Queen.
Trust me, sweet lord, for flying at the brook.
I've seen no better sport these seven years day.
But who are these that cross us in our path?

1st Clown.

Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be first.

2nd Clown.

Come back, fool! This is the Duke of Suffolk, not my Lord Protector.

Suff.

How now, fellow, wouldst have any thing with me?

1st Clown.

I cry your mercy, sir—I took you for my Lord Protector.

Queen. (Reading a petition)

“To my Lord Protector.” —Are your supplications to his lordship? Let us see them. What are thine?

1st Clown.

My petition is, a'n't please your worship —grace I should say,—against John Goodman, my Lord Cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and wife, and lands from me.

Suff.

Thy wife too! That's some wrong, indeed. What's yours? What's here? (reads) “Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the common of Melford.” How now, sir knave?

2nd Clown.

Alas! sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.

Peter.

This is mine, an't please your grace's worship. “Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying, that the Duke of York was rightful heir to the crown.”

Queen.

What! did the Duke of York say that he is rightful heir to the crown?

Peter.

That my mistress was?—no, forsooth, an't please your highness's majesty—that the duke said, that my master was—no, no; that my master said, that my mistress was—that is, that the duke was— and that the king (God bless him!) is an usurpator. Howbeit, there be those who say that the right is with neither, but with Jack Cade, the bold Kentish clothier —him that gives himself out for a true Mortimer, and so marches with a goodly troop of hop-poles at his heels instead of lances. And there be those who say, moreover, that York and he are little better than sworn brothers, and that when one is king of all England, the other shall be king of London IInd lhe Borough over him. But, for my part, far from me be all such and the like treasonable imaginings.

Suff.

Who's there? Take that fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently. We'll hear more of your matter before the king.

“Queen.
And as for you, that love to be protected
Under the wings of our Protector's grace,
Begin your suit anew, and sue to him.” [Tears the papers. [Exeunt Clowns, hanging their heads.
My Lord of Suffolk say, is this the guise—
Is this the fashion in the Court of England?
Is this the government of Britain's Isle;
And this the royalty of Albion's king?
What, shall King Henry be a pupil still
Under the surly Glo'ster's governance?
I tell thee, Pole, when in the city of Tours,
Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love,
And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France:
I thought King Henry had resembled thee.
But no—his mind is bent to holy musings,
And numbering Ave Marys on his beads;
His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ;
His tilt-yard is his study, and his loves
Are brazen images of canonized saints.

Suff.
Be patient, madam: as I was the cause
Your highness came to England, I am bound
In all things, to your highness' state and service.

Queen.
Then that proud dame, the Lord Protector's wife,
She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies.
That strangers do mistake her for the queen.
“She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
And vaunted 'mongst her minions, t'other day,
The very train of her worst wearing gown
Was better worth than all my father's lands,
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.”

Suff.
Madam, myself have limed a bush for her.
And placed a quire of such enticing birds,

That she will 'light to listen to their lays,
And never mount to trouble you again.
So let her rest—and, madam, list to me:
Although we love not Beaufort, let's join with him
Till we have brought Duke Humphry to disgrace.
Then, for the Duke of York, this fellow's tale,
As I shall manage it, may work his fall.
Thus, one by one. we'll weed them all at last,
And you shall steer alone this happy realm. [Exeunt. SCENE II. THE COUNCIL ROOM. Enter King Henry, Beaufort, York, Somerset, Salisbury, Warwick, and others.

King.
For my part, noble lords, I care not which—
Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me.

York.
If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
Then let him be denied the regency.

Som.
If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
Let York be regent—I will yield to him.

War.
Whether your grace be worthy, aye or no,
Dispute not that—York is the worthier.

Beauf.
Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

War.
The cardinal's not my better in the field;
And I may live to be the best of all.

King.
How irksome is this music to my soul!
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?

Enter Gloucester followed by Suffolk.

Glouc.
Now, lords, my choler being overblown,
I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
Heav'n in its mercy so deal with my soul,
As I in duty love my king and country!
But to the matter that we have in hand—
I say, my sovereign, York, is meetest man
To be your regent in the realm of Frauce.

Suff.
Before we make election, give me leave
To shew some reason of no little force,
That York is most unmeet of any man.

York.
I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet.
First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;
Next, if I be appointed for the place,
My Lord of Somerset will keep me here
Without discharge, money, or furniture,
Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands.
Last time I danc'd attendance on his will
Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost.

War.
That I can witness; and a fouler fact
Did never traitor in the land commit.

Suff.
Peace, headstrong Warwick!

War.
Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?

Suff.
Because here is a man accused of treason.
Pray heaven the Duke of York excuse himself. Enter Horner and Peter (his man) guarded. Clowns following.

York.
Doth any here accuse York for a traitor?

King.
What mean'st thou, Suffolk? Tell me, what are these?

Suff.
Please it your majesty, this is the man
That doth accuse his master of high treason.

His words were these—that Richard Duke of York
Was rightful heir unto the English crown;
And that your majesty is an usurper.

King.

Say, man, were these thy words?

Horn.

An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter. Heaven is my witness, I am falsely accused by this villain.

Peter.

By these ten bones, my lord, he did speak them to me in the garret one night as we were scouring my lord of York's armour.

York.
Base dunghill villain, and mechanical,
I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.
I do beseech your royal majesty,
Let him have all the rigour of the law.

Horn.

Alas, my lord, hang me if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my 'prentice; and, when I did correct him for his fault, t'other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me. I have good witness of this. Therefore, I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation.

King.
Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

Glouc.
This doom, my lord, if I may rightly judge.
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French,
Because in York this breeds suspicion;
And let these have a day appointed them
For single combat in convenient place.

King.
Then be it so—my Lord of Somerset,
We make your grace regent over the French.

Som.
I humbly thank your royal majesty.

York.
Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me blush,
Nor change my countenance for this idle charge.
A heart unspotted is not easily daunted;

The purest spring is not so free from mud,
As I am clear from treason to my sovereign.
Who dares accuse me? Wherein am I guilty?

Suff.
Besides, 'tis thought you've taken bribes from France.

York.
Is it but thought so? What are they that think so?
I never took one penny bribe from France.
So help me grace, as I have watch'd the night—
—Aye, night by night—in studying good for England.
Now make the most of these your witnesses—
I answer nothing to a charge so vile. Exeunt York, and Warwick.

King.
For these fellows, away with them to prison—
And let the hour of combat be proclaim'd immediately.

Peter.

Alas, my lord, I cannot fight. Oh! for sweet mercy, pity my so hard case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to strike a blow. O Lord, my stomach!

1 Clown.

Fear not, Peter—I'll drink to thee. Be not afraid.

2 Clown.

Be merry, Peter—and fear not thy master. Fight for the honour of the 'prentices.

Peter.

I thank ye all, kindly. Drink, and pray for me, I pray ye; for I have taken my last draught in this world. Here, Robin, if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer. And here, Tom, take all the money I have—for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learned so much to fence already.

Horn.

Hold, Peter, hold—I confess—I confess treason.

Peter.

O Lord! And have I overcome mine enemy, without a blow, in this most worshipful presence too? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in the right.

King.
Go and take hence that traitor from our sight. Horner is led out; Peter and the Clowns following in triumph.
Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. Enter Buckingham in haste.
What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

Buck.
Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
First, for the least—open rebellion—
The Kentish insurrection still makes head,
Led by that devil Cade, whom idle Fame,
That sways the rabble's will, doth name a Mortimer.
These motions ask swift counsel—but the worst
Remains behind—and would my tongue were blasted,
Ere in this presence give it utterance.
A sort of wicked persons lewdly bent,
Under the countenance and confederacy
Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
Have practis'd dangerously against the state,
Dealing with witches and with conjurors,
Whom we have apprehended in the fact,
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground
To question of King Henry's life and death.

King.
Alas! what mischiefs work the wicked ones,
Heaping confusion on their own heads!

Glouc.
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

Beauf.
'Tis well your highness knows, at last, this duke.
And had I first been put to speak my mind,
I should have told your grace, by his instructions
The duchess first began her devilish practices.
Smooth runs the water when the brook is deep,

And in his simple shew he harbours treason.

Glouc.
Ambitious churchman! leave to afflict my heart.
Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;
And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
Or to the meanest groom.

King.
My Lord of Glo'ster, 'tis my fervent hope,
That you acquit yourself of all suspicion:
My conscience tells me you are innocent—
Yet, give me up thy staff. I'll to myself
Protector be, and Heaven shall be my hope,
My stay, my guide, and lanthorn to my feet.

Glouc.
My staff!—there, noble Henry, take my staff:
As willingly I do the same resign
As e'er thy father Harry made it mine.
And now give feeble Glo'ster leave to part;
Sorrow needs solace, and my age wants ease.
Farewell, good king! when I am dead and gone,
May honourable peace attend thy throne. Exit.

Suff.
Why, now is Henry King, and Margaret Queen!
This staff of honour rought, there let it stand,
Where best it fits to be, in Henry's hand.

King.
Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch,
Before his legs be firm to bear his body.
Thus is the shepherd beaten from my side.
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw me first.
Would that my fear were false—ah! would it were. Exit with Som. Buck. and the rest. Manet Beaufort and Suffolk.

Suff.
See, lord, cold snow melts in the sun's hot fire.

Our virtuous king is full of foolish pity:
Glo'ster beguiles him, as the wailing crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
Or, as the snake, roll'd on the flowery bank,
With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child,
That for the beauty, thinks it excellent.
This Glo'ster should be quickly rid of th' world,
To rid us of the fear we have of him.

Beau.
That he should die, were worthy policy—
But yet we want a colour for his death.
'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

Suff.
And, in my mind, that were no policy:
The king will labour still to save his life;
And yet we have but trivial argument,
More than distrust, that shews him worthy death.

Beau.
So that, by this, you would not have him die.

Suff.
Ah, Cardinal! no man so fain as I.
No: let him die, in that he is a fox,
By nature proved an enemy to the fold.
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him,
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
Sleeping or waking,—'tis no matter how.
Nay, to preserve my sovereign from his foe,
Say but the word, and I will be his priest.

Beau.
I too would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk,
Ere you can take due orders for a priest—
Discourse we further of it. [Exeunt.

“SCENE IV. “GARDEN OF YORK HOUSE. “Enter York, Salisbury, Warwick.

“York.
Now, my good lords, our simple supper ended,
Let me in private satisfy myself
By craving your opinion of my title,
Which is infallible to England's crown.”

“Sal.
Noble Plantagenet, if thy claim be good—

“War.
If!—noble father, what can be more plain?
  Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
And should not reign till Lionel's issue fail.
That doth not fail, but flourisheth in York,
And in his sons, fair slips of such a stock.
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together,
And in this covert plot be we the first
That shall salute our rightful sovereign.

Both (kneeling.)
Long live our sovereign Richard, England's King!”

“York.
We thank you lords, but yet I'm not your king,
No; not until my princely sword be stain'd
With heart's-blood of the house of Lancaster,
And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,
But with advice, and silent secrecy.
Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days;
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence—
At Beaufort's pride—at Somerset's ambition,
Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,
The good Duke Humphry—for, in seeking that,
They'll find their deaths, if York can prophecy!

“Sal.
My lord, here break we off; we know your mind.

“War.
My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick
Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.

“York.
And, Neville, this I do assure myself.
Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick,
The greatest man in England, but the king. Exeunt Salisbury and Warwick.”
Now, York, or never steal thy fearful thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution.
Be what thou hopest to be, or what thou art
Resign to death—it is not worth the enjoying:
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought,
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
—This Kentish insurrection falls most apt
To furnish forth a pretext for my levies.
In Ireland have I seen that rustic, Cade,
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
And fight so long, till that his thighs with darts,
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine;
And, after, being rescued, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
This devil here, shall be my substitute,
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in mein he doth resemble.
By this, I shall perceive the commons' mind,
How they affect the house and claims of York;
And, if he fail, his loss shall be my gain—
Or, say he thrive, the harvest still is mine.
Glo'ster! thy sun is set, that York's may shine. [Exit. END OF ACT II.

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