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.

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