Glo.
Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a cloud;
And, after summer, evermore succeeds
Bare winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:
So cares and joys go round, as seasons fleet.—
Sirs, what's o'clock?

Ser.
Ten, my lord.

Glo.
Ten is the hour that was appointed me,
To watch the coming of my punish'd dutchess:
Uneath† ^note may she endure the flinty streets,
To tread them with her tender feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook ‡ ^note
The abject people, gazing on thy face,
With envious looks still laughing at thy shame;
That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels,
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
But, soft! I think, she comes; and I'll prepare,
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.

Enter the Dutchess of Gloster, bare-foot, and a white Sheet about her, with Papers pin'd upon her Back, and a Taper burning in her Hand; accompany'd with the Sheriffs of London, Sir John Stanley, and Officers with Bills and Halberts.

Ser.
So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

Glo.
No, stir not for your lives, let her pass by.

Dut.
Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze!
See, how the giddy multitude do point,
And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks;
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine.

Glo.
Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

Dut.
Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself:
For whilst I think I am thy marry'd wife,
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
Methinks, I should not thus be led along,
Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back;
And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice
To see my tears, and hear my deep-set groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet;
And, when I start, the envious people laugh,
And bid me be advised how I tread.
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world;
Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun?
No; dark shall be my light, and night my day;
To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife;
And he a prince, and ruler of the land:
Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was,
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn dutchess,
Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock,
To every idle rascal follower.
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame;
Nor stir at nothing, 'till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as (sure) it shortly will:
For Suffolk,—he that can do all in all,—

With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all,—
And York, and impious Beaufort that false priest,
Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings,
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd,
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes* ^note.

Glo.
Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry;
I must offend, before I be attainted:
And had I twenty times so many foes,
And each of them had twenty times their power,
All these could not procure me any scathe† ^note,
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach?
Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away,
And I in danger for the breach of law.
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
This few-days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald.

Her.

I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, holden at Bury the first of the next month.

Glo.
And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
This is close dealing.—Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald.
My Nell, I take my leave:—and, master sheriff,
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

She.
An't please your grace, here my commission stays:
And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
To take her with him to the isle of Man.

Glo.
Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

Sta.
So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

Glo.
Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray
You use her well: the world may laugh again;
And I may live to do you kindness, if
You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewel.

Dut.
What, gone, my lord; and bid me not farewel?

Glo.
Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Exeunt Gloster, and Servants.

Dut.
Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee!
For none abides with me: my joy is—death;
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,
Because I wish'd this world's eternity.—
Stanley, I pry'thee, go, and take me hence;
I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
Only convey me where thou art commanded.

&blquo;Sta.
&blquo;Why, madam, that is to the isle of Man;
&blquo;There to be us'd according to your state.

&blquo;Dut.
&blquo;That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:
&blquo;And shall I then be us'd reproachfully?

&blquo;Sta.
&blquo;Like to a dutchess, and duke Humphrey's lady,
&blquo;According to that state you shall be us'd.

&blquo;Dut.
&blquo;Sheriff, farewel, and better than I fare;
&blquo;Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

&blquo;She.
&blquo;It is my office; madam, pardon me.

&blquo;Dut.
&blquo;Ay, ay, farewel; thy office is discharg'd.—
&blquo;Come, Stanley, shall we go?

Sta.
Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
And go we to attire you for our journey.

Dut.
My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
No, it will hang upon my richest robes,
And shew itself, attire me how I can* ^note.
Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. [Exeunt† ^note.

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