I have no further gone in this, than by
A single voice; and that not past me, but
By learned approbation of the judges. If I am
Traduc'd by ignorant tongues,-which neither know
My faculties, nor person, yet will be

The chronicles of my doing,-let me say,

'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake That virtue must go through.

If we shall stand still,

In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
We should take root here where we sit, or sit
State statues only.

King. Things done well,

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear;
Things done without example, in their issue
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
Of this commission? I believe, not any.
We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each?
A trembling contribution! Why, we take
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber;
And, though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
The air will drink the sap. To every county,
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with
Free pardon to each man that has deny'd
The force of this commission: 'Pray, look to't;
I put it to your care.

Wol. A word with you.

[To CROMWELL.

Let there be letters writ to every shire,

Of the king's grace and pardon.-The griev'd com

mons

Hardly conceive of me; let it nois'd,

That through our intercession, this revokement

And pardon comes: I shall anon advise

Further in the proceeding.

you

[Exit CROMWELL ·

Queen. I am sorry, that the Duke of Buckingham

Is run in your displeasure.

King. It grieves many:

The gentleman is learned, a most rare speaker,
To nature none more bound: but he, my lady,
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
That once were his, and is become as black
As if besmear'd in hell.-

Enter SURVEYOR.

Sit by us; you shall hear

(This was his gentleman in trust,) of him Things to strike honour sad.-Bid him recount The fore-recited practices; whereof

We cannot feel too little, hear too much.

Wol. Stand forth; and with bold spirit relate what

you,

Most like a careful subject, have collected

Out of the Duke of Buckingham.

King. Speak freely.

it so

Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day
It would infect his speech, That, if the king
Should without issue die, he'd carry
To make the sceptre his: These very words
I have heard him utter to his son-in-law,
Lord Aberga'ny; to whom, by oath, he menac'd
Revenge upon the cardinal.

Wol. Please your highness, note

This dangerous conception in this point.
Not friended by his wish, to your high person

His will is most malignant; and it stretches

Beyond 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 speak aught?

Surv. He was brought to this

By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins,

Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit

John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a matter of some moment:
Whom after, under the confession's seal,
He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke
My chaplain to no creature living, but

To me, should utter, with demure confidence
This pausingly ensu'd,-Neither the king, nor his
heirs,

(Tell you the duke,) shall prosper: bid him strive
To the love of the commonalty; the duke
Shall govern England."-

Queen. If I know you well,

You were the duke's surveyor, and lost

your office

On the complaint o' the tenants: Take good heed,
You charge not in your spleen a noble person,
And spoil your nobler soul; I say take heed.
King. Go forward.

Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but truth.

I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dangerous for him

To ruminate on this:-He answer'd, "Tush!

It can do me no damage:" adding further,
That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
The cardinal's and Sir Thomas Lovel's heads
Should have gone off.

King. Ha! what, so rank! Ah, ha!

There's mischief in this man :-Canst thou say fur

*ther?

Surv. I can, my liege.

King. Proceed.

Surv. Being at Greenwich,

After your highness had reprov'd the duke
About Sir William Blomer,-
King. I remember

Of such a time :-Being my sworn servant,

The duke retain'd him his.-But on: What hence? Suro. "If," quoth he, "I for this had been committed,

As to the Tower, I thought, I would have play'd
The part my father meant to act upon

The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury,
Made suit to come in his presence; which, if granted,
As he made semblance of his duty, would

Have put his knife into him."

King. A giant traitor!

Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom,

And this man out of prison?

Queen. Heaven mend all!

King. There's something more would out of thee? What say'st?

Surv. After-" the duke his father,"-with-"the knife,"

He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger,
Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes,
He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenour
Was,-Were he evil us'd, he would outgo

His father, by as much as a performance
Does an irresolute purpose.

King. [Rises.] There's his period,

To sheathe his knife in us. He is attach'd;
Call him to present trial; if he may
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none,
Let him not seek't of us; by day and night,
He's traitor to the height,

[Flourish of Trumpets.-Exeunt.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter LORD SANDS and CHAMBERLAIN. Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should juggle

Men into such strange mysteries?

Sands. New customs,

Though they be never so ridiculous,

Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
They've all new legs, and lame ones; one would
take it,

That never saw them pace before, the spavin,
A springhalt, reign'd among them.

Enter LovEL.

Cham. What news, Sir Thomas Lovel?
Lov. 'Faith, my lord,

I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court gate.

Cham, What is't for?

Lov. The reformation of our travel'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors:
Cham. I am glad, 'tis there; now I would pray our
monsieurs

To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.

Sands. What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities!

Lov. Ay, marry,

There will be woe indeed, lords;

A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow.