Gloucest.
Say, Duke of Suffolk; and You, my reverend Uncle;
What is my Crime;—that I am, thus, deny'd
Admittance to the King?—I thought, my Office,
My Right of Blood, and my unwearied Services,
Might, every Hour, intitle me to a Hearing:
Whether to advise; request; or, to remonstrate.

Suff.
Suffolk does not presume to blame the King;

Nor yet, to charge your Highness with a Crime.

Beauf.
Perhaps,—his Majesty is indispos'd:
Perhaps,—it is His Pleasure to be private.
What have the Duke, and I, to do?—The King
Is of full Years to regulate his Conduct;
And, may consult, When, and with Whom, He pleases.

Gloucest.
I understand you Both.—Let the King's Conduct,
Let all his Actions (copying his great Father!)
Tend to the Advancement of his own Renown;
The Nation's Honour; and the People's Welfare:
And, Gloucester is indifferent, Who advises;
Or, Whence proceed such glorious Resolutions.

Beauf.
For those great Ends (no doubt) our Royal Nephew
Means to consult the Council of the Nation:—
And, Heaven direct them!

Suff.
You, my Lord Protectour,
Suspending, for a Time, domestick Cares,
Will not be absent from our Consultations.—
Account it some Relief, that, for Your Sake,
All good Men grieve, the Dutchess should incurr
Such heavy Censure.

Gloucest.
I disdain the Insult!
This poor Dissimulation!—'Tis ignoble.—
I, ne'er, could learn such Meanness toward my Foes!
  To You, my Lord,—and to That Cardinal,—
And—to the Queen, I stand indebted, for
The rude Treatment of my Wife.—

Beauf.
She deserv'd it.

Gloucest.
That is a Slander, ill-becomes thy Priesthood!—

Beauf.
Was she not sentenced by due Course of Law?
Though, sentenced short,—far short, of Her Demerits!

Gloucest.
Her whole Demerits are, That, in Religion,

She reasons more, perhaps, than You allow:
Perhaps rejects, as frivolous and vain,
What Churchmen teach of Witchcraft, and of Spells.
She, likewise, may have given some sight Offence
To our fair Niece;—this Queen!—of Suffolk's making.
  To these Demerits add, that Gloucester loves her;
That She is Wife to the Protectour.—These,
And These, alone, are Eleanor's Demerits!

Beauf.
She cleaves to Wickliff's Heresie!—Declare
That boasted Merit to the Spiritual Court;
And, give her up to Flames:—And, clear thy self
Of all Suspicion.—

Gloucest.
Most degenerate Beaufort!
Thou base-born Offspring of brave Lancaster;
My famous Grandsire:—Doest thou, then, disturb
Thy blessed Father's Rest?—The mighty Patron
Of learned Wickliff, and His Followers.

Beauf.
Dares,
Then, the Protectour of the Realm avow—

Suff.
Lord Cardinal; no farther urge his Highness:
Since, as a Husband, he is much incens'd.

Beauf.
Not so, my Lord.—His Hatred to the Church
He shews;—more, than his conjugal Affection.

Gloucest.
Audacious Priest!—Unworthy of the Garb
Of holy Men: Unhallowed, by thy Life;
The Scandal of the Church;—a Viper, in the State!—
Thou Reprobate!—Doest Thou presume to censure?
  Malice, Hypocrisy, Avarice, and Pride,
And Turbulency, and Ambition,—and
Lewd Desires (the Infamy of Age!)
Pollute thy sacred Dignity; and, stain thy Robes:—

Those Robes (Thou know'st) my Brother (well discerning
Thy Sawcy Arrogance) did often charge thee,
On thy Allegiance, never to assume.

Beauf.
Then, Gloucester,—by That sacred Dignity, henceforward
I set thee at Defiance!—And, in Return
To thy reproachfull Speech; Thou art—a Traitour!
Thou doest abett the Treason of thy Wife;
That darling Sorceress!—Both trafficking with Hell,
To waste the King, and to usurp his Crown.

Gloucest.
Wert thou the Sovereign Pontiff, triply crown'd,
That Calumny is the Forfeit of thy Life!—
Suffolk; let goe;—

Suff.
I must arrest your Fury.—
Let his Age, his holy Function, stay your Arm.

Beauf.
No, Suffolk:—Let him execute his Purpose.
Let him imbrue his Hands in the innocent Blood
Of his old, feeble, and defenceless, Uncle.

Gloucest.
Curse on the Kindred!—Be doubly curs'd the Law,
Whereby thy casual Birth became Legitimate:
Else, had'st thou liv'd Obscure;—and, much less Guilty.

Beauf.
I know my Crime; the Source of all thy Rage.
I must not live to curb thy headstrong Power;
That Thou may'st lord it, free from all Controll.

Gloucest.
Live, scorn'd!—Live to make Good thy Charge of Treason.
  Full Five and Twenty Years, in Loyalty
Approv'd; My Counsels, however cross'd by Thee,
Did always tend to aggrandize my Nephew;
The precious Pledge of his immortal Father!
  When, yet, our Sovereign's Voice was infant Cries;
A Cradle, for his Throne:—Did, ever, I

(Taking the Advantage of his tender Years)
Employ my Power, or practice on his Life,
To step into his Seat?—Even, to this Hour,
Has the Protectour labour'd, to compose
Our home-bred Factions, and unite the Nobles
In dutifull Subjection to their King.
  What Enmities, what Friendships have I made,
Through my Administration; but, with Men,
Who are his best of Friends, or worst of Foes?
  Perverse old Man! Shameless Abuser!—Know;
If, Gloucester were disloyal;—if, I could
Betray my Trust, and stoop to Usurpation:
I should not have Recourse to idle Spells;
But, to my Sword:—That Sword, which (with Success)
Under my godlike Brother's dreadfull Banner,
Has fought for England's Glory; now declining,
Through Beaufort's, and through Suffolk's, wicked Counsels.

Suff.
To Morrow, Gloucester, speak—

Beauf.
Make no Reply.—
Your Grace perceives, He is not in a Temper
To reason with his Friends.—He must have time
To cool.—

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