CHAMBERLAIN

Is't possible the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? As far as I see, all the good our English Have God by the late Voyage, is but merely A fit or two of the face, (but they are shrewd ones) For when they hold they, you would swear directly Their very noses had been Counsellors To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep State so. Death my Lord, Their clothes are after such a Pagan cut too't, That sure the have worn out Changed istendome: how now? What news, Sir Thomas Lovel ? What is't for? I'm glad it's there; Now I would pray our Monsieurs To think and English Courtier may be wise, And never see the Lonure. Well said Lord Sands, Your Colts tooth is not cast yet? Sir Thomas, Whither were you a going? Oh, it's 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. No doubt he's Noble; He had a black mouth that said other of him. 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 Guilford This night to be Comptrollers. Good morrow Ladies; what were't worth to know The secret of your conference? You are young Sir Harry Guilford Sweet Ladies will it please you fit; Sir Harry Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this: His Grace is entering. Nay, you must not freeze, Two women placed together, makes cold weather: My Lord Sands, you are one will keep they waking: Pray fit between these Ladies. Well said my Lord: So now you are fairly seated: Gntlemen, The penance lies on you; if these fair Ladies Pass away frowning. Look out there, some of you. How now, what is't? Because they speak no English, thus they prayed To tell your Grace: That having herd by fame Of this so Noble and so fair assembly, This night to meet here they could do no less, (Out of the great respect they bear to beauty) But leave their Flocks, and under your fair Conduct Crave leave to view these Ladies, and entreat And hour of Revels with they. Your Grace. I will my Lord. Such a one, they all confess There is indeed, which they would have your Grace Find out, and he will take it. An't please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullens Daughter, the Viscount Rochford, One of her Highness women. Good day to both your Graces. I left him private, Full of sad thoughts and troubles. It seems the Marriage with his Brother's Wife Ha crept too near his Conscience. Heaven keep me from such council: 'tis most true These news are every where, every tongue speaks they, And every true heart weeps for't. All that dare Look into these affairs, see this main end, The French Kings Sister. Heaven will one day open The Kings eyes, that so long have slept upon This bold bade man. Excuse me, The King ha sent me otherwhere: Beside You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him: Health to your Lordship's. It was a gentle business, and becoming The Actium of good women, there is hope All will be well. You bear a gentle mind, & heavenly blessings Follow such Creatures. That you may, fair Lady Perceive I speak sincerely, and high notes Taken of your many virtues; the Kings Majesty Commends his good opinion of you, to you; and Doe's purpose honour to you no less flowing, Then Marchioness of Pembroke ; to which Title, A Thousand pound a year, Annual support, Out of his Grace, he adds. Lady; I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit The King hath of you. I have perused her well, Beauty and Honour in her are so mingled, That they have caught the King: and who knows yet But from this Lady, may proceed a Jemme, To lighten all this I'll. I'll to the King, And say I spoke with you. My Lords, you speak your pleasures: What he deserves of you and me, I know: What we can do to him (though now the time Gives way to us) I much fear. If you cannot Bar his access to the King, never attempt Any thing on him: for he hath a Witchcraft Over the King in's Tongue. The King in this perceives him, how he coasts And hedges his own way. But in this point, All his tricks founder, and he brings his Physic After his Patients death; the King already Hath married the fair Lady. Now God incense him, And let him cry Would, louder. Oh my Lord, Press not a falling man too far: it's Virtue: His faults lie open to the Laws, let em (Not you) correct him. My heart weeps to see him So little, of his great Self. This is too much; Forbear for shame my Lords. Then thus for you my Lord, it stands agreed I take it, by all voices: That forthwith, You be conveyed to the Tower a Prisoner; There to remain till the Kings further pleasure Be known unto us: are you all agreed Lords. This is the Kings Ring. 'Tis now too certain; How much more is his Life in valve with him? Would I were fairly out on't. Mercy of me: what a Multitude are here? They grow still too; from all Parts they are coming, As if we kept a Fair here? Where are these Porters? These lazy knaves? you have made a fine hand fellows? Theres a trim rabble let in: are all these Your faithful friends of the Suburbs? We shall have Great store of room no doubt, left for the Ladies, When they pass back from the Christening? As I live, If the King blame me for't; I'll lay you all By the heals, and suddenly: and on your heads Clap round Fines for neglect: you are lazy knaves, And here you lie baiting of Bombards, when You should do Service. Hark the Trumpets found, the are come already from the Christening, Go break among the press, and find away out To let the Troop pass fairly; or I'll find A Marshallsey, shall hold you play these two Months. What a lose our Ladies Will have of these trim vanities?