MORE.
Why, how now, wife!
They are but come to visit their old friend.
LADY MORE.
Oh, God, I fear, I fear!
MORE.
What shouldst thou fear, fond woman?
Justum, si fractus illabatur orbis, inpavidum ferient ruinae.
Here let me live estranged from great men’s looks;
They are like golden flies on leaden hooks.
[Enter the Earls, Downs with his mace, and Attendants.]
SHREWSBURY.
Good morrow, good Sir Thomas.
[Kind salutations.]
SURREY.
Good day, good madame.
MORE.
Welcome, my good lords.
What ails your lordships look so melancholy?
Oh, I know; you live in court, and the court diet
Is only friend to physic.
SURREY.
Oh, Sir Thomas,
Our words are now the kings, and our sad looks
The interest of your love! We are sent to you
From our mild sovereign, once more to demand
If you’ll subscribe unto those articles
He sent ye th’ other day: be well advised;
For, on mine honor, lord, grave Doctor Fisher
Bishop of Rochester, at the self same instant
Attached with you, is sent unto the Tower
For the like obstinacy: his majesty
Hath only sent you prisoner to your house;
But, if you now refuse for to subscribe,
A stricter course will follow.
LADY MORE.
Oh, dear husband!