ACT I. SCENE I.

London. An Ante-chamber in the Palace.

Enter the Duke of NORFOLK, at one door; at the other, the Duke of BUCKINGHAM, and the Lord ABERGAVENNY.

Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have you done, Since last we saw in France?

Nor.

I thank your grace,

Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer

Of what I saw there.

Buck.

An untimely ague

Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Andren.

Nor.

'Twixt Guynes and Arde:

I was then présent, saw them salute on horseback;

Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
In their embracement, as they grew together;

Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have weigh'd
Such a compounded one?

Buck.

All the whole time

Then you lost

I was my chamber's prisoner.

Nor.

The view of earthly glory: men might say,
Till this time, pomp was single; but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders it's: to-day the French
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and to-morrow they
Made Britain, India: every man that stood
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all gilt: the madams, too,
Not us'd to toil, did almost sweet to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting: now this mask

Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them; him in eye,
Still him in praise; and, being present both,
'Twas said, they saw but one: and no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. When these suns
(For so they phrase 'em) by their heralds challeng'd
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform

Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,

Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing
Would by a good discourser lose some life,
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal:
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd;

Order gave each thing view; the office did
Distinctly his full function.

Buck.

Who did guide,

I mean, who set the body and the limbs

Of this great sport together, as you guess?
Nor. One, certes, that promises no element
In such a business.

Buck.

I pray you, who, my lord? Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion Of the right reverend cardinal of York..

Buck. The devil speed him! no man's pie is freed From his ambitious finger. What had he To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder, That such a keech can, with his very bulk, Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun,

And keep it from the earth.

Surely, Sir,

Nor.
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace

Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon
For high feats done to the crown; neither allied
To eminent assistants, but, spider-like,
Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
The force of his own merit makes his way;
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.

Aber.

I cannot tell

What heaven hath given him: let some graver eye Pierce into that; but I can see his pride

Peep through each part of him: whence has he that?
If not from hell, the devil is a niggard;

Or has given all before, and he begins
A new hell in himself.

Buck.

Why the devil,

Upon this French going-out, took he upon him,
(Without the privity o' the king) t' appoint
Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
Of all the gentry; for the most part such
Too, whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon: and his own letter,
The honourable board of council out,
Must fetch him in he papers.

Aber.

I do know

Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sicken'd their estates, that never
They shall abound as formerly.

Buck.

O! many

Have broke their backs, with laying manors on them

For this great journey. What did this vanity,

But minister communication of

A most poor issue?

Nor.

Grievingly I think,

The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.

Buck.

Every man,

After the hideous storm that follow'd, was

A thing inspir'd; and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy, that this tempest,
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded

The sudden breach on 't.

Nor.

Which is budded out;

For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.

Aber.

Th' ambassador is silenc'd?

Nor.

Is it therefore

Marry, is 't.

Aber. A proper title of a peace, and purchas'd

The state takes notice of the private difference
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you,
(And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
Honour and plenteous safety) that you read
The cardinal's malice and his potency
Together: to consider farther, that

What his high hatred would effect wants not
A minister in his power. You know his nature,
That he's revengeful; and, I know, his sword
Hath a sharp edge: it's long, and 't may be said,

It reaches far; and where 't will not extend,

Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel;

You'll find it wholesome. Lo! where comes that rock,
That I advise your shunning.

Enter Cardinal WOLSEY, (the Purse borne before him,) certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries with Papers. The Cardinal in his passage fixeth his eye on BUCKINGHAM, and BUCKINGHAM on him, both full of disdain.

Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor? ha!

Where's his examination?

1 Secr.

Here, so please you.

Wol. Is he in person ready?

1 Secr.

Ay, please your grace.

Wol. Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham

Shall lessen this big look.

[Exeunt WOLSEY, and Train.

Buck. This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore, best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
Out-worths a noble's blood.

Nor.

What! are you chaf'd?

Ask God for temperance; that's th' appliance only,
Which your disease requires.

Buck.

I read in 's looks

Matter against me; and his eye revil'd

Me, as his abject object: at this instant

He bores me with some trick. He's gone t' the king:
I'll follow, and out-stare him.

Nor.
Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 't is you go about. To climb steep hills,
Requires slow pace at first: anger is like
A full-hot horse, who being allow'd his way,
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
Can advise me like you: be to yourself,

As you would to your friend.

Buck.

I'll to the king;

And from a mouth of honour quite cry down

This Ipswich fellow's insolence, or proclaim
There's difference in no persons.

Nor.
Be advis'd;
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself: we may outrun
By violent swiftness that which we run at,
And lose by over-running. Know you not,
The fire, that mounts the liquor till 't run o'er,
In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advis'd:
I say again, there is no English soul

More stronger to direct you than yourself,

207