Page 1642 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Ladies, you are not merry; gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?

SANDS
The red wine first must rise
In their fair cheeks, my lord; then we shall have ’em
Talk us to silence.

ANNE
You are a merry gamester, [45]
My Lord Sands.

SANDS
Yes, if I make my play:
Here’s to your ladyship; and pledge it, madam,

For ’tis to such a thing −

ANNE

You cannot show me.

SANDS
I told your grace they would talk anon.
Drum and trumpet. Chambers discharged

WOLSEY
What’s that?

CHAMBERLAIN
Look out there, some of ye.
[Exit a Servant]

WOLSEY
What warlike voice, [50]
And to what end, is this? Nay, ladies, fear not;
By all the laws of war you’re privileged.

Enter Servant