor

The dignity of your office, is the point

Of my petition.

Lady mine, proceed.

Q. Kath.
I am solicited, not by a few,

And those of true condition, that your subjects (20)

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.

Not almost appears, (30)

It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,

The clothiers all, not able to maintain

The many to them 'longing, have put off

The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,

Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger

And lack of other means, in desperate manner

Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar,

And danger serves among them.


Wherein? and what taxation? My lord cardinal,

You that are blamed for it alike with us,

Know you of this taxation? (40)

Please you, sir,

I know but of a single part, in aught

Pertains to the state; and front but in that file

Where others tell steps with me.

Q. Kath.
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 the hearing; and, to bear em,

The back is sacrifice to the load. They say

They are devised by you; or else you suffer

Too hard an exclamation.

Still exaction!

The nature of it? in what kind, let's know,

Is this exaction?

Q. Kath.
I am much too venturous

In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd

Under your promised pardon. The subjects' grief

Comes through commissions, which compel from each

The sixth part of his substance, to be levied

Without delay; and the pretence for this (60)

Is named, 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.

By my life,

This is against our pleasure.

And for me,

I have no further gone in this than by (70)

A single voice; and that not pass'd me but

By learned approbation of the judges. If I am

Traduced 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 ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow (80)

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.

Things done well,

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear; (90)

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' the 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 (100)

Free pardon to each man that has denied

The force of this commission: pray, look to't;

I put it to your care.

A word with you. [To the Secretary.

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 noised

That through our intercession this revokement

And pardon comes: I shall anon advise you

Further in the proceeding. [Exit Secretary.
Enter Surveyor.

Q. Kath.
I am sorry that the Duke of Buckingham

Is run in your displeasure. (110)

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 disposed, 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 listening, 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.

Stand forth, and with bold spirit relate what you,

Most like a careful subject, have collected

Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

Speak freely.

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 Abergavenny; to whom by oath he menaced

Revenge upon the cardinal.

Please your highness, note (139)

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.

Q. Kath.
My learn'd lord cardinal,

Deliver all with charity.

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?

He was brought to this

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins.

What was that Hopkins?

Sir, a Chartreux friar,

His confessor; who fed him every minute

With words of sovereignty. (150)

How know'st thou this?

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 (160)

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 ensued: Neither the king nor's heirs,

Tell you the duke, shall prosper: bid him strive

To gain the love o' the commonalty: the duke

Shall govern England.' (171)

Q. Kath.
If I know you well,

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office

On the complaint o' the 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.

Let him on.

Go forward.

On my soul, I'll speak but truth.

I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions

The monk might be deceived; and that 'twas dangerous for him (180)

To ruminate on this so far, until

It forged him some design, which, being believed,

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.

Ha! what, so rank? Ah ha!

There's mischief in this man: canst thou say further?

I can, my liege.


Being at Greenwich,

After your highness had reproved the duke

About Sir William Blomer,-- (190)

I remember

Of such a time: being my sworn servant,

The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence?

'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

The 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.'

A giant traitor! (200)

Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,

And this man out of prison?

Q. Kath.
God mend all!

There's something more would out of thee; what say'st?

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 used, he would outgo

His father by as much as a performance

Does an irresolute purpose.

There's his period,

To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd; (211)

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 the height. Exeunt.


An antechamber in the palace.

Is't possible the spells of France should juggle

Men into such strange mysteries?

New customs,

Though they be never so ridiculous,

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

As far as I see, all the good our English

Have got by the late voyage is but merely

A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones;

For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly

Their very noses had been counsellors (10)

To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.

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.

Death! my lord,

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,

That, sure, they've worn out Christendom. Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL.

How now!

What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?

Faith, my lord,

I hear of none, but the new proclamation

That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.

What is't for?

The reformation of our travell'd gallants, (20)

That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our monsieurs

To think an English courtier may be wise,

And never see the Louvre.

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, (31)

Short blister'd 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.

'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases

Are grown so catching.

What a loss our ladies

Will have of these trim vanities!

Ay, marry,

There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons

Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; (41)

A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.

The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,

For sure, there's no converting of '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.

Well said, Lord Sands;

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

No, my lord;

Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Sir Thomas,

Whither were you a-going? (50)

To the cardinal's:

Your lordship is a guest too.

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.

That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,

A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;

His dews fall every where.

No doubt he's noble;

He had a black mouth that said other of him.

He may, my lord; has wherewithal: in him (60)

Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine:

Men of his way should be most liberal;

They are set here for examples.

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.

I am your lordship's. Exeunt.


A Hall 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.

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. O, my lord, you're tardy: Enter LORD CHAMBERLAIN, LORD SANDS, and SIR THOMAS LOVELL.

The very thought of this fair company

Clapp'd wings to me.

You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.

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.

O, that your lordship were but now confessor

To one or two of these!

I would I were;

They should find easy penance.

Faith, how easy?

As easy as a down-bed would afford it.

Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry, (20)

Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this:

His grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze;

Two women placed together makes cold weather:

My Lord Sands, you are one will keep 'em waking;

Pray, sit between these ladies.

By my faith,

And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies:

If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;

I had it from my father.

Was he mad, sir?

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.

Well said, my lord.

So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen,

The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies

Pass away frowning.

For my little cure,

Let me alone. Hautboys.
Enter CARDINAL WOLSEY, and takes his state.

You're 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.

Your grace is noble:

Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,

And save me so much talking. (40)

My Lord Sands,

I am beholding to you: cheer your neighbours.

Ladies, you are not merry: gentlemen,

Whose fault is this?

The red wine first must rise

In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em

Talk us to silence.

You are a merry gamester,

My Lord Sands.

Yes, if I make my play.

Here 's to your ladyship: and pledge it, madam,

For 'tis to such a thing,--

You cannot show me.

I told your grace they would talk anon. Drum and trumpet, chambers discharged.

What's that?

Look out there, some of ye. Exit Servant.

What warlike voice,

And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;

By all the laws of war you're privileged. Re-enter Servant.

How now! what is't?

A noble troop of strangers;

For so they seem: they've left their barge and landed;

And hither make, as great ambassadors

From foreign princes.

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 (60)

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him. Exit Chamberlain, attended. All rise, and tables removed.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all. Hautboys.
Enter the KING and others, as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the LORD CHAMBERLAIN. They pass directly before the CARDINAL, and gracefully salute him.

A noble company! what are their pleasures?

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, (70)

But leave their flocks; and, under your fair conduct,

Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat

An hour of revels with 'em.

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 for the dance. The King chooses Anne Bullen.

The fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,

Till now I never knew thee! Music. Dance.

My lord!

Your grace?

Pray, tell 'em thus much from me:

There should be one amongst 'em, by his person,

More worthy this place than myself; to whom, (80)

If I but knew him, with my love and duty

I would surrender it.

I will, my lord. Whispers the Masquers.

What say they?

Such a one, they all confess,

There is indeed; which they would have your grace

Find out, and he will take it.

Let me see, then.

By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I'll make

My royal choice.

Ye have found him, cardinal: Unmasking.

You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord:

You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal,

I should judge now unhappily.

I am glad

Your grace is grown so pleasant. (90)

My lord chamberlain,

Prithee, come hither: what fair lady's that?

An't please your grace, Sir Thomas Bullen's daughter,--

The Viscount Rochford,--one of her highness women.

By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart,

I were unmannerly, to take you out,

And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen!

Let it go round.

Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready

I' the privy chamber?

Yes, my lord.

Your grace, (100)

I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

I fear, too much.

There's fresher air, my lord,

In the next chamber.

Lead in your ladies, every 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.

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