WOLSEY.
Is he in person ready?
SECRETARY.
Ay, please your Grace.
WOLSEY.
Well, we shall then know more, and Buckingham
Shall lessen this big look.
[Exeunt Cardinal Wolsey and his train.]
BUCKINGHAM.
This butcher’s cur is venom-mouthed, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar’s book
Outworths a noble’s blood.
NORFOLK.
What, are you chafed?
Ask God for temp’rance. That’s the appliance only
Which your disease requires.
BUCKINGHAM.
I read in ’s looks
Matter against me, and his eye reviled
Me as his abject object. At this instant
He bores me with some trick. He’s gone to th’ King.
I’ll follow, and outstare him.
NORFOLK.
Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What ’tis you go about. To climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first. Anger is like
A full hot horse, who being allowed his way,
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
Can advise me like you; be to yourself
As you would to your friend.
BUCKINGHAM.
I’ll to the King,
And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
This Ipswich fellow’s insolence, or proclaim
There’s difference in no persons.
NORFOLK.
Be advised.
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself. We may outrun
By violent swiftness that which we run at,
And lose by over-running. Know you not,
The fire that mounts the liquor till ’t run o’er,
In seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised.
I say again, there is no English soul
More stronger to direct you than yourself,
If with the sap of reason you would quench,
Or but allay the fire of passion.