Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
We now present. Those that can pity, here
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
The subject will deserve it. Such as give
Their money out of hope they may believe,
May here find Truth too. Those that come to see
Only a show or two, and so agree

The play may pass, if they be still and willing,
I'll undertake, may see away their shilling
Richly in two short hours. Only they
That come to hear a merry, bawdy play,
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow,
Will be deceived; for, gentle hearers, know,
To rank our chosen truth with such a show
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring
To make that only true we now intend,
Will leave us never an understanding friend.
Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known
The first and happiest hearers of the town,

Be sad, as we would make ye: think ye see

The very persons of our noble story,

As they were living; think you see them great, And followed with the general throng and sweat

Of thousand friends: then, in a moment, see
How soon this mightiness meets misery:
And if you can be merry then, I'll say
A man may weep upon his wedding-day.

ACT FIRST

SCENE I.-London.

An Ante-chamber in the Palace

Enter the Duke of NORFOLK, at one door; at the other, the Duke of BUCKINGHAM, and the Lord ABERGAVENNY

Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have

An untimely ague

Stayed me a prisoner in my chamber when

Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,
Met in the vale of Andren.

Nor.

'Twixt Guynes and Arde:

I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;

Beheld them, when they 'lighted, how they clung In their embracement as they grew together, Which had they, what four throned ones could have weighed

The view of earthly glory: men might say,
Till this time Pomp was single, but now married
To one above itself. Each following day

Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders its. To-day the French
All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English; and to-morrow they
Made Britain, India: every man that stood
Showed like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubins, all gilt; the madams too,
Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting. Now this masque
Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night
Made it a fool and beggar. The two Kings,
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them, him in eye
Still him in praise; and, being present both,

'Twas said, they saw but one, and no discerner Durst wag his tongue in censure.

suns

When these

(For so they phrase them) by their heralds chal

lenged

The noble spirits to arms, they did perform

Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous

story,

Being now seen possible enough, got credit,—
That Bevis was believed.

Buck.

O, you go far.

Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect In honour honesty, the tract of everything Would by a good discourser lose some life Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal:

To the disposing of it nought rebelled;

Order gave each thing view, the office did.
Distinctly his full function.

Buck.

Who did guide,

I mean, who set the body and the limbs

Of this great sport together?

Nor.

One, certes, that promises no element

In such a business.

Buck.

As you guess:

I pray you, who, my lord?

Nor. All this was ordered by the good discretion

Of the right reverend Cardinal of York.

Buck. 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 o' the beneficial sun,
And keep it from the earth.

Nor.

rays

Surely, sir,

There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends.
For, being not propped by ancestry, whose grace
Chalks súccessors their way; nor called upon
For high feats done to the Crown; neither allied
;-
To eminent assistants; 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.

Aber.

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