As I belong to worship and affect

      In honour honesty, the tract of ev'rything

      Would by a good discourser lose some life,

      Which action's self was tongue to. 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?

      One, certes, that promises no element

      In such a business.

      I pray you, who, my lord?

      All this was ord'red 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.

      Surely, sir,

      There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends;

      For, being not propp'd by ancestry, whose grace

      Chalks successors their way, nor call'd upon

      For high feats done to the crown; neither allied

      To eminent assistants; but, spider-like,

      Out of his self-drawing web, he 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' the King, to 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 sicken'd their estates, that never

      They shall abound as formerly.

      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?

      Grievingly I think

      The peace between the French and us not values

      The cost that did conclude it.

      Every man,

      After the hideous storm that follow'd, was

      A thing inspir'd; 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 flaw'd the league, and hath attach'd

      Our merchants' goods at Bordeaux.

      Is it therefore

      The ambassador is silenc'd?

      Marry, is't.

      A proper title of a peace, and purchas'd

      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.

      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.

      This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, 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 chaf'd?

      Ask God for temp'rance; that's the appliance