YORK.
Why, yes!—my Lords of Salisbury and of Warwick;
Father and Son, Each of the Other worthy:
It is apparent, England's Glory fades.
  Henry of Bolingbroke was born for Rule;
And left a Son,—(O, ever dear Remembrance!)
Whose matchless Vertues prov'd him More than Man.—
But, this Sixth Henry.—

Salisb.
  Good your Grace of York;—
Forbear to dwell on this unpleasing Theme:—
A King, by Priests, and by a Woman, govern'd!
  To save the sinking State, be now our Care:
If, happily, We may dispell the Storm,
Black-lowering o'er the Head of noble Gloucester;
The Safeguard,—the Protectour, of the Realm.
  My Son, inform us:—Thou hast seen his Highness.

York.
Speak, Warwick:—For, on Gloucester's mighty Fate,
The doubtfull Welfare of the Land is poiz'd:—
Say, how he bears the Seisure of his Wife;
This rude Attack, where most he lies unguarded.

Warw.
Right-Noble York; I need not to unfold
Duke Humfrey's Scorn of Slander.—He contemns
The trivial Malice of his Foes; and bids
His injur'd Consort, pay their Spight with Smiles;
Till Time shall shew Her loyal, as Himself.

York.
Till Time shall shew!—Wherein is She Disloyal?
Most frivolous Pretence of Guilt!—

Warw.
That, She had fashion'd
A Model of his Majesty, in Wax;
With which, his Person is to Sympathize;
Consuming daily, as the Wax consumes.

York.
Now, by my Hopes of Heaven, I could not brooke
Such Forgeries against my Bosome's Darling!—
Such feign'd Offences, as exceed all Faith;
And bid Defiance to Man's Understanding.

Salisb.
  Urged, like Plantagenet!—The Lord Protectour
Too tamely bears this Insult on his Dutchess.
  He thinks, the common Reason of Mankind
Will clear her of the senseless Imputation.
But, what is Reason, when ungodly Prelates
Hoodwink the Mind; and make us Fond of Darkness?

  Mark; if I judge amiss.—This Charge of Treason,
Founded on Sorcery, and idle Tales,
May cost Dame Eleanor her dearest Life;
And be the Prelude to her Husband's Downfall.

York.
I like it not.

Warw.
Nor I.—
In Mischief's dark Designs, Rome is Infallible!

Salisb.
This unexpected Summons from the King,
To meet in Parliament, to Morrow,—bodes—
What, shall I say?—Perhaps, I over-rate
The Policy of Knaves.—And yet, I know,
The Proclamation was not Gloucester's Doing.

Warw.
But,—see where Beaufort comes:—The Cardinal,
Who bears his Head aloft, beneath his Hat,
And looks with Scorn on Princes.

York.
Hence, my Lords!—
His consecrated Pride offends my Eye.

Warw.
To me, it ministers but daily Mirth.

York.
We leave you to your Humour.

Warw.
But a Moment.

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