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.

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