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SCENE III. An ante-chamber in the palace.

Enter the LORD

CHAMBERLAIN and LORD

SANDS.

Cham. Is 't 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. Cham. 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
To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.
Sands. 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.

Cham.

Death! my lord,

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they've worn out Christendom.

Enter SIR THOMAS LOVELL.

What news, Sir Thomas Lovell ?

Lov.

How now!

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 travell'd

gallants,

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

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

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

Lov.

They must either, For so run the conditions, leave those rem

nants

Of fool and feather that they got in France, With all their honourable points of igno

rance

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 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.

Sands. 'Tis time to give 'em physic, their

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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. Sands. 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
plain-song,

And have an hour of hearing; and, by 'r

lady,

Held current music too.

Cham.

Sands.

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Cham.

Well said, Lord Sands;

No, my lord;

Sir Thomas,

To the cardinal's:

O, 'tis true:

Whither were you a-going?

Lov.

Your lordship is a guest too.

Cham.

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.

Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous

mind indeed,

A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dews fall every where.

Cham.

No doubt he 's noble;

He had a black mouth that said other of

him.

Sands. He may, my lord; has where

withal 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.

Cham.

True, they are so ;

My barge

But few now give so great ones.

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 Guild

ford

This night to be comptrollers.

Sands.

I am your lordship's. [exeunt.

SCENE IV. 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.

Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from

his grace

Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates

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