King. A giant traitor!

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

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, whose tenour
Was, were he evil-us'd, he would out-go
His father, by as much as a performance
Does an irrefolute purpose.

King. There's his period,

To fheath his knife in us; he is attach'd,
Call him to present 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, an Apartment in the Palace.

Enter Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands.

Cham. I S't poffible, the fpells of France fhould juggle 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 merely
A fit or two o' th' face, but they are fhrewd ones
For when they hold 'em, you would fwear directly
Their very nofe's 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 cloaths are after fuch a pagan cut too,

That,

That, fure, they've worn out chriftendom: 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 our
Monfieurs

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

Lov. They muft either

(For fo 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 fire-works;
Abufing better men than they can be,

Out of a foreign wisdom; 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 lewdness, and be laugh'd at:
Sands. 'Tis time to give them phyfick, their diseases
Are grown fo catching.

Cham. What a lofs our ladies

Will have of these trim vanities ?

Lov. Ay, marry,

There will be woe indeed, Lords; the fly whorefons
Have got a speeding 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 honest 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

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 stump.
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. That churchman bears a bounteous mind, indeed; A band 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, (9)

Sparing would fhew a worse 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;
Your Lordship fhall along: come, good Sir Thomas,
We fhall be late elfe, which I would not be,

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

Sands. I'm your Lordship's.

(9)

[Exeunt.

b'as wherewithal in bim; Sparing would fhew, &c.] Thus this has hitherto been 'falfely pointed. The wherewithal, intended by Lord Sands, was not in the Cardinal's internal Wealth, the Bounty of his Mind; but the Goods of Fortune, his outward Treasures, large Revenues: which would have aggravated the Sin of Parfimony in him.

SCENE

SCENE changes to York-houfe.

Hautboys. A fmall table under a fate for the Cardinal,
a longer table for the guests. Then enter Anne Bullen,
and divers other ladies and gentlewomen, as guefls, at
one door; at another door, enter Sir Henry Guilford.
Guil. Adies, a general welcome from his Grace
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, (10)
Can make good people.

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. Sands. 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 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 eafie penance.

Lov. 'Faith, how eafie?

Sands. As eafie, as a down bed would afford it.

(10) As, first, good Company, good Wine, &c.] As this Paffage has been all along pointed, Sir Harry Guilford is made to include All these under the first Article; and then gives us the Drop as to what should follow. The Poet, I am perfuaded, wrote;

As first-good Company, good Wine, good Welcome, &c. i. e. he would have you as merry as thefe three Things can make You, the best Company in the Land, of the best Rank, good Wine, &c,

Cham.

Cham. Sweet ladies, will it pleafe 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 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; just as I do nows
He'd kiss you twenty with a breath.

Cham. Well faid, my Lord:

So now y'are fairly feated: gentlemen,

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

Sands. For my little cure,

Let me alone.

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolfey, and takes his fiatè

Wol. 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.

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,
Whofe fault is this?

Sands. The red wine firft must rise

[Drinks

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 Ladyfhip, and pledge it, Madam:

For