MORE. The Marriage of Wit and Wisdom! that, my lads; I’ll none but that; the theme is very good, And may maintain a liberal argument: To marry wit to wisdom, asks some cunning; Many have wit, that may come short of wisdom. We’ll see how Master poet plays his part, And whether wit or wisdom grace his art.— Go, make him drink, and all his fellows too.— How many are ye? PLAYER. Four men and a boy, sir. MORE. But one boy? then I see, There’s but few women in the play. PLAYER. Three, my lord; Dame Science, Lady Vanity, And Wisdom she herself. MORE. And one boy play them all? by our Lady, he’s laden. Well, my good fellow, get ye straight together, And make ye ready with what haste ye may.— Proud their supper gainst the play be done, Else shall we stay our guests here over long.— Make haste, I pray ye. PLAYER. We will, my lord. [Exit Servant and Player.] MORE. Where are the waits? go, big them play, To spend the time a while. [Enter Lady.] How now, madame? LADY. My lord, th’ are coming hither. MORE. Th’ are welcome. Wife, I’ll tell ye one thing; One sport is somewhat mended; we shall have A play tonight, The Marriage of Wit and Wisdom, And acted by my good Lord Cardinal’s players; How like ye that, wife? LADY. My lord, I like it well. See, they are coming. [The waits plays; enter Lord Mayor, so many Aldermen as may, the Lady Mayoress in scarlet, with other Ladies and Sir Thomas More’s Daughters; Servants carrying lighted torches by them.] MORE. Once again, welcome, welcome, my good Lord Mayor, And brethren all, for once I was your brother, And so I am still in heart: it is not state That can our love from London separate. True, upstart fools, by sudden fortune tried, Regard their former mates with naught but pride. But they that cast an eye still whence they came, Know how they rose, and how to use the same. LORD MAYOR. My lord, you set a gloss on London’s fame, And make it happy ever by your name. Needs must we say, when we remember More, ’Twas he that drove rebellion from our door With grave discretions mild and gentle breath, Oh, how our city is by you renowned, And with your virtues our endeavors crowned! MORE. No more, my good Lord Mayor: but thanks to all, That on so short a summons you would come To visit him that holds your kindness dear.— Madame, you are not merry with my Lady Mayoress And these fair ladies; pray ye, seat them all:— And here, my lord, let me appoint your place;— The rest to seat themselves:—nay, I’ll weary ye; You will not long in haste to visit me. LADY. Good madame, sit; in sooth, you shall sit here. LADY MAYORESS. Good madame, pardon me; it may not be. LADY. In troth, I’ll have it so: I’ll sit here by ye.— Good ladies, sit.—More stools here, ho! LADY MAYORESS. It is your favour, madame, makes me thus Presume above my merit.