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The Life of Henry the Eighth
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How now!
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
LOVELL
Faith, my lord,
I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.
CHAMBERLAIN
What is't for?
LOVELL
The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.
CHAMBERLAIN
I'm glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.
LOVELL
They must either,
For so run the conditions, leave those remnants
Of fool and feather that they got in France,
With all their honourable points of ignorance
Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks,
Abusing better men than they can be,
Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis and tall stockings,
Short blist'red breeches, and those types of travel,
And understand again like honest men,
Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it,
They may, "cum privilegio," wear away
The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at.
SANDYS
'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
Are grown so catching.
CHAMBERLAIN
What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities!
LOVELL
Ay, marry,
There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies.
A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.
SANDYS
The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,
For, sure, there's no converting of 'em. Now
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong
And have an hour of hearing; and, by 'r Lady,
Held current music too.
CHAMBERLAIN
Well said, Lord Sandys;
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
SANDYS
No, my lord;
Nor shall not, while I have a stump.
CHAMBERLAIN
Sir Thomas,
Whither were you a-going?
LOVELL
To the Cardinal's.
Your lordship is a guest too.
CHAMBERLAIN
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.
LOVELL
That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
His dews fall everywhere.
CHAMBERLAIN
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?
LOVELL
Faith, my lord,
I hear of none, but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.
CHAMBERLAIN
What is't for?
LOVELL
The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.
CHAMBERLAIN
I'm glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.
LOVELL
They must either,
For so run the conditions, leave those remnants
Of fool and feather that they got in France,
With all their honourable points of ignorance
Pertaining thereunto, as fights and fireworks,
Abusing better men than they can be,
Out of a foreign wisdom, renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis and tall stockings,
Short blist'red breeches, and those types of travel,
And understand again like honest men,
Or pack to their old playfellows. There, I take it,
They may, "cum privilegio," wear away
The lag end of their lewdness and be laugh'd at.
SANDYS
'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
Are grown so catching.
CHAMBERLAIN
What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities!
LOVELL
Ay, marry,
There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons
Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies.
A French song and a fiddle has no fellow.
SANDYS
The devil fiddle 'em! I am glad they are going,
For, sure, there's no converting of 'em. Now
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plainsong
And have an hour of hearing; and, by 'r Lady,
Held current music too.
CHAMBERLAIN
Well said, Lord Sandys;
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
SANDYS
No, my lord;
Nor shall not, while I have a stump.
CHAMBERLAIN
Sir Thomas,
Whither were you a-going?
LOVELL
To the Cardinal's.
Your lordship is a guest too.
CHAMBERLAIN
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.
LOVELL
That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed,
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us;
His dews fall everywhere.
CHAMBERLAIN
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