“He has given him a wife,” said John Clement, pouring out a glass of Cyprus wine, whose transparent color testified to its excellent quality; “I verily believe she will not be the last.”
“What kind of a face has she, this damsel Boleyn? Is she dark or fair? Fair, without doubt; for the other was dark. This is perfect nectar, Ludovico! Have you more of it?”
“You are right; she has lovely blue eyes. She sings and dances charmingly.”
“How much more, Ludovico? A small barrel—hem!—of the last invoice? Excellentissimo, Signor Ludovico!”
“Well, we will see her pass very soon; they escort her to the Tower, where she will remain until the coronation. They say the king has had the apartments in the Tower furnished with an unparalleled magnificence.”
“Yes; and to sustain that magnificence he is contracting debts every day, and all his revenues do not cover his expenses.”
“A good king is a good thing,” said Harpesfield; “but nothing is worse than a bad one, and the good ones are so rare!”
“That is because,” replied Boxol, who was very deliberate, “the power, renown, and flattery surrounding the throne tend so much to corrupt and encourage the passions of a man that it is very difficult
for him, when seated there, to maintain himself without committing any faults. Besides, my masters, we must remember that the faults of private individuals, often quite as shameful, remain unknown, while those of a king are exposed to all eyes and counted on all fingers.”
“Well,” said John Clement; “but this one is certainly somewhat weighty, and I would not care to be burdened by having his sins charged to my account, to be held in reserve against the day of the last judgment.”