BUCKINGHAM.
Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done
Since last we saw y'in France?

Nor.
I thank your Grace:
Healthful, and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.

Buck.
An untimely Ague
Staid me a Prisoner in my Chamber, when
Those Sons of Glory, those two Lights of Men
Met in the vale of Ardres.

Nor.
'Twixt Guynes and Ardres,
I was then present, saw them salute on Horse-back,

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
I was my Chamber's Prisoner.

Nor.
Then you lost
The view of earthly Glory: Men might say
'Till this time Pomp was single, but now married
To one above it self. Each following day
Became the next Day's Master, 'till the last
Made former Wonders, its. To day the French,
All Clinquant, all in Gold, like Heathens Gods
Shone down the English; and to morrow, they
Made Britain, India: Every Man that stood,
Shew'd like a Mine. Their Dwarfish Pages were
As Cherubins, all gilt; the Madams too,
Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The Pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a Painting. Now this Mask
Was cry'd 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, 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
That Bevis was believ'd

Buck.
Oh, you go far.

Nor.
As I belong to worship, and affect,
In Honour, Honesty, the tract of ev'ry thing
Would by a good Discourser lose some life,
Which Actions self was Tongue to.

Buck.
All was Royal,
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd,
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?

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 Pye is freed
From his ambitious Finger. What had he
To do in these fierce Vanities? I wonder
That such a Ketch can with his very Bulk
Take up the Rays o'th' Beneficial Sun,
And keep it from the Earth.

Nor.
Surely, Sir,
There's in him stuff that puts him to these Ends:
For being not propt by Ancestry, whose Grace
Chalks Successors their way; nor call'd upon
For high Feats done to th' Crown; neither Allied
To eminent Assistants; but Spider-like
Out of his self-drawing Web. O! 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 Heav'n 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 him 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'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.

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 'em
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 Prophesie; that this Tempest,
Dashing the Garment of this Peace, aboaded
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.
Is it therefore
Th' Ambassador is silenc'd?

Nor.
Marry is't.

Aber.
A proper Title of Peace, and purchas'd
At a superfluous rate.

Buck.
Why all this business
Our Reverend Cardinal carried.

Nor.
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 your
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 wholsome. Lo, where comes that Rock
That I advise your shunning. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, the Purse born 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?

Secr.

Here, so please you.

Wol.

Is he in Person ready?

Secr.

Ay, an't please your Grace.

Wol.

Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham shall lessen his big look.

Buck.
This Butcher's Cur is venome 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 chas'd?
Ask God for temp'rance, 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 to th' King:
I'll follow and out-stare him.

Nor.
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 allow'd his way
Self-mettle tires him: Not a Man in England
Can advise me, like you: Be to your self,
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 your self. We may out-run

By violent swiftness, that which we run at;
And lose by our 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 your self,
If with the sap of Reason you would quench,
Or but allay the fire of Passion.

Buck.
Sir,
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
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.

Nor.
Say not, treasonous.

Buck.
To th' King I'll say't, and make my vouch as strong
As shore of Rock—attend. This holy Fox,
Or Wolf, or both (for he is equal rav'nous
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 shew his Pomp, as well in France,
As here at home, suggests the King our Master
To this last costly Treaty, th' enterview,
That swallow'd so much Treasure, and like a Glass
Did break i'th' wrenching.

Nor.
Faith, and so it did.

Buck.
Pray give me favour, Sir—this cunning Cardinal
The Articles o'th' Combination drew
As himself pleas'd; and they were ratifi'd
As he cry'd, Thus let it 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
Peep'd harms, that menac'd him. He privily
Deals with our Cardinal, and as I trow,
Which I do well—for I am sure the Emperor
Paid e'er he promis'd, whereby his suit was granted
E'er it was ask'd. But when the way was made,
And pav'd with Gold; the Emperor thus desir'd,
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.

Nor.
I am sorry
To hear this of him; and could wish you were
Something mistaken in't.

Buck.
No, not a Syllable:
I do pronounce him in that very Shape
He shall appear in proof. Enter Brandon, a Serjeant at Arms before him, and two or three of the Guard.

Bran.
Your Office, Serjeant; execute it.

Serj.
Sir,
My Lord the Duke of Buckingham, and Earl
Of Hertford, Stafford and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of High Treason, in the name
Of our most Sovereign King.

Buck.
Lo you, my Lord,
The Net has fall'n upon me; I shall perish
Under device and practice.

Bran.
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.

Buck.
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 Heav'n
Be done in this and all things: I obey.
O my Lord Abergavenny, fare ye well.

Bran.
Nay, he must bear you Company. The King
Is pleas'd you shall to th' Tower, 'till you know
How he determines further.

Aber.
As the Duke said,
The Will of Heav'n be done, and the King's Pleasure
By me obey'd.

Bran.
Here is a Warrant from
The King, t'attach Lord Montague, and the Bodies
Of the Duke's Confessor, John de la Car,
One Gilbert Peck, his Counsellor.

Buck.
So, so;
These are the Lambs o'th' Plot, no more, I hope.

Bran.
A Monk o'th' Chartreux.

Buck.
O Michael Hopkins.

Bran.
He.

Buck.
My Surveyor is false, the o'er-great Cardinal
Hath shew'd him Gold; my Life is spann'd already:
I am the shadow of poor Buckingham,
Whose Figure even this instant Cloud puts on,
By dark'ning my clear Sun. My Lord, farewel. [Exeunt.

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