Duch.
Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?
&mast;Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows,
&mast;As frowning at the favours of the world?
&mast;Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth,
&mast;Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?
&mlquo;What see'st thou there? king Henry's diadem,
&mast;Enchas'd with all the honours of the world?
&mast;If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
&mast;Until thy head be circled with the same.
&mlquo;Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold:—
&mlquo;What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine:
&mast;And, having both together heav'd it up,
&mast;We'll both together lift our heads to heaven;
&mast;And never more abase our sight so low,
&mast;As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,
&mlquo;Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts^{2 note}
:
&mast;And may that thought, when I imagine ill
&mast;Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
&mast;Be my last breathing in this mortal world!
&mlquo;My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it
&mlquo;With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in court,
&mlquo;Was broke in twain; by whom, I have forgot,
&mlquo;But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;
&mlquo;And on the pieces of the broken wand
&mlquo;Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset,
&mlquo;And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk.
&mlquo;This was my dream; what it doth bode, God knows.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Tut, this was nothing but an argument,
That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove,
&mlquo;Shall lose his head for his presumption.
&mlquo;But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:
&mlquo;Methought, I sat in seat of majesty,
&mlquo;In the cathedral church of Westminster,
&mlquo;And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
&mlquo;Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me,
&mlquo;And on my head did set the diadem.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:
&mast;Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor^{3 note}

!
Art thou not second woman in the realm† ^note;
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him?
&mast;Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,

&mast;Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
&mast;To tumble down thy husband, and thyself,
&mast;From top of honour to disgrace's feet?
Away from me, and let me hear no more.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What, what, my lord! are you so cholerick
&mlquo;With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?
&mlquo;Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,
&mlquo;And not be check'd.

&mlquo;Glo.
&mlquo;Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again^{4 note}

. Enter a Messenger.

&mlquo;Mess.
&mlquo;My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure,
&mlquo;You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,
&mlquo;Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk^{5 note}

Glo.
I go.—Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. [Exeunt Gloster and Messenger.

&mlquo;Follow I must, I cannot go before,
&mast;While Gloster bears this base and humble mind.
&mast;Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
&mast;I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks,
&mast;And smooth my way upon their headless necks:
&mast;And, being a woman, I will not be slack
&mast;To play my part in fortune's pageant.
&mlquo;Where are you there? Sir John^{6 note}! nay, fear not, man,
&mlquo;We are alone; here's none but thee, and I. Enter Hume.

Hume.
Jesu preserve your royal majesty!

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What say'st thou, majesty! I am but grace.

Hume.
But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,
&mlquo;Your grace's title shall be multiplied.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd
&mlquo;With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch^{7 note};
&mlquo;And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?
&mlquo;And will they undertake to do me good?

&mlquo;Hume.
&mlquo;This they have promised,—to show your highness
&mlquo;A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground,
&mlquo;That shall make answer to such questions,
&mlquo;As by your grace shall be propounded him.

&mlquo;Duch.
&mlquo;It is enough^{8 note}

&mast;Hume.
&mast;Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold;
&mlquo;Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume?
&mlquo;Seal up your lips, and give no words but—mum!
&mlquo;The business asketh silent secrecy.
&mast;Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch:
&mast;Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
&mlquo;Yet have I gold, flies from another coast:
&mlquo;I dare not say, from the rich cardinal,
&mlquo;And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk;
&mlquo;Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain,

&mlquo;They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
&mlquo;Have hired me to undermine the duchess,
&mlquo;And buz these conjurations in her brain.
&mast;They say, A crafty knave does need no broker^{8 note}