MORE.
Where are the waits? go, big them play,
To spend the time a while.
[Enter Lady.]
How now, madame?
LADY.
My lord, th’ are coming hither.
MORE.
Th’ are welcome. Wife, I’ll tell ye one thing;
One sport is somewhat mended; we shall have
A play tonight, The Marriage of Wit and Wisdom,
And acted by my good Lord Cardinal’s players;
How like ye that, wife?
LADY.
My lord, I like it well.
See, they are coming.
[The waits plays; enter Lord Mayor, so many Aldermen as may, the Lady Mayoress in scarlet, with other Ladies and Sir Thomas More’s Daughters; Servants carrying lighted torches by them.]
MORE.
Once again, welcome, welcome, my good Lord Mayor,
And brethren all, for once I was your brother,
And so I am still in heart: it is not state
That can our love from London separate.
True, upstart fools, by sudden fortune tried,
Regard their former mates with naught but pride.
But they that cast an eye still whence they came,
Know how they rose, and how to use the same.
LORD MAYOR.
My lord, you set a gloss on London’s fame,
And make it happy ever by your name.
Needs must we say, when we remember More,
’Twas he that drove rebellion from our door
With grave discretions mild and gentle breath,
Oh, how our city is by you renowned,
And with your virtues our endeavors crowned!
MORE.
No more, my good Lord Mayor: but thanks to all,
That on so short a summons you would come
To visit him that holds your kindness dear.—
Madame, you are not merry with my Lady Mayoress
And these fair ladies; pray ye, seat them all:—
And here, my lord, let me appoint your place;—
The rest to seat themselves:—nay, I’ll weary ye;
You will not long in haste to visit me.