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Queen. I am much too venturous

In tempting of your patience; but am bolden'd Under your promis'd pardon. The subjects' grief Comes through commissions, which compell from


The sixth part of his substance, to be levy'd
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.

I would, your highness

Would give it quick consideration.
King. By my life,

This is against our pleasure.

Wol. And for me,

I have no further gone in this, than by

A single voice; and that not past 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.

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' 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
Free pardon to each man that has deny'd

The force of this commission: 'Pray, look to 't;
I put it to your care.

Wol. A word with you.


Let there be letters writ to every shire,

Of the king's grace and pardon.-The griev'd com


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.


Queen. I am sorry, that the duke of Buckingham Is run in your displeasure.

King. It grieves many:

The gentleman is learn'd, a most rare speaker,
To nature none more bound: but 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.-

Enter Surveyor.

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.

Wol. Stand forth; and with bold spirit relate what


Most like a careful subject, have collected

Out of the duke of Buckingham.

King. Speak freely.

Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day
It would infect his speech, That, if the king
Should without issue die, he'd carry it so
To make the sceptre his: These very words
I have heard him utter to his son-in-law,
Lord Aberga'ny; to whom by oath he menac'd
Revenge upon the cardinal.

Wol. 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. 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?

Surv. He was brought to this

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins,
His confessor; who fed him every minute.
With words of sovereignty.

King. How know'st thou this?

Surv. There is, says he, a Chartreux friar, that oft Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit

John de la Court, 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 his heirs, (Tell you the duke,) shall prosper: bid him strive To the love of the commonalty; the duke

Shall govern England.

Queen. 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.
King. Go forward.

Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.

I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 't was dang'rous for him

To ruminate on this :-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 Lovel's heads

Should have

gone off.

King. Ha! what, so rank! Ah, ha!

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

Surv. I can, my liege.

King. Proceed.

Surv. Being at Greenwich,

After your highness had reprov'd the duke
About sir William Blomer,-

King. I remember

Of such a time :-Being my sworn servant,

The duke retain'd him his. But on: What hence?

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Surv. 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 his presence; which if granted,
As he made semblance 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 prison?

Queen. Heaven mend all!

King. There's something more would out of thee; What say'st?

Surv. After the duke his father,-with-the knife,— He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on his breast, 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 irresolute purpose.

King. (Rises.) There's his period,

To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd;
Call him to present trial; if he may
Find mercy in the law, 't is his; if none,

Let him not seek 't of us; By day and night,

He's traitor to the height.

[Flourish of Trumpets.]



An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter Chamberlain, and Lord SANDS.

Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should juggle

Men into such strange mysteries ?

Sands. New customs,

Though they be never so ridiculous,

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

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

That never saw them pace before, the spavin,

A springhalt, reign'd among 'em.

Enter LOVEL.

Cham. What news, sir Thomas Lovel?
Lov. 'Faith, my lord,

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

Cham. What is 't for?

Lov. The reformation of our travel'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Cham. I am glad, 't is there; now I would pray

our monsieurs

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

Sands. What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities!

Lov. Ay, marry,

There will be woe indeed, lords;

A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow.

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