Out of the Duke of Buckingham. Suro. First, it was ufual with him, ev'ry day Lord Aberga'ny, t' whom by oath he menac'd Wol. Pleafe your Highness, note This dangerous conception in this point: Bevond you to your friends. Queen. My learn'd Lord Cardinal, Deliver all with charity. King, Speak on. How grounded he his title to the crown Upon our fail? To this point hast thou heard him. At any time fpeak aught? Surv. He was brought to this By a vain prophely of Nicholas Hopkins. Surv. Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confeffor, who fed him every minute King. How know'st thou this? Surv. Not long before your Highness fped to The Duke being at the Rofe, within the parish He folemnly had fworn, that what he spoke To me, fhould utter; with demure confidence, Thus paufingly enfu'd;-Neither the King, nor's heirs, (Tell you the Duke) fhall profper: bid him strive To gain the love o' th' commonalty. The Duke Shall govern England. Queen. If I know you well, You were the Duke's furveyor, and loft your office On the complaint o' th' tenants. Take good heed You charge not in your spleen a noble perfon, Yes, heartily I beseech you. King. Let him on. -Go forward. I fay, take heed; Surv. On my foul, I'll fpeak but truth. I told my Lord the Duke, by th' devil's illufions The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dang❜rous For him to ruminate on this, until It forg'd him fome defign, which being believ'd, It was much like to do; he anfwer'd, Tush, Adding further, That had the King in his laft fickness fail'd, It can do me no damage. The Cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovel's heads Should have gone off. King. Ha! what fo rank? ah, ha There's mifchief in this man. ther? Suro, I can, my Liege. King. Proceed. Surv. Being at Greenwich, Canft thou fay fur After your Highness had reprov'd the Duke King. I remember Of fuch a time. He being my fworn fervant, Thufurper Richard, who, being at Salisbury,. Made fuit to come in's prefence; which, if granted, King. A giant traitor! Wol. Now, Madam, may his Highness live in And this man out of prison? Queen. God mend all! [freedom, King. There's fomething more would out of thee; what fay'ft? Surv. After the Duke his father with the knife,-He ftretch'd him, and with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on's breaft, mounting his eyes, He did discharge a horrible oath, whofe tenour Was, were he evil-us'd, he would out-go His father, by as much as a performance Does an irrefolute purpose. King. There's his period, To fheath his knife in us. He is attach'd; [Exeunt Enter Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands. Cham. Is't poffible the fpells of France fhould Men into fuch ftrange myfteries * ? Sands. New customs, Though they be never fo ridiculous, Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd. [juggle Cham. As far as I fee, all the good our English Have got by the last voyage, is but merely A fit or two o' the face †; but they are fhrewd ones; For when they hold 'em, you would fwear directly Their very noses had been counsellors Strange mockeries. Warburton. A fit of the face feems to be what we now term grimace, an artificial caft of the countenance. Johnsons To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep ftate fo. That never faw 'em pace before, the spavin Cham. Death! my Lord. Their cloaths are after fuch a Pagan cut too, That, fure, they've worn out: Chriftendom. How What news, Sir Thomas Lovel? Enter Sir Thomas Lovel. Love Faith, my Lord, I hear of none, but the new proclamation [now? 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 Monfieurs To think an English courtier may be wife,. Lov. They muft either (For fo run the conditions) leave those remnants Out of a foreign wisdom, clean renouncing Or pack to their old play-fellows; there, I take it, The lag-end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. Sands. 'Tis time to give them phyfic, their diseases Are grown fo catching. Cham. What a lofs our ladies Will have of these trim vanities? Lov. Ay, marry, There will be woe indeed, Lords; the fly whorefons. Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies. A French fong and a fiddle has no fellow. Sands. The devil fiddle 'em! I'm glad they're A long time out of play, may bring his plain fong, Cham. Well faid, Lord Sands; Nor fhall not, while I have a ftump.. Whither are you going? Lov. To the Cardinal's; Your Lordship is a guest too. This night he makes a fupper, and a great one,.. The beauty of this kingdom, I'll affure you. Lov. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; Cham. No doubt he's noble ; He had a black mouth that faid other of him. Sands. He may, my Lord, h' as wherewithal in him Sparing would fhew a worse fin than ill doctrine. Cham.. True, they are fo; But few now give fo great ones. My barge ftays; Sands. I'm your Lordship's. ५ [Exeunts |