SCENE IV. A Hall in York Place.

Hautboys. A small table under a state for the Cardinal, a longer table for the guests. Then enter Anne Bullen and divers other Ladies and Gentlemen as guests, at one door. At another door enter Sir Henry Guildford .

GUILDFORD. 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.

Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Sandys and Sir Thomas Lovell .

O, my lord, you’re tardy. The very thought of this fair company Clapped wings to me.

CHAMBERLAIN. You are young, Sir Harry Guildford.

SANDYS. 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.

LOVELL. O, that your lordship were but now confessor To one or two of these!

SANDYS. I would I were. They should find easy penance.

LOVELL. Faith, how easy?

SANDYS. As easy as a down bed would afford it.

CHAMBERLAIN. 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 placed together makes cold weather. My Lord Sandys, you are one will keep ’em waking. Pray, sit between these ladies.

SANDYS. 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.

ANNE. Was he mad, sir?

SANDYS. 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.

[ Kisses her. ]

CHAMBERLAIN. Well said, my lord. So, now you’re fairly seated. gentlemen, The penance lies on you if these fair ladies Pass away frowning.

SANDYS. For my little cure, Let me alone.

Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey and takes his state.

WOLSEY. 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.

[ Drinks. ]

SANDYS. Your Grace is noble. Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks And save me so much talking.

WOLSEY. My Lord Sandys, I am beholding to you. Cheer your neighbours. Ladies, you are not merry. Gentlemen, Whose fault is this?

SANDYS. The red wine first must rise In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have ’em Talk us to silence.

ANNE. You are a merry gamester, My Lord Sandys.

SANDYS. Yes, if I make my play. Here’s to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam, For ’tis to such a thing—

ANNE. You cannot show me.

SANDYS. I told your Grace they would talk anon.

[ Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharged. ]

WOLSEY. What’s that?

CHAMBERLAIN. Look out there, some of ye.

[ Exit Servant . ]

WOLSEY. What warlike voice, And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not. By all the laws of war you’re privileged.

Enter Servant .

CHAMBERLAIN. How now, what is’t?

SERVANT. A noble troop of strangers, For so they seem. They’ve left their barge and landed, And hither make, as great ambassadors From foreign princes.

WOLSEY. Good Lord Chamberlain, Go, give ’em welcome—you can speak the French tongue— And pray receive ’em nobly, and conduct ’em Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

[ Exit Chamberlain , attended. All rise, and tables removed. ]

You have now a broken banquet, but we’ll mend it. A good digestion to you all; and once more I shower a welcome on ye. Welcome all!

Hautboys. Enter King and others as masquers, habited like shepherds, ushered by the Lord Chamberlain . They pass directly before the Cardinal and gracefully salute him.

A noble company! What are their pleasures?

CHAMBERLAIN. Because they speak no English, thus they prayed To tell your Grace: that having heard by fame Of this so noble and so fair assembly This night to meet here, they could do no less, Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, But leave their flocks and, under your fair conduct, Crave leave to view these ladies and entreat An hour of revels with ’em.

WOLSEY. Say, Lord Chamberlain, They have done my poor house grace; for which I pay ’em A thousand thanks and pray ’em take their pleasures.

[ The masquers choose ladies. The King chooses Anne Bullen . ]

KING. The fairest hand I ever touched! O beauty, Till now I never knew thee.

[ Music. Dance. ]

WOLSEY. My lord!

CHAMBERLAIN. Your Grace?

WOLSEY. Pray tell ’em thus much from me: There should be one amongst ’em, by his person More worthy this place than myself, to whom, If I but knew him, with my love and duty I would surrender it.

CHAMBERLAIN. I will, my lord.

[ Whispers with the Masquers. ]

WOLSEY. What say they?

CHAMBERLAIN. Such a one they all confess There is indeed, which they would have your Grace Find out, and he will take it.

WOLSEY. Let me see, then. By all your good leaves, gentlemen; here I’ll make My royal choice.

KING. [ Unmasking .] Ye have found him, Cardinal. You hold a fair assembly; you do well, lord. You are a churchman, or I’ll tell you, Cardinal, I should judge now unhappily.

WOLSEY. I am glad Your Grace is grown so pleasant.

KING. My Lord Chamberlain, Prithee come hither. What fair lady’s that?

CHAMBERLAIN. An’t please your Grace, Sir Thomas Bullen’s daughter, The Viscount Rochford, one of her Highness’ women.

KING. By heaven, she is a dainty one. Sweetheart, I were unmannerly to take you out And not to kiss you. A health, gentlemen! Let it go round.

WOLSEY. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready I’ th’ privy chamber?

LOVELL. Yes, my lord.

WOLSEY. Your Grace, I fear, with dancing is a little heated.

KING. I fear, too much.

WOLSEY. There’s fresher air, my lord, In the next chamber.

KING. Lead in your ladies, every one. Sweet partner, I must not yet forsake you. Let’s be merry, Good my Lord Cardinal, I have half a dozen healths To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure To lead ’em once again, and then let’s dream Who’s best in favour. Let the music knock it.

[ Exeunt with trumpets. ]