Hume.

Come, my masters; the Dutchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises.

Boling.

Master Hume, we are therefore provided. Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?

Hume.

Ay, what else? fear not her courage.

Boling.

I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit; but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so I pray you, go in God's name, and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jordan, be prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwel, read you, and let us to our work.

Elea.
Well said, my masters, and welcome to all.
To this geer, the sooner the better.

Boling.
Patience, good lady. Wizards know their times.
^{1 note}



Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
The time of night when Troy was set on fire,
The time, when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl,
When spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves,
That time best fits the work we have in hand.
Madam, sit you, and fear not; whom we raise,
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. Here they perform the Ceremonies, and make the circle; Bolingbrook or Southwel reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth.

Spirit.
Adsum.

M. Jord.
Asmuth, by the eternal God, whose name
And power thou tremblest at, tell what I ask;
For till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.

Spirit.
Ask what thou wilt.—That I had said, and done!

Boling.
First, of the King. What shall of him become?

Spirit.
The Duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose,
But him out-live, and die a violent death. [As the Spirit speaks, they write the answer.

Boling.
Tell me, what fates await the Duke of Suffolk?

Spirit.
By water shall he die, and take his end.

Boling.
What shall befal the Duke of Somerset?

Spirit.
Let him shun Castles.
Safer shall he be on the sandy plains,

Than where Castles mounted stand.
Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

Boling.
Descend to darkness, and the burning lake:
False fiend, avoid! [Thunder and Lightning. Spirit descends. Enter the Duke of York, and the Duke of Buckingham, with their Guard, and break in.

York.
Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash.
—Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch.
—What, Madam, are you there? the King and Realm
Are deep indebted for this piece of pains.
My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not,
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

Elean.
Not half so bad as thine to England's King.
Injurious Duke, that threat'st where is no cause.

Buck.
True, Madam, none at all. What call you this?
Away with them, let them be clap'd up close,
And kept apart. You, Madam, shall with us.
Stafford, take her to thee.
We'll see your Trinkets here forth-coming all. [Exeunt Guards with Jordan, Southwel, &c.

York.
^{2 note}Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well.
A pretty Plot, well chose to build upon.
Now, pray, my Lords, let's see the devil's Writ.
What have we here? [Reads.
The Duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him out-live, and die a violent death.
Why, this is just, Aio te, Æacida, Romanos vincere posse.
Well, to the rest.

Tell me, what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?
By water shall he die, and take his end.
What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
Let him shun Castles,
Safer shall he be on the sandy plains,
Than where Castles mounted stand.
Come, come, my Lords;
^{3 note}

Buck.
Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,
To be the Post, in hope of his reward.

York.
At your pleasure, my good Lord.
Who's within there, ho? Enter a Serving-man.
Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! [Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I. At St. ALBANS. Enter King Henry, Queen, Protector, Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Faulkners hallooing.

Q. Margaret.
Believe me, lords, ^{4 note}for flying at the brook,
I saw no better sport these seven years' day;
Yet, by your leave, ^{5 note}
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 tow'r 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
Bent on a Crown, the treasure of thy heart,

Pernicious Protector, dangerous Peer,
That smooth'st it so with King and Common-weal!

Glo.
What, Cardinal! Is your priesthood grown so peremptory?
Tantæne animis Cælestibus iræ?
Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice.
^{6 note}

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—^{7 note}

Come with thy two-hand sword. [Aside to Glo'ster.

Glo.
True, uncle.

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

Glou.
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 yourself.

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. SCENE II. 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 glorify the Lord.
What hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd?

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

Wife.
Ay, indeed, was he.

Suf.
What woman is this?

Wife.
His wife, an'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, an'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 St. Alban; who said, “Simpcox, come;^{8 note}

Wife.
Most true, forsooth; and many a time and oft
Myself 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 wouldst 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 see'st 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.

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 yourself 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 the 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. SCENE III. 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
^{9 note}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, thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

Glo.
Madam, for myself, 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;
^{1 note}


And poise the Cause in Justice' equal scales,
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails. [Flourish. Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Changes to the Duke of York's Palace. Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick.

York.
Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
Our simple supper ended, give me leave,
In this close walk to satisfy myself;
In craving your opinion of my Title,* ^note

Which is infallible, to England's Crown.

Sal.
My Lord, I long to hear it thus at full.

War.
Sweet York, begin; and if thy Claim be good,
The Nevils are thy Subjects to command.

York.
Then thus:
Edward the Third, my Lords, had seven sons:
The first, Edward the black Prince, Prince of Wales;
The second, William of Hatfield; and the third,
Lionel Duke of Clarence; next to whom
Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;
The fifth was Edmond Langley, Duke of York;
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Glo'ster,
William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
Edward the black Prince dy'd before his father,
And left behind him Richard, his only son,
Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd King;
Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
Seiz'd on the realm; depos'd the rightful King;
Sent his poor Queen to France from whence she came,
And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,
Harmless King Richard trait'rously was murder'd.

War.
Father, the Duke hath told the truth;
Thus got the house of Lancaster the Crown.

York.
Which now they hold by force, and not by right;
For Richard the first son's heir being dead,
The Issue of the next son should have reign'd.

Sal.
But William of Hatfield dy'd without an heir.

York.
The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose Line
I claim the Crown, had issue Philip, a daughter,
Who married Edmond Mortimer, Earl of March.
Edmond had issue, Roger Earl of March:
Roger had issue, Edmond, Anne, and Eleanor.

Sal.
This Edmond, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
As I have read, laid Claim unto the Crown;
And, but for Owen Glendower, had been King;
Who kept him in captivity, till he dy'd.
But, to the rest—

York.
His eldest sister, Anne,
My mother, being heir unto the Crown,
Married Richard Earl of Cambridge,
Who was the son to Edmond Langley,
Edward the Third's fifth son.
By her I claim the Kingdom; she was heir
To Roger Earl of March, who was the son
Of Edmond Mortimer, who married Philip,
Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence.
So, if the issue of the elder son
Succeed before the younger, I am King.

War.
What plain proceeding is more plain than this?
Henry doth claim the Crown from John of Gaunt,
The fourth son; York here claims it from the third.
Till Lionel's issue fail, his should not reign;
It fails not yet, but flourisheth in thee
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together,
And in this private Plot be we the first,
That shall salute our rightful Sovereign
With honour of his birth-right to the Crown.

Both.
Long live our Sov'reign Richard, England's King!

York.
We thank you, Lords: but I am not your King,
'Till I be crown'd; and that my sword be stain'd
With heart-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 dang'rous days,
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's Insolence,
At Beauford's Pride, at Somerset's Ambition,
At Buckingham, and all the crew of them;
Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock,
That virtuous Prince, the good Duke Humphry,
'Tis that they seek; and they in seeking that
Shall seek their deaths, if York can prophesy.

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, Nevill, this I do assure myself,
Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick
The greatest man in England, but the King. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Changes to a House near Smithfield. Sound Trumpets. Enter King Henry and Nobles; the Dutchess, Mother Jordan, Southwel, Hume, and Bolinbrook, under guard.

K. Henry.
Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Glo'ster's wife,
In sight of God and us your guilt is great;
Receive the sentence of the law for sins,
Such as by God's Book are adjudg'd to death.
—You four from hence to prison, back again; [To the other prisoners.
From thence unto the place of execution.
The Witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes.
And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.

—You, Madam, for you are more nobly born,
Despoiled of your honour in your life,
Shall after three days open Penance done,
Live in your country here, in Banishment,
With Sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man.

Elean.
Welcome is exile, welcome were my death.

Glo.
The law, thou seest, hath judg'd thee, Eleanor;
I cannot justify, whom law condemns. [Exeunt Eleanor, and the others, guarded.
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
Ah, Humphry! this dishonour in thine age
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground.
I beseech your Majesty, give me leave to go;
Sorrow would Solace, and my age would Ease.^{2 note}

K. Henry.
Stay Humphry, Duke of Glo'ster; ere thou go,
Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself
Protector be, and God shall be my hope,
My stay, my guide, and lanthorn to my feet.
And go in peace, Humphry, no less belov'd,
Than when thou wert Protector to thy King.

Q. Mar.
I see no reason, why a King of years
Should be to be protected like a child:
God and King Henry govern England's realm:* ^note
Give up your staff, Sir, and the king his realm.

Glo.
My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff;
As willingly do I the same resign,
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;
And even as willing at thy feet I leave it,
As others would ambitiously receive it.
Farewel, good King; when I am dead and gone,
May honourable peace attend thy throne. [Exit Glo'ster.

Q. Mar.
Why, now is Henry King, and Marg'ret Queen.
And Humphry, Duke of Glo'ster, scarce himself,
That bears so shrew'd a maim; two pulls at once;
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopt off.
This staff of honour raught, there let it stand,
Where best it fits to be, in Henry's hand.

Suf.
Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays;
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her younger days.

York.
Lords, let him go. Please it your Majesty,
This is the day appointed for the combat,
And ready are th' appellant and defendant.
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
So please your Highness to behold the fight.

Q. Mar.
Ay, good my Lord; for purposely therefore
Left I the court, to see this quarrel try'd.

K. Henry.
A'God's name, see the lists and all things fit;
Here let them end it, and God guard the right!

York.
I never saw a fellow worse bestead,^{3 note}
Or more afraid to fight, than is th' appellant,
The servant of the armourer, my Lords. SCENE VI. Enter at one door the armourer and his neighbours, drinking to him so much, that he is drunk; and he enters with a drum before him, and his staff^{4 note}

with a sandbag

fastened to it; and at the other door his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and prentices drinking to him.

1 Neigh.

Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack; and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

2 Neigh.

And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.^{5 note}

3 Neigh.

And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour; drink, and fear not your man.

Arm.

Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter.

1 Pren.

Here, Peter, I drink to thee, and be not afraid.

2 Pren.

Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master; fight for the credit of the 'prentices.

Peter.

I thank you all; drink, and pray for me, I pray you; for, I think, 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 mony that I have. O Lord, bless me I pray God, for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learn'd so much fence already.

Sal.

Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows. Sirrah, what's thy name?

Peter.

Peter, forsooth.

Sal.

Peter? what more?

Peter.

Thump.

Sal.

Thump? Then see thou thump thy master well.

Arm.

Masters, I am come hither as it were upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will take my death I never meant him any ill, nor the King, nor the Queen; and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow. As Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart.^{6 note}

York.

Dispatch. This knave's tongue begins to double. Sound trumpets; alarum to the combatants.

Arm.

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

York.

Take away his weapon: fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way.

Peter.
O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence?
O Peter, thou hast prevail'd in right.

K. Henry.
Go, take hence that traitor from our sight,
For by his death we do perceive his guilt.
And God in justice hath reveal'd to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
Which he had thought to murder wrongfully.
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. The Street. Enter Duke Humphry and his Men, in Mourning Cloaks.

Glo.
Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;
And, after summer, evermore succeeds
The barren winter with his nipping cold;
So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
Sirs, what's a-clock?

Serv.
Ten, my Lord.

Glo.
Ten is the hour that was appointed me,
To watch the coming of my punish'd dutchess,
^{7 note}Unneath may she endure the flinty streets,
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind a-brook
The abject people gazing on thy face,
With envious looks still laughing at thy shame;
That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels,
When thou didst ride in triumph thro' the streets.
But soft! I think, she comes; and I'll prepare
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the Dutchess in a white Sheet, her feet bare, and a Taper burning in her hand, with Sir John Stanley, a Sheriff and Officers.

Serv.
So please your Grace, we'll take her from the Sheriff.

Glo.
No, stir not for your lives. Let her pass by.

Elean.
Come you, my Lord, to see my open shame?
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze!
See, how the giddy multitude do point,

And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!
Ah, Glo'ster, hide thee from their hateful looks;
And in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
And ban our enemies, both mine and thine.

Glo.
Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

Elean.
Ah! Glo'ster, teach me to forget myself;
For whilst I think I am thy marry'd wife,
And thou a prince, Protector of this land;
Methinks, I should not thus be led along,
^{8 note}Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back;
And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice
To see my tears, and hear my deep-fetch'd groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
And when I start, the cruel people laugh,
And bid me be advised how I tread.
Ah! Humphry, can I bear this shameful yoak?
Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world,
Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun?
No, dark shall be my light, and night my day.
To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphry's wife,
And he a Prince, and ruler of the land,
Yet so he rul'd, and such a Prince he was,
That he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn dutchess,
Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
To every idle, rascal follower.
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame,
Nor stir at nothing, till the ax of death
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will.
For Suffolk, he that can do all in all
With her, that hateth thee and hates us all,
And York, and impious Beauford, that false priest,
Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings;
And fly thou, how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd,

Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

Glo.
Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry,
I must offend, before I be attainted;
And, had I twenty times so many foes,
And each of them had twenty times their power,
All these could not procure me any scathe,
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?
Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away;
But I in danger for the breach of law.
* ^noteThy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell,
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience,
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald.

Her.

I summon your Grace to his Majesty's parliament holden at Bury, the first of this next month.

Glo.
And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before?
This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald.
My Nell, I take my leave. And, master Sheriff,
Let not her penance exceed the King's commission.

Sher.
An't please your Grace, here my commission stays;
And Sir John Stanley is appointed now,
To take her with him to the Isle of Man.

Glo.
Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

Stan.
So am I giv'n in charge, may't please your Grace.

Glo.
Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray
You use her well; the world may laugh again;^{3 note}
And I may live to do you kindness, if
You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewel.

Elean.
What gone, my Lord, and bid me not farewel?

Glo.
Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Exit Gloucester.

Elean.
Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!
For none abides with me; my joy is death;
Death, at whose name I oft have been afraid,
Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
Stanley, I pr'ythee, go and take me hence,
I care not whither, for I beg no favour;
Only convey me where thou art commanded.

Stan.
Why, Madam, that is to the Isle of Man;
There to be us'd according to your state.

Elean.
That's bad enough, for I am but reproach.
And shall I then be us'd reproachfully?

Stan.
No; like a Dutchess, and Duke Humphry's lady,
According to that state you shall be us'd.

Elean.
Sheriff, farewel, and better than I fare;
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

Sher.
It is my office. Madam, pardon me.

Elean.
Ay, ay. Farewel. Thy office is discharg'd.
Come, Stanley, shall we go?

Stan.
Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
And go we to attire you for our journey.

Elean.
My shame will not be shifted with my sheet,
No, it will hang upon my richest robes,
And shew itself, attire me how I can.
—Go, lead the way, * ^noteI long to see my prison. [Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE I. At BURY. Enter King Henry, Queen, Cardinal, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, Salisbury and Warwick, to the Parliament.

K. Henry.
I muse, my Lord of Glo'ster is not come;
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

Q. Mar.
Can you not see, or will you not observe
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance,
With what a majesty he bears himself,
How insolent of late he is become,
How peremptory and unlike himself?
We know the time, since he was mild and affable;
And, if we did but glance a far-off look,
Immediately he was upon his knee;
That all the court admir'd him for submission.
But meet him now, and be it in the morn,
When ev'ry one will give the time of day,
He knits his brow and shews an angry eye,
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
Small curs are not regarded, when they grin,
But great men tremble when the lion roars,
And Humphry is no little man in England.
First note, that he is near you in descent,
And, should you fall, he is the next will mount.
^{1 note}Me seemeth then, it is no policy,

Respecting what a ranc'rous mind he bears,
And his advantage following your decease,
That he should come about your royal person,
Or be admitted to your Highness' council.
By flatt'ry hath he won the common hearts:
And when he'll please to make commotion,
'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him.
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted,
Suffer them now, and they'll o'er-grow the garden,
And choak the herbs for want of husbandry.
The reverent care, I bear unto my Lord,
Made me collect these dangers in the Duke.
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear,
Which fear if better reasons can supplant
I will subscribe, and say, I wrong'd the Duke.
My Lords of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
Reprove my allegation, if you can,
Or else conclude my words effectual.

Suf.
Well hath your Highness seen into this Duke.
And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think I should have told your Grace's tale.^{2 note}
The Dutchess, by his subornation,
Upon my life, began her devilish practices,
Or if he were not privy to those faults,
Yet, by repeating of his high descent,
As next the King he was successive heir,
And such high vaunts of his nobility,
Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick Dutchess
By wicked means to frame our sov'reign's fall.
Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep;
And in his simple shew he harbours treason.
The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.
No, no, my sov'reign; Glo'ster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

Car.
Did he not, contrary to form of law,
Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

York.
And did he not in his protectorship
Levy great sums of mony through the realm
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
By means whereof the towns each day revolted.

Buck.
Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown;
Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphry.

K. Henry.
My Lords, at once. The care you have of us,
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience?
Our kinsman Glo'ster is as innocent
From meaning treason to our royal person
As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove.
The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given
To dream on evil, or to work my downfal.

Q. Mar.
Ah! what's more dang'rous than this fond affiance?
Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd;
For he's disposed as the hateful Raven.
Is he a lamb? his skin is, surely, lent him;
For he's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf.
Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?
Take heed, my Lord; the welfare of us all
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter Somerset.

Som.
All health unto my gracious Sovereign!

K. Henry.
Welcome, Lord Somerset; what news from France?

Som.
That all your int'rest in those territories
Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

K. Henry.
Cold news, Lord Somerset. But God's will be done!

York.
Cold news for me; for I had hope of France,
As firmly as I hope for fertile England.

Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
And caterpillars eat my leaves away.
But I will remedy ^{3 note}this gear ere long,
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. [Aside. SCENE II. Enter Gloucester.

Glo.
All happiness unto my Lord the King!
Pardon, my Liege, that I have staid so long.

Suf.
Nay, Glo'ster, know that thou art come too soon
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art.
I do arrest thee of high treason here.

Glo.
Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me blush,
Nor change my countenance for this Arrest,
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 can accuse me? Wherein am I guilty?

York.
'Tis thought, my Lord, that you took bribes of France,
And, being protector, staid the soldiers' pay;
By means whereof his Highness hath lost France.

Glo.
Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
So help me God! as I have watch'd the night,
Ay, night by night, in studying good for England.
That doit that e'er I wrested from the King,
Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
Be brought against me at my trial day!
No; many a pound of my own proper store,
Because I would not tax the needy commons,
Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
And never ask'd for restitution.

Car.
It serves you well, my Lord, to say so much.

Glo.
I say no more than truth, so help me God!

York.
In your protectorship you did devise
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of;
That England was defam'd by tyranny.

Glo.
Why, 'tis well known, that, while I was protector,
Pity was all the fault that was in me,
For I should melt at an offender's tears,
And lowly words were ransom for their fault;
Unless it were a bloody murderer,
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,
I never gave them condign punishment.
Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
Above the felon, or what trespass else.

Suf.
My Lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd:^{4 note}
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
I do arrest you in his Highness' name,
And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal
To keep, until your further time of trial.

K. Henry.
My Lord of Glo'ster, 'tis my special hope
That you will clear yourself from all suspicion;
My conscience tells me, you are innocent.

Glo.
Ah, gracious Lord, these days are dangerous,
Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition,
And charity chas'd hence by Rancour's hand,
Foul subornation is predominant,
And equity exil'd your Highness' Land.
I know, their complot is to have my life,
And, if my death might make this island happy,
And prove the period of their tyrrany,
I would expend it with all willingness.
But mine is made the prologue to their play;

For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
Beauford's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormed hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue
The envious load that lies upon his heart;
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whose over-weening arm I have pluck'd back,
By false accuse doth level at my life.
And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head;
And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up,
My ^{5 note}liefest Liege to be mine enemy:
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together;
(Myself had notice of your conventicles)
And all to make away my guiltless life.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt:
The antient proverb will be well effected,
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.

Car.
My Liege, his railing is intolerable.
If those, that care to keep your royal person
From treason's secret knife and traitor's rage
Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
And the offender granted scope of speech,
'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace.

Suf.
Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here
With ignominious words, though clarkly coucht?
As if she had suborned some to swear
False allegations, to o'erthrow his state.

Q. Mar.
But I can give the loser leave to chide.

Glo.
Far truer spoke than meant; I lose indeed;
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false;
And well such losers may have leave to speak.

Buck.
He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day.
—Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.

Car.
Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.

Glo.
Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch,
Before his legs be firm to bear his body;
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
And wolves are gnarling, who shall gnaw thee first.
Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exit guarded. SCENE III.

K. Henry.
My Lords, what to your wisdom seemeth best,
Do or undo as if ourself were here.

Q. Mar.
What, will your Highness leave the Parliament?

K. Henry.
Ay, Margaret, my heart is drown'd with grief,
Whose flood begins to flow within my eyes,
My body round engirt with misery,
For what's more miserable than discontent?
Ah, uncle Humphry! in thy face I see
The map of honour, truth, and loyalty;
And yet, good Humphry, is the hour to come,
That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith.
What low'ring star now envies thy estate?
That these great Lords, and Margaret our Queen,
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life,
That never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong.
And as the butcher takes away the calf,
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays.^{6 note}

Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house;
Even so, remorsless, have they borne him hence.
And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
Looking the way her harmless young one went,
And can do nought but wail her darling's loss;
Even so myself bewail good Glo'ster's case
With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good,
So mighty are his vowed enemies.
His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan
Say, Who's a traitor? Glo'ster he is none. [Exit.

Q. Mar.
^{7 note}Free Lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams;
Henry my Lord is cold in great affairs,
Too full of foolish pity. Glo'ster's shew
Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowry bank,
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
Believe me, Lords, were none more wise than I,
And yet herein I judge my own wit good,
This Glo'ster should be quickly rid the world,
To rid us from the fear we have of him.

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

Suf.
But, in my mind, that were no policy;
The King will labour still to save his life,
The commons haply rise to save his life,

And yet we have but trivial argument,
More than mistrust, that shews him worthy death.

York.
So that by this you would not have him die.

Suf.
Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I.

York.
* ^note'Tis York, that hath more reason for his death.
But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls;
Wer't not all one, an empty eagle were set
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
As place Duke Humphry for the King's protector?

Q. Mar.
So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

Suf.
Madam, 'tis true; and wer't not madness, then,
To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
Who being accus'd a crafty murderer,
His guilt should be but idly posted over,
Because his purpose is not executed.
^{8 note}

So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first, that first intends deceit.

Q. Mar.
Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

Suf.
Not resolute except so much were done;
For things are often spoke and seldom meant;
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
Seeing the deed is meritorious,
And to preserve my Sovereign from his foe,
Say but the word, and ^{9 note}I will be his priest.

Car.
But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,
Ere you can take due orders for a priest.
Say you consent, * ^noteand censure well the deed,
And I'll provide his executioner,
I tender so the safety of my Liege.

Suf.
Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

Q. Mar.
And so say I.

York.
And I. And now we three have spoke it,
† ^noteIt skills not greatly who impugns our doom. SCENE IV. Enter a Post.

Post.
Great Lords, from Ireland am I come amain
To signify that Rebels there are up,
And put the Englishmen unto the sword.
Send succours, Lords, and stop the rage betime,
Before the wound do grow incurable;
For being green, there is great hope of help.

Car.
A breach, that craves a quick expedient stop!
—What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

York.
That Somerset be sent a Regent thither:
'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd;
Witness the fortune he hath had in France.—

Som.
If York, with all his far-fetch'd policy,
Had been the Regent there instead of me,
He never would have staid in France so long.

York.
No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done;
I rather would have lost my life betimes
Than bring a burden of dishonour home,
By staying there so long till all were lost.
Shew me one scar character'd on thy skin,
Men's flesh, preserv'd so whole, do seldom win.

Q. Mar.
Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with.
No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still.
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been Regent there,
Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

York.
What, worse than nought? nay, then a shame take all!

Som.
And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!

Car.
My Lord of York, try what your fortune is;
Th' uncivil Kerns of Ireland are in arms,
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen.
To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
Collected choicely from each country some,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?

York.
I will, my Lord, so please his Majesty.

Suf.
Why, our Authority is his consent,
And what we do establish, he confirms;
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

York.
I am content. Provide me soldiers, Lords,
Whilst I take order for mine own affairs.

Suf.
A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
But now return we to the false Duke Humphry.

Car.
No more of him; for I will deal with him,
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
And so break off. The day is almost spent.
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

York.
My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol I expect my soldiers;

For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

Suf.
I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Manet York.

York.
Now, York, or never steel thy fearful thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution;
Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art
Resign to death, it is not worth th' enjoying.
Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time show'rs comes thought on thought,
And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more busy than the lab'ring spider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, Nobles, well; 'tis politickly done,
To send me packing with an host of men;
I fear me, you but warm the starved Snake,
Who, cherish'd in your breast, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me;
I take it kindly; yet be well assur'd,
You put sharp weapons in a mad-man's hands.
Whilst I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm,
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heav'n or hell.
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage,
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this ^{1 note}mad-brain'd flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,
I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentish man,
John Cade of Ashford,

To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of Kerns;
And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine;
And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen
Him caper upright like * ^notea wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag hair'd crafty Kern,
Hath he conversed with the enemy;
And undiscover'd come to me again,
And giv'n me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech he doth resemble.
By this, I shall perceive the Commons' mind;
How they affect the House and Claim of York.
Say, he be taken, rack'd and tortured;
I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him,
Will make him say, I mov'd him to those arms.
Say, that he thrive; as 'tis great like, he will;
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
For Humphry being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put a-part, the next for me. [Exit. SCENE VI. An Apartment in the Palace. Enter two or three, running over the Stage, from the murder of Duke Humphry.

First.
Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know,
We have dispatch'd the Duke, as he commanded.

Second.
Oh, that it were to do! what have we done?

Didst ever hear a man so penitent? Enter Suffolk.

First.
Here comes my Lord.

Suf.
Now, Sir, have you dispatch'd this thing?

First.
Ay, my good Lord, he's dead.

Suf.
Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
I will reward you for this vent'rous deed.
The King and all the Peers are here at hand.—
Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well,
According as I gave directions?

First.
Yes, my good Lord.

Suf.
Away, be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. Enter King Henry, the Queen, Cardinal, Somerset, with Attendants.

K. Henry.
Go, call our Uncle to our presence strait.
Say, we intend to try his Grace to day,
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suf.
I'll call him presently, my noble Lord. [Exit.

K. Henry.
Lords, take your places. And, I pray you all,
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Glo'ster,
Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
He be approv'd in practice culpable.

Q. Mar.
God forbid, any malice should prevail,
That faultless may condemn a Nobleman!
Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion!

K. Henry.
I thank thee. Well, these words content me much.^{2 note}

Enter Suffolk.
How now? why look'st thou so pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our Uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk?

Suf.
Dead in his bed, my Lord; Glo'ster is dead.

Q. Mar.
Marry, God forefend!

Car.
God's secret judgment. I did dream to night,
The Duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [King swoons.

Q. Mar.
How fares my Lord? help, Lords, the King is dead.

Som.
Rear up his body, wring him by the nose.

Q. Mar.
Run, go, help, help. Oh, Henry, ope thine eyes.

Suf.
He doth revive again. Madam, be patient.

K. Henry.
O heav'nly God!

Q. Mar.
How fares my gracious Lord?

Suf.
Comfort, my Sovereign; gracious Henry, comfort.

K. Henry.
What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he ^{3 note}right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs;
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eye-balls murd'rous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding!—
Yet do not go away—come, basilisk,

And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
For in the shade of death I shall find joy,
In life but double death now Glo'ster's dead.

Q. Mar.
Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
Although the Duke was enemy to him,
Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death.
And for myself, foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life;
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
And all to have the noble Duke alive.
What know I, how the world may deem of me?
For, it is known, we were but hollow friends;
It may be judg'd, I made the Duke away;
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And Princes' Courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death. Ah, me unhappy!
To be a Queen, and crown'd with infamy.

K. Henry.
Ah, woe is me for Glo'ster, wretched man!

Q. Mar.
^{4 note}Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper; look on me.
What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf?
Be pois'nous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Glo'ster's tomb?
Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his statue, and do worship to it,
And make my image but an ale-house sign.
Was I for this nigh wreckt upon the sea,
And twice by adverse winds from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boaded this? but well-fore-warning winds
Did seem to say, seek not a scorpion's nest,

Nor set no footing on this unkind shore.
What did I then? but curst the gentle gusts,
And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves,
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock.
Yet Æolus would not be a murderer;
But left that hateful office unto thee.
The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me,
Knowing, that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness.
^{5 note}

For losing ken of Albion's wished Coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,
The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
^{6 note}

War.
It is reported, mighty Sovereign,
That good Duke Humphry traiterously is murder'd
By Suffolk, and the Cardinal Beauford's means.
The Commons, like an angry hive of bees
That want their leader, scatter up and down;
And care not whom they sting in their revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

K. Henry.
That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
But how he died, God knows, * ^notenot Henry.
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corps,
And comment then upon his sudden death.

War.
That I shall do, my Liege.—Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, till I return. [Warwick goes in.

K. Henry.
O thou, that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul,
Some violent hands were laid on Humphry's life.
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God!
For judgment only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears;
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling.
But all in vain are these mean obsequies. [Bed with Glo'ster's body put forth.
And to survey his dead and earthy image,
What were it, but to make my sorrow greater?

War.
Come hither, gracious Sovereign, view this body.

K. Henry.
That is to see how deep my grave is made,
For, with his soul fled all my worldly solace;
^{7 note}

War.
As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King, that took our state upon him,
To free us from his father's wrathful curse,
I do believe, that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke.

Suf.
A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?

War.
See, how the blood is settled in his face.
^{8 note}

Suf.
Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death?
Myself and Beauford had him in protection;
And we, I hope, Sirs, are no murderers.

War.
But both of you have vow'd Duke Humphry's death,
And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep.

'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend;
And 'tis well seen, he found an enemy.

Q. Mar.
Then you, belike, suspect these Noblemen,
As guilty of Duke Humphry's timeless death.

War.
Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh,
And sees fast by a butcher with an ax,
But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
Ev'n so suspicious is this tragedy.

Q. Mar.
Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where's your knife?
Is Beauford term'd a kite? where are his talons?

Suf.
I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;
But here's a 'vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be scoured in his ranc'rous heart
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.
Say, if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphry's death.

War.
What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

Q. Mar.
He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

War.
Madam, be still. With rev'rence may I say;
For ev'ry word, you speak in his behalf,
Is slander to your royal Dignity.

Suf.
Blunt-witted Lord, ignoble in demeanour,
If ever lady wrong'd her Lord so much,
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
Was graft with crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art;
And never of the Nevil's noble Race.

War.
But that the guilt of murder buckler's thee,
And I should rob the death's man of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
And that my Sovereign's presence makes me mild,

I would, false murd'rous Coward, on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
And say, it was thy mother that thou meant'st,
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy;
And, after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!

Suf.
Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood,
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.

War.
Away ev'n now, or I will drag thee hence;
Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee;
And do some service to Duke Humphry's ghost. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.

K. Henry.
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A noise within.

Q. Mar.
What noise is this? Enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their weapons drawn.

K. Henry.
Why, how now, Lords? your wrathful weapons drawn
Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?
Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

Suf.
The trait'rous Warwick with the men of Bury
Set all upon me, mighty Sovereign. Noise of a crowd within. Enter Salisbury.

Sal.
Sirs, stand apart; the King shall know your mind.
—Dread Lord, the Commons send you word by me,
Unless Lord Suffolk strait be done to death,

Or banished fair England's territories,
They will by violence tear him from your Palace,
And torture him with grievous lingring death.
They say, by him the good Duke Humphry died;
They say, in him they fear your Highness' death;
And mere instinct of love and loyalty,
Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
As being thought to contradict your liking,
Makes them thus forward in his Banishment.
They say, in care of your most royal person,
That if your Highness should intend to sleep,
And charge that no man should disturb your rest,
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death;
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,
Were there a serpent seen with forked tongue,
That slily glided tow'rds your Majesty,
It were but necessary you were wak'd;
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal.
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you whether you will or no
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,
With whose invenomed and fatal sting
Your loving Uncle, twenty times his worth,
They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons within.
An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury.

Suf.
'Tis like, the Commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
Could send such message to their Sovereign;
But you, my Lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To shew how queint an orator you are.
But all the honour Salisbury hath won,
Is, that he was the Lord Ambassador
Sent from ^{5 note}a sort of tinkers to the King.

Within.
An answer from the King, or we will all break in.

K. Henry.
Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care;
And had I not been cited so by them,
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
Mischance unto my State by Suffolk's means.
And therefore by his Majesty I swear,
Whose far unworthy Deputy I am,
He shall not breathe infection in this air
But three days longer, on the pain of death.

Q. Mar.
Oh Henry let me plead for gentle Suffolk.

K. Henry.
Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk.
No more, I say. If thou dost plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but said, I would have kept my word;
But, when I swear, it is irrevocable.
—If after three days space thou here be'st found,
On any ground that I am ruler of,
The world shall not be ransom for thy life.
—Come Warwick; come, good Warwick; go with me;
I have great matters to impart to thee. [Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, &c. SCENE VIII. Manent Suffolk, and Queen.

Q. Mar.
Mischance and Sorrow go along with you!
Heart's Discontent and sour Affliction
Be play-fellows to keep you company!
There's two of you, the devil make a third,
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

Suf.
Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations;
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Q. Mar.
Fy, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch,
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

Suf.
A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them?

^{1 note}Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter searching terms,
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean fac'd envy in her loathsome cave.
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words,
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint,
Mine hair be fixt on end like one distract:
Ay, ev'ry joint should seem to curse and ban.
And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest meat they taste!
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefest prospect murd'ring basilisks!
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings!
Their musick frightful as the serpent's hiss!
And boading screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark seated hell—

Q. Mar.
Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyself;
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an over-charged gun, recoil
And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf.
* ^noteYou bad me ban, and will you bid me leave?
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
Well could I curse away a winter's night,

Though standing naked on a mountain top
Where biting Cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport.

Q. Mar.
Oh, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woful monuments.
Oh, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, [Kissing his hand.
^{2 note}
That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,
Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee.
—So—Get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
'Tis but surmis'd, whilst thou art standing by,
As one that surfeits, thinking on a Want.
—I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd,
Adventure to be banished myself;
And banished I am, if but from thee.
—Go, speak not to me; even now be gone—
Oh, go not yet—Ev'n thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather a hundred times to part than die.
—Yet now farewel, and farewel life with thee!

Suf.
Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
Once by the King and three times thrice by thee.
'Tis not the Land I care for, wert thou hence;
A wilderness is populous enough,
So Suffolk had thy heav'nly company.
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With ev'ry sev'ral pleasure in the world,
And where thou art not, Desolation.
I can no more—Live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in aught but that thou liv'st.

SCENE IX. Enter Vaux.

Q. Mar.
Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I pr'ythee?

Vaux.
To signify unto his Majesty,
That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death,
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth,
Sometimes he talks, as if Duke Humphry's ghost
Were by his side; sometimes, he calls the King,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
The secrets of his over-charged soul;
And I am sent to tell his Majesty,
That even now he cries aloud for him.

Q. Mar.
Go tell this heavy message to the King. [Exit Vaux.
Ay me! what is this world? what news are these?
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,* ^note
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
And with the southern clouds contend in tears?
Theirs for the earth's increase; mine for my sorrows.
—Now, get thee hence.—The King, thou know'st, is coming;
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

Suf.
If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
And in thy sight to die, what were it else,
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle babe
Dying with mother's dug between its lips.
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,

And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,
Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee were but to die in jest,
From thee to die were torture more than death.
—Oh! let me stay, befal what may befal.

Q. Mar.
Away. Though Parting be a fretful corrosive,
It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee,
For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
* ^noteI'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

Suf.
I go.

Q. Mar.
And take my heart with thee.

Suf.
A jewel lock'd into the woful'st casket
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we;
This way fall I to death.

Q. Mar.
This way for me. [Exeunt severally. SCENE X. The Cardinal's Bedchamber. Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the Cardinal in Bed.

K. Henry.
How fares my Lord? speak, Beauford, to thy Sovereign.

Car.
If thou beest Death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
Enough to purchase such another Island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

K. Henry.
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

War.
Beauford, it is thy Sovereign speaks to thee.

Car.
Bring me unto my Trial when you will.
Dy'd he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live whether they will or no?
—Oh, torture me no more, I will confess
—Alive again? then shew me where he is,
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.
—He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
—Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime twigs set to catch my winged soul.
—Give me some drink, and bid th' apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Henry.
O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch;
Oh, beat away the busy, medling, fiend,
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair.

War.
See, how the pangs of death do make him grin!

Sal.
Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.

K. Henry.
Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!
—Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
—He dies, and makes no sign!—O God, forgive him.

War.
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

K. Henry.
^{3 note}

Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt.* ^note

ACT IV. SCENE I. The Coast of Kent. Alarm. Fight at Sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter Captain Whitmore, and other Pirates, with Suffolk, and other Prisoners.

Captain.
The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day^{4 note}
Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
And now loud howling wolves arouse the jades,^{5 note}



That drag the tragick melancholy night,
Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
Clip dead mens' graves; and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
For whilst our Pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here shall they make their ransom on the sand;
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.
—Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
And thou, that art his mate, make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share. [Pointing to Suffolk.

1 Gent.
What is my ransom, master, let me know.

Mast.
A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

Mate.
And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

Whit.
What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,

And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
—Cut both the villains' throats,—for die you shall,
Nor can those lives, which we have lost in fight,
Be counter-pois'd with such a petty sum.

1 Gent.
I'll give it, Sir, and therefore spare my life.

2 Gent.
And so will I, and write home for it straight.

Whit.
I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; [To Suffolk.
And so should these, if I might have my will.

Cap.
Be not so rash, take ransom, let him live.

Suf.
^{6 note}Look on my George, I am a Gentleman;
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid—

Whit.
And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affright?

Suf.
Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
A cunning man did calculate my birth,
And told me, that by Water I should die,
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded,
Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded.

Whit.
Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not;
Ne'er yet did base Dishonour blur our name,
But with our sword, we wip'd away the blot.
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,
And I proclaim'd a Coward through the world!

Suf.
Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a Prince;
The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

Whit.
The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags?

Suf.
Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke.
^{7 note}

Cap.
But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

Suf.
Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
The honourable blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrop?
Bare-headed, plodded by my foot-cloth mule,
And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
How often hast thou waited at my cup,
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fal'n;
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride.^{8 note}
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood,
And duly waited for my coming forth?
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

Whit.
Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?

Cap.
First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

Suf.
Base slave, thy words are blunt; and so art thou.

Cap.
Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side
Strike off his head.

Suf.
Thou dar'st not for thy own.

Cap.
Poole? Sir Poole? Lord?* ^note

For daring to affie a mighty Lord
Unto the daughter of a worthless King,
Having nor Subject, Wealth, nor diadem!
By devilish policy art thou grown great,
And, like ambitious Sylla, over-gorg'd
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France;
The false revolting Normans, thorough thee,
Disdain to call us Lord; and Picardie
Hath slain their Governors, surpriz'd our Forts,
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
The princely Warwick, and the Nevills all,
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
As hating thee, are rising up in arms.
And now the House of York, thrust from the Crown
By shameful murder of a guiltless King,
And lofty proud incroaching tyranny,
Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful Colours
Advance a half-fac'd Sun striving to shine;
Under the which is writ, Invitis nubibus.
The Commons here in Kent are up in arms:
And to conclude, Reproach, and Beggary
Is crept into the Palace of our King,
And all by thee.—Away! convey him hence.—

Suf.
O, that I were a God, to shoot forth thunder
Upon these paultry, servile, abject drudges!
Small things make base men proud. This villain here,
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian Pirate.^{9 note}
Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives.
It is impossible that I should die

By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me:
I go of message from the Queen to France;
I charge thee waft me safely cross the channel.

Cap.
Walter—

Whit.
Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

Suf.
Gelidus timor occupat artus: it's thee I fear.

Whit.
Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee.
What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?

1 Gent.
My gracious Lord, intreat him; speak him fair.

Suf.
Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour.
Far be it, we should honour such as these
With humble suit; no, rather let my head
Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any,
Save to the God of heav'n, and to my King;
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole,
Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
True Nobility is exempt from fear:
More can I bear, than you dare execute.

Cap.
Hale him away, and let him talk no more;
Come, soldiers, shew what cruelty ye can.

Suf.
That this my death may never be forgot!—
Great men oft die by vile Bezonians.
A Roman sworder and Banditto slave
Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
Stabb'd Julius Cæsar; savage Islanders
^{1 note}Pompey the Great: And Suffolk dies by Pirates. [Exit Walter Whitmore with Suffolk.

Cap.
And as for these, whose ransom we have set,
It is our pleasure one of them depart;
Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Exit Captain and the rest.

Manet the first Gent. Enter Whitmore with the body.

Whit.
There let his head and liveless body lie,
Until the Queen his mistress bury it. [Exit Whit.

1 Gent.
O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
His body will I bear unto the King;
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
So will the Queen, that living held him dear. [Exit. SCENE II. Changes to Southwark. Enter Bevis and John Holland.

Bevis.

Come, and get thee a sword though made of a lath; they have been up these two days.

Hol.

They have the more need to sleep now then.

Bevis.

I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.

Hol.

So he had need, for 'tis thread-bare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England since Gentlemen came up.

Bevis.

O miserable age! virtue is not regarded in handy-crafts-men.

Hol.

The Nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.

Bevis.

Nay more, the King's Council are no good workmen.

Hol.

True, and yet it is said, Labour in thy vocation; which is as much as to say, let the magistrates be labouring men; and therefore should we be magistrates.

Bevis.

Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.

Hol.

I see them, I see them. There's Best's son, the Tanner of Wingham.

Bevis.

He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's leather of.

Hol.

And Dick the butcher:—

Bevis.

Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf.

Hol.

And Smith the weaver:—

Bevis.

Argo, their thread of life is spun.

Hol.

Come, come, let's fall in with them.