Cran.
I hope, I'm not too late; and yet the gentleman,
That was sent to me from the Council, pray'd me
To make great haste. All fast? what means this?—hoa!
Who waits there?— Enter Door-Keeper.
Sure, you know me?

D. Keep.
Yes, my Lord;
But yet I cannot help you.

Cran.
Why?

D. Keep.
Your Grace must wait, 'till you be call'd for. Enter Doctor Butts.

Cran.
So.—

Butts.
This is a piece of malice. I am glad,
I came this way so happily. The King
Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts.

Cran. [Aside.]
'Tis Butts,
The King's physician. As he past along,
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
Pray heav'n, he sound not my disgrace! For certain,

This is of purpose laid by some that hate me,
God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,
To quench mine honour; they would shame to make me
Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor,
'Mong boys and grooms and lackeys! but their pleasures
Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience. Enter the King and Butts, at a window above.

Butts.
I'll shew your Grace the strangest sight—

King.
What's that, Butts?

Butts.
I think, your Highness saw this many a day.

King.
Body o'me, where is it?

Butts.
There, my Lord;
The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,
Who holds his state at door 'mongst pursevants,
Pages, and foot-boys.

King.
Ha! 'tis he, indeed.
Is this the honour they do one another?
'Tis well, there's one above 'em yet. I thought,
They'd parted so much Honesty among 'em,
At least, good manners, as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favour,
To dance attendance on their Lordships' pleasures,
And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery.
Let 'em alone, and draw the curtain close,
We shall hear more anon.—

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