Enter Sir Walter Terrill, Cælestine, Blunt, Crispinus, and Demetrius, euery one with a Lady.
All. The King’s at hand.
Ter. Father the King’s at hand.
Musicke talke lowder, that thy siluer voice,
May reach my Soueraignes eares.
Sir Vaug. I pray doe so, Musitions bestir your fingers, that you may haue vs all by the eares.
Sir quin. His Grace comes, a Hall varlets, where be my men? blow, blow your colde Trumpets till they sweate; tickle them till they sound agen.
Blun. Best goe meete his Grace.
All. Agreed.
Sir Vaug. Pray all stand bare, as well men as women: Sir Adam is best you hide your head for feare your wise braines take key-colde: on afore Sir Kintilian; Sentlemen fall in before the Ladyes, in seemely order and fashion; so this is comelye.
Enter Trumpets sounding, they goe to the doore, and meete the King and his Traine, and whilst the Trumpets sound the King is welcom’d, kisses the Bride, and honors the Bridegroome in dumbe shew.