Enter the Duke of Norfolk at one door; at the other,
the Duke of Buckingham and the Lord Abergavenny
Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
Since last we saw in France?
I thank your grace,
Healthful, and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.
fever, sickness, shaking [as caused by a fever]
An untimely ague
Stayed me a prisoner in my chamber when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Andren.
'Twixt Guynes and Arde.
I was then present, 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 throned ones could have weighed
Such a compounded one?
All the whole time
I was my chamber's prisoner.
Then you lost
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 its. Today the French,
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and tomorrow they
Made Britain India; every man that stood
Showed like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all gilt; the madams too,
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting. Now this masque
Was cried incomparable; and th' 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 challenged
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass, that former fabulous story,
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis was believed.
O, you go far!
As I belong to worship, and affect
In honour honesty, the tract of everything
Would by a good discourser lose some life
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal;
To the disposing of it nought rebelled.
Order gave each thing view; the office did
Distinctly his full function.
Who did guide –
I mean, who set the body and the limbs
Of this great sport together, as you guess?
One, certes, that promises no element
In such a business.
I pray you, who, my lord?
All this was ordered by the good discretion
Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.
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'th' beneficial sun,
And keep it from the earth.
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;
For, being not propped by ancestry, whose grace
Chalks successors their way, nor called upon
For high feats done to th' crown, neither allied
For eminent assistants, but spider-like,
Out of his self-drawing web, 'a 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.
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.
Why the devil,
Upon this French going out, took he upon him –
Without the privity o'th' King – t' appoint
Who should attend on him? He makes up the file
Of all the gentry, for the most part such
To 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.
I do know
Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sickened their estates that never
They shall abound as formerly.
Have broke their backs with laying manors on 'em
For this great journey. What did this vanity
But minister communication of
A most poor issue?
Grievingly I think
The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.
After the hideous storm that followed, was
A thing inspired, and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy – that this tempest,
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
The sudden breach on't.
Which is budded out;
For France hath flawed the league, and hath attached
Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux.
Is it therefore
Th' ambassador is silenced?
force to remain in silence, keep under restraint
A proper title of a peace, and purchased
At a superfluous rate!
Why, all this business
Our reverend Cardinal carried.
Like it your grace,
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 further, 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 'twill 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
The Duke of Buckingham's surveyor, ha?
Where's his examination?
Here, so please you.
Is he in person ready?
Ay, please your grace.
Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham
Shall lessen this big look.
Exeunt Cardinal and his train
This butcher's cur is venom-mouthed, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
Outworths a noble's blood.
What, are you chafed?
Ask God for temperance; that's th' appliance only
Which your disease requires.
I read in's looks
Matter against me, and his eye reviled
Me as his abject object. At this instant
He bores me with some trick. He's gone to th' King.
I'll follow, and outstare him.
Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about. To climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like
A full hot horse, who being allowed 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.
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.
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 advised.
I say again there is no English soul
More stronger to direct you than yourself,
If with the sap of reason you would quench
Or but allay the fire of passion.
I am thankful to you, and I'll go along
By your prescription; but this top-proud fellow –
Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but
gall (n.) 3
spirit of anger, venom, ability to be angry
From sincere motions – by intelligence,
And proofs as clear as founts in July when
We see each grain of gravel, I do know
To be corrupt and treasonous.
Say not treasonous.
To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong
vouch (n.) 1
formal statement, attestation, express declaration
As shore of rock. Attend: this holy fox,
Or wolf, or both – for he is equal ravenous
As he is subtle, and as prone to mischief
As able to perform't, his mind and place
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally –
Only to show his pomp, as well in France
As here at home, suggests the King our master
To this last costly treaty, th' interview
entreaty, proposal for agreement, proposition
That swallowed so much treasure, and like a glass
Did break i'th' wrenching.
Faith, and so it did.
Pray give me favour, sir. This cunning Cardinal
The articles o'th' combination drew
As himself pleased; and they were ratified
As he cried ‘ Thus let be,’ to as much end
As give a crutch to th' dead. But our Count-Cardinal
Has done this, and 'tis well; for worthy Wolsey,
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows –
Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
To th' old dam, treason – Charles the Emperor,
Under pretence to see the Queen his aunt –
For 'twas indeed his colour, but he came
To whisper Wolsey – here makes visitation.
His fears were that the interview betwixt
England and France might through their amity
Breed him some prejudice, for from this league
Peeped harms that menaced him. He privily
Deals with our Cardinal, and, as I trow –
Which I do well, for I am sure the Emperor
Paid ere he promised, whereby his suit was granted
Ere it was asked – but when the way was made,
And paved with gold, the Emperor thus desired
That he would please to alter the King's course
And break the foresaid peace. Let the King know,
As soon he shall by me, that thus the Cardinal
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases,
And for his own advantage.
I am sorry
To hear this of him, and could wish he were
Something mistaken in't.
No, not a syllable:
I do pronounce him in that very shape
He shall appear in proof.
Enter Brandon, a Sergeant-at-Arms before him, and
two or three of the guard
Your office, sergeant: execute it.
My lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
Of our most sovereign King.
Lo you, my lord,
The net has fall'n upon me! I shall perish
Under device and practice.
I am sorry
To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
The business present. 'Tis his highness' pleasure
You shall to th' Tower.
It will help me nothing
To plead mine innocence, for that dye is on me
Which makes my whit'st part black. The will of heaven
Be done in this and all things! I obey.
O my Lord Aberga'nny, fare you well!
Nay, he must bear you company. (to Abergavenny) The King
Is pleased you shall to th' Tower, till you know
How he determines further.
As the Duke said,
The will of heaven be done, and the King's pleasure
By me obeyed.
Here is a warrant from
The King, t' attach Lord Montacute, and the bodies
Of the Duke's confessor, John de la Car,
One Gilbert Perk, his chancellor –
These are the limbs o'th' plot: no more, I hope.
A monk o'th' Chartreux.
O, Nicholas Hopkins?
My surveyor is false. The o'er-great Cardinal
Hath showed him gold. My life is spanned already.
I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on
By darkening my clear sun. My lord, farewell.