Suff. (kneeling)
As by your grace I had in special charge,
I have perform'd: and now on bended knee,
In sight of England and her lordly peers,
Deliver up my trust in England's queen—
The happiest gift that ever noble gave,
The richest treasure ever king received.

King.
Suffolk, arise! Welcome, Queen Margaret!
I can express no kinder sign of love
Than this sweet kiss—Oh heaven, that lends't me life,
Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face,
A world of earthly blessings to my soul,
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

Queen.
My ever gracious lord!
The conference that my mind hath had with thee,
By day, by night,—waking, and in my dreams,—
In courtly company, or at my beads;
Makes me the bolder to salute my king,
With ruder terms, such as my wit affords,
And over joy of heart doth minister.

King.
Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,
Her words endow'd with wisdom's majesty,
Make me from wond'ring fall to weeping joys,
Such is the fulness of my heart's content.—
Lords! with one cheerful voice welcome my love.

Beau. (kneeling)
Long live Queen Margaret, England's happiness!

Suff. (aside)
Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd, and thus returns,
As did the youthful Paris back from Greece;
With hope to find the same success in love,
But prosper better than the Trojan did.
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king;
But I will rule both her, the king, and realm.

King.
Ye please us well—Lord Marquis, kneel you down.
We here create thee the first Duke of Suffolk.
Thanks unto all!
Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
To see the coronation of our queen. [Exeunt King, Queen, Suffolk, and attendants. Manet Gloucester, Beaufort, York, Somerset, Warwick, and others.

Glouc.
Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
What? Did my brother Henry spend his youth,
His valour, coin and people in the wars—
Did he so often lodge in open field,

In winter's cold, in summer's scorching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance?—
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits
To keep by wisdom what he won by arms?—
Have you yourselves, York, Warwick, Somerset,
Received deep scars in France and Normandy?—
Or have mine uncle Beaufort and myself,
With all the learned council of the realm,
Studied so long, debating to and fro
How France and Frenchmen may be kept in awe?—
And shall these labours and these honours die?
Shall Henry's conquests, Bedford's vigilance,
Your deeds of war, and all our counsel die?
—O peers of England! shameful is this league,
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,
Blotting your names from book of memory,
Rasing the characters of your renown,
Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,
Undoing all, as all had never been.

Beauf.
Nephew, what means this passionate discourse?
For France, 'tis ours, and we will keep it still.

Glouc.
Aye, uncle, we will keep it—if we can.
She should have stay'd in France, and starved in France,
Before—

Beauf.
Nay, noble lord, you're now too hot.
It was the pleasure of our lord the king.

Glouc.
My lord of Winchester, I know your mind.
'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,
But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you,
My lords, farewell—and say, when I am gone,
I prophesied, France will be lost ere long. [Exit.

Beauf.
There goes our great protector—lords, look to him—
Let not his fawning words bewitch your hearts.
What though the common people favour him,
And with his name gild their new coined treasons,
Calling him Humphry, the good duke of Glo'ster—
Jesu preserve the worthy, good duke Humphry—
I fear him, Lords, with all this flattering gloss,
And warn you to be wise and circumspect. [Ex. Beaufort, Somerset, and the rest. Manent York and Warwick.

York.
And wherefore weeps Warwick, the valiant earl?

War.
For grief, that what we've lost is past recovery;
For, were there hope to conquer them again,
My sword should shed not blood—my eyes no tears.
Anjou and Maine!—myself did win them both:
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer.
And are the cities that I got with wounds
Delivered up again with peaceful words?
My heart's too full—I can no more discourse. Exit.

York. (alone)
Anjou and Maine are given to the French—
Paris is lost—the state of Normandy
Stands on a doubtful point, now they are gone.
Suffolk concluded on the articles;
The peers agreed, and Henry is well pleased
To change two dukedoms for a poor king's daughter.
I cannot blame them all; what is't to them?
'Tis not their own that they thus throw away.
Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,
And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,

Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone;
While as the silly owner of the goods
Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands,
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof,
Ready to starve, and dares not touch his own,—
So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue,
While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.
Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French!
Cold news for me! for I had hopes of France,
Even as I have of England's fertile soil.
A day will come when York shall claim his own;
Then, shall not Lancaster usurp my right,
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish gripe,
Nor wear the crown upon his monkish brow;
The crown—the golden mark I seek to hit.
Then will I raise aloft the milk white rose,
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed,
And in my standard bear the arms of York
to grapple with the house of Lancaster.
Till then, be still awhile—watch, York, and wake
While others sleep. Soon shall thy proud day dawn Exit. END OF ACT I.

Previous section