Long. Where's Monsieur Mount Marine?
Ser. Why there he stands, will you ought with him?
Long. Yes: Good day Monsieur Marine.
Gent. Good day to you.
Long. His Majesty doth commend himself,
Most kindly to you Sir, and hath, by me,
Sent you this favor: kneel down, rise a Knight.
Gent. I thank his Majesty.
Long. And he doth further request you,
Not to leave the Court so soon,
For though your former merits have been slighted,
After this time there shall no Office fall;
Worthy your spirit, as he doth confess
There's none so great, but you shall surely have it.
Ser. Do you hear? if you yield yet you are an ass.
Gent. I'll shew my service to his Majesty
In greater things than these, but for this small one
I must intreat his Highness to excuse me.
Long. I'll bear your Knightly words unto the King,
And bring his Princely answer back again. [Exit Long.
Ser. Well said, be resolute a while, I know
There is a tide of honors coming on.
I warrant you.
Enter Bewford.
Bew. Where is this new made Knight?
Gent. Here, Sir.
Bew. Let me enfold you in my arms,
Then call you Lord, the King will have it so,
Who doth entreat your Lordship to remember
His Message sent to you by Longavile.
Ser. If ye be durty, and dare not mount aloft;
You may yield now, I know what I would do.
Gent. Peace, I will fit him; tell his Majesty
I am a Subject, and I do confess
I serve a gracious Prince, that thus hath heapt
Honors on me without desert, but yet
As for the Message, business urgeth me,
I must be gone, and he must pardon me,
Were he ten thousand Kings and Emperors.
Bew. I'll tell him so.
Ser. Why, this was like your self.
Bew. As he hath wrought him, 'tis the finest fellow
That e're was Christmas Lord, he carries it
So truely to the life, as though he were
One of the plot to gull himself. [Exit Bewf.
Ser. Why so, you sent the wisest and the shrewdest [answer]
Unto the King, I swear, my honored friend,
That ever any Subject sent his Liege.
Gent. Nay now I know I have him on the hip,
I'll follow it.
Enter Longavile.
Long. My honorable Lord,
Give me your noble hand right courteous Peer,
And from henceforth be a courtly Earl;
The King so wills, and Subjects must obey:
Only he doth desire you to consider
Of his request.
Ser. Why faith you'r well my Lord, yield to him.
Gent. Yield? why 'twas my plot.
Ser. Nay, 'twas your Wives plot.
Gent. To get preferment by it,
And thinks he now to pop me i'th' mouth
But with an Earldome? I'll be one step higher.
Ser. 'Tis the finest Lord, I am afraid anon
He will stand upon't to share the Kingdom with him.
Enter Bewford.
Bew. Where's this Courtly Earl?
His Majesty commends his love unto you;
And will you but now grant to his request,
He bids you be a Duke, and chuse of whence.
Ser. Why if you yield not now, you are undone,
What can you wish to have more, but the Kingdom?
Gent. So please his Majesty, I would be D. of Burgundy,
Because I like the place.
Bew. I know the King is pleas'd.
Gent. Then will I stay and kiss his Highness hand.
Bew. His Majesty will be a glad man when he hears it.
Lon. But how shall we keep this from the world's ear,
That some one tell him not, he is no Duke?
Ser. Wee'l think of that anon.
Why Gentlemen, Is this a gracious habit for a Duke?
Each gentle body set a finger to
To pluck the clouds of this his riding weeds
From off the orient Sun of his best cloaths;
I'll pluck one Boot and spur off.
Long. I another.
Bew. I'll pluck his Jerkin off.
Ser. Sit down my Lord;
Both his spurs off at once good Longavile,
And Bewford, take that Scarfe off, and that Hat,
Doth not become his largely sprouting fore-head.
Now set your gracious foot to this of mine,
One pluck will do it, so, off with the other.
Lon. Loe, thus your servant Longavile doth pluck
The trophy of your former gentry off.
Off with his Jerkin Bewford.
Ser. Didst thou never see
A nimble footed Taylor stand so in his stockings,
Whilst some friend help'd to pluck his Jerkin off,
To dance a Jigg?
Enter Jaques.
Lon. Here's his man Jaques come,
Booted and ready still.
Jaq. My Mistriss stayes;
Why how now Sir? What [do's your] Worship mean,
To pluck your grave and thrifty habit off.
Gent. My slippers, Jaques.
Lon. O thou mighty Duke,
Pardon this Man,
That thus hath trespassed in ignorance.
Gent. I pardon him.
Lon. His Graces slippers, Jaques.
Ja. Why what's the matter?
Lon. Foot-man, he's a Duke:
The King hath rais'd him above all his Land.
Ja. I'll to his Cozen presently, and tell him so;
O what a dung-hill Countrey rogue was I. [Exit Jaques.
Enter Wife.