Well said, Lord Sandys;

      Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.

      No, my lord;

      Nor shall not, while I have a stump.

      Sir Thomas,

      Whither were you a-going?

      To the Cardinal's.

      Your lordship is a guest too.

      O, 'tis true:

      This night he makes a supper, and a great one,

      To many lords and ladies; there will be

      The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.

      That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,

      A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;

      His dews fall everywhere.

      No doubt he's noble;

      He had a black mouth that said other of him.

      He may, my lord; has wherewithal; in him

      Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine.

      Men of his way should be most liberal;

      They are set here for examples.

      True, they are so;

      But few now give so great ones. My barge stays;

      Your lordship shall along. Come, good Sir Thomas,

      We shall be late else; which I would not be,

      For I was spoke to, with Sir Henry Guildford,

      This night to be comptrollers.

      I am your lordship's.

      Ladies, a general welcome from his Grace

      Salutes ye all; this night he dedicates

      To fair content and you. None here, he hopes,

      In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

      One care abroad. He would have all as merry

      As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

      Can make good people.

      O, my lord, you're tardy;

      The very thought of this fair company

      Clapp'd wings to me.

      You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.

      Sir Thomas Lovell, had the Cardinal

      But half my lay thoughts in him, some of these

      Should find a running banquet ere they rested,

      I think would better please 'em. By my life,

      They are a sweet society of fair ones.

      O, that your lordship were but now confessor

      To one or two of these!

      I would I were;

      They should find easy penance.

      Faith, how easy?

      As easy as a down-bed would afford it.

      Sweet ladies, will it please you sit? Sir Harry,

      Place you that side; I'll take the charge of this.

      His Grace is ent'ring. Nay, you must not freeze;

      Two women plac'd together makes cold weather.

      My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep 'em waking;

      Pray, sit between these ladies.

      By my faith,

      And thank your lordship. By your leave, sweet ladies.

      If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;

      I had it from my father.

      Was he mad, sir?

      O, very mad, exceeding mad; in love too;

      But he would bite none. Just as I do now,

      He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

      Well said, my lord.

      So, now you're fairly seated. Gentlemen,

      The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies

      Pass away frowning.

      For my little cure,

      Let me alone.

      You're welcome, my fair guests. That noble lady

      Or gentleman that is not freely merry

      Is not my friend. This, to confirm my welcome;

      And to you all, good health.

      Your Grace is noble.

      Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,

      And save me so much talking.

      My Lord Sandys,

      I am beholding to you; cheer your neighbours.

      Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen,

      Whose fault is this?

      The red wine first must rise

      In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have 'em

      Talk us to silence.

      You are a merry gamester,

      My Lord Sandys.

      Yes, if I make my play.

      Here's to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam,

      For 'tis to such a thing, —

      You cannot show me.

      I told your Grace they would talk anon.

      What's that?

      Look out there, some of ye.