The king’s physician: as he pass’d along,
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me!
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain,
This is of purpose laid by some that hate me—
God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice—
To quench mine honour: they would shame to make me
Wait else at door, a fellow-counsellor,
‘Mong boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their pleasures
Must be fulfill’d, and I attend with patience.
Is this the honour they do one another?
‘Tis well there’s one above ‘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 near our favour,
To dance attendance on their lordships’ pleasures,
And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there’s knavery:
Let ‘em alone, and draw the curtain close:
We shall hear more anon.