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.

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