MORE.
Lordship! no, wife, that’s gone:
The ground was slight that we did lean upon.
LADY MORE.
Lord, that your honor ne’er will leave these jests!
In faith, it ill becomes ye.
MORE.
Oh, good wife,
Honor and jests are both together fled;
The merriest councillor of England’s dead.
LADY MORE.
Who’s that, my lord?
MORE.
Still lord! the Lord Chancellor, wife.
LADY MORE.
That’s you.
MORE.
Certain; but I have changed my life.
Am I not leaner than I was before?
The fat is gone; my title’s only More.
Contented with one style, I’ll live at rest:
They that have many names are not still best.
I have resigned mine office: count’st me not wise?
LADY MORE.
Oh God!
MORE.
Come, breed not female children in your eyes:
The king will have it so.
LADY MORE.
What’s the offense?