SIR THOMAS MORE
Page: 25

To much corruption: but, More, the more thou hast,
Either of honor, office, wealth, and calling,
Which might excite thee to embrace and hub them,
The more doe thou in serpents' natures think them;
Fear their gay skins with thought of their sharp state;
And let this be thy maxim, to be great
Is when the thread of hayday is once 'spon,
A bottom great wound up great undone.--
Come on, sir: are you ready?

[Enter Randall, attired like Sir Thomas More.]

RANDALL.
Yes, my lord, I stand but on a few points; I shall have done
presently. Before God, I have practised your lordship's shift so
well, that I think I shall grow proud, my lord.

MORE.
Tis fit thou shouldst wax proud, or else thou'lt ne'er
Be near allied to greatness. Observe me, sirrah.
The learned clark Erasmus is arrived
Within our English court: last night I hear
He feasted with our honored English poet,
The Earl of Surrey; and I learned today
The famous clark of Rotterdam will visit
Sir Thomas More. Therefore, sir, take my seat;
you are Lord Chancellor: dress your behavior
According to my carriage; but beware
You talk not over much, for twill betray thee:
Who prates not much seems wise; his wit few scan;
While the tongue blabs tales of the imperfect man.
I'll see if great Erasmus can distinguish
Merit and outward ceremony.

RANDALL.
If I do not serve a share for playing of your lordship well, let me be
yeoman usher to your sumpter, and be banished from wearing of a
gold chain forever.

MORE.
Well, sir, I'll hide our motion: act my part
With a firm boldness, and thou winst my heart.

[Enter the Shrieve, with Faulkner a ruffian, and Officers.]

How now! what's the matter?

FAULKNER.
Tug me not, I'm no bear. 'Sblood, if all the dogs in Paris Garden
hung at my tail, I'd shake 'em off with this, that I'll appear before
no king christened but my good Lord Chancellor.

SHRIEVE.
We'll christen you, sirrah.--Bring him forward.

MORE.
How now! what tumults make you?

FAULKNER.
The azured heavens protect my noble Lord Chancellor!

MORE.
What fellow's this?

SHRIEVE.
A ruffian, my lord, that hath set half the city in an uproar.