The Life of Henry the Eighth. Уильям Шекспир

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      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.