Q. Margaret.
Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,
I saw not better sport these seven years day;
Yet by your leave, the wind was very high,
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

K. Henry.
But what a point, my lord, your Faulcon made,
And what a pitch she flew above the rest:
To see how God in all his creatures works!
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.

Suf.
No marvel, an it like your Majesty,
My lord Protector's Hawks do towre so well;
They know, their Master loves to be aloft,
And bears his thoughts above his Faulcon's pitch.

Glo.
My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind,
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

Car.
I thought as much, he'd be above the clouds.

Glo.
Ay, my lord Card'nal, how think you by that?
Were it not good, your Grace could fly to heav'n?

K. Henry.
The treasury of everlasting joy!

Car.
Thy heaven is on earth, thine eyes and thoughts
Beat on a Crown, the treasure of thy heart:
Pernicious Protector, dangerous Peer,
That Smooth'st it so with King and Common-weal!

Glo.
What, Card'nal! Is your priesthood grown so peremptory? Tantæne animis Cælestibus iræ?
Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice.
With such Holiness can you do it?

Suf.
No malice, Sir, no more than well becomes
So good a quarrel, and so bad a Peer.

Glo.
As who, my lord?

Suf.
Why, as yourself, my lord;
An't like your lordly, lord Protectorship.

Glo.
Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

Q. Mar.
And thy ambition, Glo'ster.

K. Henry.
I pr'ythee, peace, good Queen;
And whet not on these too too furious Peers,
For blessed are the peace-makers on earth.

Car.
Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
Against this proud Protector, with my sword!

Glo. [Aside.
Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that.

Car. [Aside.
Marry, when thou dar'st.

Glo. [Aside.
Make up no factious numbers for the matter,
In thine own person answer thy abuse.

Car. [Aside.
Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: and, if thou dar'st,
This Ev'ning on the east side of the grove.

K. Henry.
How now, my lords?

Car.
Believe me, cousin Glo'ster,
Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
We'd had more sport—Come with thy two-hand sword.(6) ^note

[Aside to Glo.

Glo.
True, uncle.

Car.
Are you advis'd?—The east side of the Grove.

Glo.
Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside.

K. Henry.
Why how now, uncle Glo'ster?

Glo.
Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.—
Now, by God's mother, Priest, I'll shave your crown for this,
Or all my Fence shall fail. [Aside.

Car. [Aside.]
Medice, teipsum.
Protector, see to't well, protect your self.

K. Henry.
The winds grow high, so do your stomachs, lords.
How irksome is this musick to my heart?
When such strings jar, what hopes of harmony?
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter One, crying, A Miracle!

Glo.
What means this noise?
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

One.
A miracle, a miracle!

Suf.
Come to the King, and tell him what miracle.

One.
Forsooth, a blind man at St. Alban's shrine,
Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight;
A man, that ne'er saw in his life before.

K. Henry.
Now God be prais'd, that to believing souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of St. Albans, and his brethren, bearing Simpcox between two in a chair, Simpcox's wife following.

Car.
Here come the townsmen on procession,
Before your Highness to present the man.

K. Henry.
Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
Though by his sight his sin be multiply'd.

Glo.
Stand by, my masters, bring him near the King,
His Highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

K. Henry.
Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
That we, for thee, may glorifie the Lord.
What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd?

Simp.
Born blind, and't please your Grace.

Wife.
Ay, indeed, was he.

Suf.
What woman is this?

Wife.
His wife, and't like your worship.

Glo.

Had'st thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told.

K. Henry.
Where wert thou born?

Simp.
At Berwick in the north, and't like your Grace.

K. Henry.
Poor Soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee:
Let never day or night unhallowed pass,
But still remember what the Lord hath done.

Queen.
Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance,
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

Simp.
God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
A hundred times and oftner, in my sleep,
By good Saint Alban; who said, “Simpcox, come;(7) ^note

“Come offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.

Wife.
Most true, forsooth; and many a time and oft
My self have heard a voice to call him so.

Car.
What, art thou lame?

Simp.
Ay, God Almighty help me!

Suf.
How cam'st thou so?

Simp.
A fall off of a tree.

Wife.
A plum-tree, master.

Glo.
How long hast thou been blind?

Simp.
O, born so, master.

Glo.
What, and would'st climb a tree?

Simp.
But once in all my life, when I was a youth.

Wife.
Too true, and bought his climbing very dear.

Glo.
Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst venture so.

Simp.
Alas, good Sir, my wife desir'd some damsons,
And made me climb, with danger of my life.

Glo.
A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve:
Let's see thine eyes; wink now, now open them;
In my opinion, yet, thou seest not well.

Simp.
Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God and Saint Alban.

Glo.
Say'st thou me so? what colour is this cloak of?

Simp.
Red, master, red as blood.

Glo.
Why, that's well said: what colour is my gown of?

Simp.
Black, forsooth, coal-black, as jet.

K. Henry.
Why then thou know'st what colour jet is of?

Suf.
And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

Glo.
But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many.

Wife.
Never before this day, in all his life.

Glo.
Tell me, Sirrah, what's my name?

Simp.
Alas, master, I know not.

Glo.
What's his name?

Simp.
I know not.

Glo.
Nor his?

Simp.
No, indeed, master.

Glo.
What's thine own name?

Simp.
Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

Glo.
Saunder, sit there, the lying'st knave in Christendom.
If thou hadst been born blind,
Thou might'st as well know all our names, as thus
To name the several colours we do wear.
Sight may distinguish colours:
But suddenly to nominate them all,
It is impossible.
My Lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle:
Would ye not think that Cunning to be great,
That could restore this cripple to his legs?

Simp.
O master, that you could!

Glo.
My masters of Saint Albans,
Have you not beadles in your town,
And things call'd whips?

Mayor.

Yes, my lord, if it please your Grace.

Glo.

Then send for one presently.

Mayor.
Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. [Exit Messenger.

Glo.

Now fetch me a stool hither. Now, Sirrah, if you mean to save your self from whipping, leap me over this stool, and run away.

Simp.

Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: you go about to torture me in vain.

Glo.

Well, Sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah, beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.

Bead.

I will, my lord. Come on, Sirrah, off with your doublet quickly.

Simp.

Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.

K. Henry.

O God, seest thou this, and bear'st so long!

Queen.

It made me laugh to see the villain run.

Glo.

Follow the knave, and take this drab away.

Wife.

Alas, Sir, we did it for pure need.

Glo.

Let them be whipt through every market town, till they come to Berwick, from whence they came.

Car.
Duke Humphry has done a miracle to day.

Suf.
True; made the lame to leap, and fly away.

Glo.
But you have done more miracles than I;
You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter Buckingham.

K. Henry.
What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

Buck.
Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold:
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,
Under the countenance and confederacy
Of lady Eleanor, the Protector's wife,
(The ring-leader and head of all this rout)
Have practis'd dangerously against your state;
Dealing with witches and with conjurers,
Whom we have apprehended in the fact,

Raising up wicked Spirits from under ground;
Demanding of King Henry's life and death,
And other of your Highness' privy-council,
As more at large your Grace shall understand.

Car.
And so, my lord Protector, by this means
Your lady is forth coming, yet at London.
This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge.
'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. [Aside to Glo'ster.

Glo.
Ambitious Church-man! leave t'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.

K. Henry.
O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,
Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!

Queen.
Glo'ster, see here the tainture of thy nest,
And look, thy self be faultless, thou wert best.

Glo.
Madam, for my self, to heav'n I do appeal,
How I have lov'd my King and common-weal:
And for my wife, I know not how it stands.
Sorry am I to hear what I have heard;
Noble she is; but if she have forgot
Honour and Virtue, and convers'd with such
As, like to pitch, defile Nobility;
I banish her my bed and company:
And give her as a prey to law and shame,
That hath dishonour'd Glo'ster's honest name.

K. Henry.
Well, for this night we will repose us here;
To morrow toward London back again,
To look into this business thoroughly,
And call these foul offenders to their answers;
And poise the Cause in Justice' equal scales,
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt.

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