Keep. Yes, my Lord:
But yet I cannot helpe you
Cran. Why?
Keep. Your Grace must waight till you be call'd for.
Enter Doctor Buts.
Cran. So
Buts. This is a Peere of Malice: I am glad
I came this way so happily. The King
Shall vnderstand it presently.
Exit Buts
Cran. 'Tis Buts.
The Kings Physitian, as he past along
How earnestly he cast his eyes vpon me:
Pray heauen he found not my disgrace: for certaine
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me,
(God turne their hearts, I neuer sought their malice)
To quench mine Honor; they would shame to make me
Wait else at doore: a fellow Councellor
'Mong Boyes, Groomes, and Lackeyes.
But their pleasures
Must be fulfill'd, and I attend with patience.
Enter the King, and Buts, at a Windowe aboue.
Buts. Ile shew your Grace the strangest sight
King. What's that Buts?
Butts. I thinke your Highnesse saw this many a day
Kin. Body a me: where is it?
Butts. There my Lord:
The high promotion of his Grace of Canterbury,
Who holds his State at dore 'mongst Purseuants,
Pages, and Foot-boyes
Kin. Ha? 'Tis he indeed.
Is this the Honour they doe one another?
'Tis well there's one aboue 'em yet; I had thought
They had parted so much honesty among 'em,
At least good manners; as not thus to suffer
A man of his Place, and so neere our fauour
To dance attendance on their Lordships pleasures,
And at the dore too, like a Post with Packets:
By holy Mary (Butts) there's knauery;
Let 'em alone, and draw the Curtaine close:
We shall heare more anon.