And rise in Court for vertue, speed his plow!    
The King hath knowne me long as well as hee,      
Yet could my fortune never fit the length    
Of both their understandings till this houre.    
There is a deepe nicke in Times restlesse wheele    
For each mans good, when which nicke comes, it strikes;     
As rhetorick yet workes not perswasion,      
But only is a meane to make it worke:      
So no man riseth by his reall merit,    
But when it cries "clincke" in his raisers spirit.      
Many will say, that cannot rise at all,    
Mans first houres rise is first step to his fall.      
I'le venture that; men that fall low must die,      
As well as men cast headlong from the skie.      
_Ent[er] Maffe._    
[_Maffe._] Humor of Princes! Is this wretch indu'd    
With any merit worth a thousand crownes?      
Will my lord have me be so ill a steward    
Of his revenue, to dispose a summe    
So great, with so small cause as shewes in him?    
I must examine this. Is your name D'Ambois?    
_Buss._ Sir?    
_Maff._ Is your name D'Ambois?    
_Buss._ Who have we here?    
Serve you the Monsieur?    
_Maff._ How?    
_Buss._ Serve you the Monsieur?    
_Maff._ Sir, y'are very hot. I doe serve the Monsieur;    
But in such place as gives me the command    
Of all his other servants: and because    
His Graces pleasure is to give your good          
His passe through my command, me thinks you might    
Use me with more respect.    
_Buss._ Crie you mercy!    
Now you have opened my dull eies, I see you,    
And would be glad to see the good you speake of:    
What might I call your name?    
_Maff._ Monsieur Maffe.    
_Buss._ Monsieur Maffe? Then, good Monsieur Maffe,    
Pray let me know you better.    

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