Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones; one

would take it,

That never saw them pace before, the spavin,

12

A springhalt 2 reign'd among them.

Cham.

Death! my lord,

Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,

That, sure, they have worn out christendom. How

now?

What news, sir Thomas Lovell?

Lov.

Enter Sir THOMAS LOVELL.

'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 am 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 these 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,

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 them physick, their diseases
Are grown so catching.

Cham.

What a loss our ladies

Will have of these trim vanities!

Lov.

Ay, marry,

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 them! I am glad, they're

going;

(For, sure, there's no converting of them;) 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 musick too.

Cham.

Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

Sands.

Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

Cham.

Whither were you a going?

Lov.

Well said, lord Sands;

No, my lord;

Sir Thomas,

To the cardinal's ;

O, 'tis true:

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, he has wherewithal; 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;

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.

Sands.

I am your lordship's.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

The Presence-Chamber in York-Place.

Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table for the guests. Enter at one door, ANNE BULLEN, and divers Lords, Ladies, and

Gentlewomen, as guests; at another door, enter Sir HENRY GUILDFORD.

Guild. 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 are tardy;

Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord SANDS, and Sir
THOMAS LOVELL.

The very thought of this fair company

Clapp'd wings to me.

Cham.

You are young, sir Harry Guildford. Sands. 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 them: By my life, They are a sweet society of fair ones.

Lov. O, that your lordship were but now confessor To one or two of these!

Sands.

I would, I were;

'Faith, how easy?

They should find easy penance.

Lov.

Sands. As easy as a down-bed would afford it.

Cham. Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir

Harry,

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

His grace is ent'ring.-Nay, you must not freeze;

Two women plac'd together makes cold weather:My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking; Pray, sit between these ladies.

Sands.

By my faith,

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

[Seats himself between Anne Bullen and another lady.

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 now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath. [Kisses her.

Cham.

Well said, my lord.

So, now you are fairly seated:-Gentlemen,

The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies

Wol. You 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.

[Drinks.

Your grace is noble :