The Life of Henry the Eighth - Уильям Шекспир 3 стр.

Is't possible the spells of France should juggle
Men into such strange mysteries?

New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay, let 'em be unmanly, yet are follow'd.

As far as I see, all the good our English
Have got by the late voyage is but merely
A fit or two o' the face; but they are shrewd ones;
For when they hold 'em, you would swear directly
Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin or Clotharius, they keep state so.

They have all new legs, and lame ones. One would take it,
That never saw 'em pace before, the spavin
Or springhalt reign'd among 'em.

Death! my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too,
That, sure, they've worn out Christendom.

How now!
What news, Sir Thomas Lovell?

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

What is't for?

The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.

I'm glad 'tis there. Now I would pray our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre.

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.

'Tis time to give 'em physic, their diseases
Are grown so catching.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

What warlike voice,
And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war you're privileg'd.

How now! what is't?

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.

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.

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!

A noble company! What are their pleasures?

Because they speak no English, thus they pray'd
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.

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 fairest hand I ever touch'd! O beauty,
Till now I never knew thee!

My lord!

Your Grace?

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.

I will, my lord.

What say they?

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

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

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

I am glad
Your Grace is grown so pleasant.

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

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

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.

Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
I' the privy chamber?

Yes, my lord.

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

I fear, too much.

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

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.

Whither away so fast?

O, God save ye!
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
Of the great Duke of Buckingham.

I'll save you
That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony
Of bringing back the prisoner.

Were you there?

Yes, indeed, was I.

Pray, speak what has happen'd.

You may guess quickly what.

Is he found guilty?

Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon't.

I am sorry for't.

So are a number more.

But, pray, how pass'd it?

I'll tell you in a little. The great Duke
Came to the bar; where to his accusations
He pleaded still not guilty and alleged
Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
The King's attorney on the contrary
Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions
Of divers witnesses; which the Duke desir'd
To have brought viva voce to his face;
At which appear'd against him his surveyor;
Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor; and John Car,
Confessor to him, with that devil-monk,
Hopkins, that made this mischief.

That was he
That fed him with his prophecies?

The same.
All these accus'd him strongly; which he fain
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could not.
And so his peers, upon this evidence,
Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
He spoke, and learnedly, for life; but all
Was either pitied in him or forgotten.

After all this, how did he bear himself?

When he was brought again to the bar, to hear
His knell rung out, his judgment, he was stirr'd
With such an agony, he sweat extremely,
And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty.
But he fell to himself again, and sweetly
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.

I do not think he fears death.

Sure, he does not;
He never was so womanish. The cause
He may a little grieve at.

Certainly
The Cardinal is the end of this.

'Tis likely,
By all conjectures: first, Kildare's attainder,
Then deputy of Ireland; who remov'd,
Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,
Lest he should help his father.

That trick of state
Was a deep envious one.

At his return
No doubt he will requite it. This is noted,
And generally, whoever the King favours,
The Cardinal instantly will find employment,
And far enough from court too.

All the commons
Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience,
Wish him ten fathom deep. This duke as much
They love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham,
The mirror of all courtesy,