SECRETARY.
Ay, please your Grace.

WOLSEY.
Well, we shall then know more; and Buckingham
Shall lessen this big look.

[Exeunt Wolsey and his train.]

BUCKINGHAM.
This butcher's cur is venom-mouth'd, 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 chaf'd?
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 revil'd
Me as his abject object. At this instant
He bores me with some trick. He's gone to the King;
I'll follow, and outstare him.

NORFOLK.
Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question