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To ruminate on this so far, until

King.

180

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?

Surv. I can, my liege.

King.

Surv.

King.

Proceed.

Being at Greenwich,

After your highness had reproved the duke
About Sir William Bulmer,-

190

I remember Of such a time: being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. But on; what hence? Surv. 'If' quoth heI for this had been committed, As to the Tower I thought, I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon

King.

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!

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

Q. Kath.

God mend all!

201

King. There's something more would out of thee; what

say'st?

Surv. After the duke his father,' with the 'knife,'

King.

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;

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.

Scene III.

An antechamber in the palace.

210

[Exeunt.

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: would take it,

Cham.

That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin
Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.

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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 ?

Lov.

Faith, my lord,

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

Cham.
Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,

What is 't for?

That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Cham. I'm glad 'tis there: now I would pray our

Lov.

monsieurs

To think an English courtier
And never see the Louvre,

may be wise,

1

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

21

Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis and tall stockings, 30
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 diseases Are grown so catching.

Cham.

Lov.

Will have of these trim vanities!

What a loss our ladies

Ay, marry,

There will be woe indeed, lords: the sly whoresons
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies;

40

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.

Well said, Lord Sands;
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

Cham.

Sands.

No, my lord;

Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Cham.

Sir Thomas,

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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.
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 wherewithal: in him

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