Duch.

Well said, my masters; and welcome all ^note. To ^note this gear the sooner the better.

Boling.
Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:
Deep night, dark night, the silent ^note of the night,
The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl
And spirits walk and ghosts break up ^note 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 do ^note the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; Bolingbroke or Southwell reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth.

Spir.
Adsum ^note.

M. Jourd.
Asmath ^note,
By the eternal God, whose name and power
Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask ^note;
For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence ^note.

Spir.
Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done! ^{note note}

Boling.
‘First of the king: what shall of him become ^note?’ ^note [Reading ^note out of a paper.

Spir.
The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death. [As the Spirit ^note speaks, Southwell writes the answer.

Boling.
‘What fates await ^note the Duke of Suffolk?’

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

Boling.
‘What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?’

Spir.
Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he be ^note upon the sandy plains ^note
Than where castles mounted stand ^note.
Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

Boling.
Descend to darkness and the burning lake!
False ^note fiend, avoid! [Thunder and lightning. Exit Spirit. ^note

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.
Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.
What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal ^note
Are deeply ^note indebted for this piece of pains:
My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

Duch.
Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
Injurious duke, that threatest where's ^note no cause. ^note

Buck.
True, madam, none at all: what call you this?
Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close,
And kept asunder ^note. You, madam, shall with us.
Stafford, take her to thee. [Exeunt ^note above Duchess and Hume, guarded.
We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming ^note.
All, away! ^note [Exeunt ^note guard with Jourdain, Southwell, &c.

York.
Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well:
A pretty plot, well chosen ^note to build upon!
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
What have we here? [Reads.
‘The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.’
Why, this is just
‘Aio te, Æacida, ^note 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 ^note the Duke of Somerset?
Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains ^note
Than where castles mounted stand ^note.’
Come, come ^note, my lords; ^note
These oracles are hardly ^note attain'd,
And hardly understood. ^note
The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's,
With him the husband of this lovely lady:
Thither go ^note these news, as fast as horse can carry them ^{note note}:
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

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. ^note Who's within there, ho! ^note Enter a Servingman.
Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! [Exeunt. ACT II. ^note Scene I. [Footnote: Saint Alban's ^note. Enter the King, Queen, Gloucester, ^note Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers halloing.

Queen.
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.

King.
But what a point, my lord, your falcon 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 ^note like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
They know their master loves to be aloft
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.

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

Car.
I thought as much; he would ^note be above the clouds.

Glou.
Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that?
Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven?

King.
The treasury of everlasting joy.

Car.
Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts
Beat ^note on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer,
That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal!

Glou.
What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory ^{note note}?
Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ? ^note
Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice ^note;
With such holiness can you do it? ^{note note}

Suf.
No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.

Glou.
As who, my lord?

Suf.
Why, as you ^note, my lord,
An't ^note like your lordly lord-protectorship ^note.

Glou.
Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

Queen.
And thy ambition, Gloucester.

King.
I prithee, peace, good queen,
And whet not on these furious ^note peers ^note;
For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.

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

Glou. [Aside to Car.]
Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that!

Car. [Aside to Glou.]
Marry, when thou darest.

Glou. [Aside to Car.]
Make up no factious numbers for the ^note matter;
In thine own person answer thy abuse.

Car. [Aside to Glou.]
Ay, where thou darest not peep: an if ^note thou darest,
This evening, on the east side of the grove ^note.

King.
How now, my lords!

Car.
Believe me, cousin Gloucester,
Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
We had had ^note more sport. [Aside to Glou.] Come with thy two-hand sword ^note.

Glou.
True, uncle.

Car. [Aside to Glou.]
Are ye ^note advised ^note? the east side of ^note the grove?

Glou. [Aside to Car.]
Cardinal, I am with you ^note.

King.
Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!

Glou.
Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. [Aside to Car.]
Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this ^note.
Or all my fence shall fail.

Car. [Aside to Glou.]
Medice, teipsum— ^{note note}
Protector, see to't well, protect yourself ^note.

King.
The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords ^note.
How irksome is this music to my heart!
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter ^note a Townsman of Saint Alban's, crying ‘A miracle!’ ^note

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

Towns. ^note
A miracle! a miracle!

Suf.
Come to the king and tell him ^note what miracle.

Towns. ^note
Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine,
Within this half-hour, hath received his sight;
A man that ne'er saw in his life before.

King.
Now, God be praised, that to believing souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter ^note the Mayor of Saint Alban's and his brethren, bearing Simpcox, between two in a chair, Simpcox's Wife following.

Car.
Here comes ^note the townsmen on procession,
To present your highness with the man ^note.

King.
Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
Although ^note by his sight ^note his sin be multiplied.

Glou.
Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king;
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

King.
Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?

Simp.
Born blind, an't ^note please your grace.

Wife.
Ay, indeed, was he.

Suf.
What woman is this?

Wife.
His wife, an't ^note like your worship.

Glou.
Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told ^note.

King.
Where wert thou born?

Simp.
At Berwick ^note in the north, an't ^note like your grace.

King.
Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee ^note:
Let never day nor ^note night unhallow'd pass,
But still remember what the Lord hath done.

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

Simp.
God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep,
By good Saint Alban; who said, ‘Simpcox ^note, come,
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help ^note thee.’

Wife.
Most true, forsooth; and many time ^note and oft
Myself have heard a voice to call him so.

Car.
What, art thou lame?

Simp.
Ay, God Almighty help me!

Suf.
How camest thou so?

Simp.
A fall off of ^note a tree.

Wife.
A plum-tree, master.

Glou.
How long hast thou been blind?

Simp.
O, born so, master.

Glou.
What, and wouldst climb a tree?

Simp.
But that in all ^note my life, when I was a youth.

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

Glou.
Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst venture so.

Simp.
Alas, good master ^note, my wife desired some damsons,
And made me climb, with danger of my life.

Glou.
A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.
Let me ^note see thine eyes: wink now: now open them:
In my opinion yet thou see'st not well.

Simp.

Yes, master ^note, clear as day, I thank God and Saint Alban ^note.

Glou.

Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?

Simp.

Red, master; red as blood.

Glou.

Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?

Simp.

Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet.

King.

Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?

Suf.

And yet, I think, jet did he ^note never see.

Glou.

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

Wife.

Never, before this day, in all his life.

Glou.

Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

Simp.

Alas, master, I know not.

Glou.

What's his name?

Simp.

I know not.

Glou.

Nor his?

Simp.

No, indeed, master.

Glou.

What's thine own name?

Simp.

Saunder Simpcox, an if ^note it please you, master.

Glou.

Then ^note, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst as well have known all ^note our names as thus to name ^note the

several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them all, it is ^note impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and ^note would ye not think his ^note cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple to his legs again ^{note note}?

Simp.

O master, that you could!

Glou.

My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips?

May.

Yes, my lord, if it ^note please your grace.

Glou.

Then send for one presently.

May.

Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

Glou.

Now ^note fetch me a stool hither by and by ^note. 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.

Glou.

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.

King.

O God, seest Thou this, and bearest ^note so long?

Queen.

It made me laugh to see the villain run.

Glou.

Follow the knave; and take this ^note drab away.

Wife.

Alas ^note, sir, we did it for pure need.

^note

Glou.

Let them be whipped through every market-town, till they come to Berwick, from whence ^note they came.

Car.
Duke Humphrey has ^note done a miracle to-day.

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

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

King.
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 ringleader and head of all this rout,
Have practised 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. [Aside ^note to Glou.]
And so, my lord protector, by this means
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.
This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;
'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.

Glou.
Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart:
Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;
And, vanquish'd ^note as I am, I yield to thee,
Or to the meanest groom.

King.
O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,

Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby ^note!

Queen.
Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest,
And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

Glou.
Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,
How I have loved my king and commonweal ^note:
And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;
Sorry I am to hear what I have heard:
Noble she is, but if she have forgot
Honour and virtue and conversed 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 Gloucester's honest name.

King.
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. ^note [Flourish. ^note Exeunt. ^note Scene II. [Footnote: London. The Duke of York's garden. ^note 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,
Which is infallible, to England's crown.

Sal.
My lord, I long to hear it at full ^note.

War.
Sweet York, begin: and if ^note 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 Edmund ^note Langley, Duke of York;
The sixth was Thomas of ^note Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;
William of Windsor was the seventh and last.
Edward the Black Prince died before his father
And left behind him Richard, his only son,
Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as ^note 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,
Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king,
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,
And him to Pomfret; where, as all you ^note know,
Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously ^note.

War.
Father, the duke hath told the truth ^note;
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 died without an heir. ^note

York.
The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line
I claim the crown, had issue, Philippe ^note, a daughter,
Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March:
Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;
Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.

Sal.
This Edmund, 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 died.
But to the rest.

York.
His eldest sister, Anne,
My mother, being heir unto the crown,
Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son
To Edmund 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 Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,
Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence ^note:
So, if the issue of the elder ^note son
Succeed before the younger, I am king.

War.
What plain proceeding is ^note more plain than this?
Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
The fourth son; York claims ^note it from the third.
Till Lionel's issue fails, his ^note should not reign:
It fails not yet, but flourishes ^note 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 birthright to the crown.

Both.
Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king! ^note

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 dangerous days:
Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,

At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
At Buckingham and all the crew of them,
Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,
That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey:
'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.

Sal.
My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full ^note.

War.
My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick
Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.

York.
And, Nevil, this I do assure myself:
Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick
The greatest man in England but the king. [Exeunt. ^note Scene III. [Footnote: A hall ^note of justice. Sound trumpets. Enter ^note the King, the Queen, Gloucester, York, Suffolk, and Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloucester, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, and Bolingbroke, under guard.

King.
Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife: ^note
In sight of God and us, your guilt is great:
Receive the sentence of the law for sins ^note
Such as by God's book are ^note adjudged to death.
You four, from hence to prison back again;
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.

Duch.
Welcome is banishment ^note; welcome were ^note my death.

Glou.
Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee:
I cannot justify whom the law ^note condemns. [Exeunt Duchess and other prisoners, guarded. ^note
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!
I beseech ^note your majesty, give me leave to go;
Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease ^note.

King.
Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: 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: ^note
And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved
Than when thou wert protector to thy king.

Queen.
I see no reason why a king of years
Should be to be protected like a child ^note.
God and King Henry govern England's realm. ^{note note note}
Give up your staff, sir, and the ^note king his realm ^note.

Glou.
My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff: ^note
As willingly do I the same resign
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;

And even as willingly ^note at thy feet I leave it
As others would ambitiously receive it.
Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,
May honourable peace attend thy throne! [Exit.

Queen.
Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;
And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,
That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once;
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off.
This staff of honour raught, ^note there let it stand
Where it best ^note fits to be, in Henry's hand.

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

York.
Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty,
This is the day appointed for the combat;
And ready are the appellant and defendant,
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists ^note,
So please your highness to behold the fight.

Queen.
Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore
Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

King.
O' ^note God's name, see the lists and all things fit:
Here let them end it; and God defend ^note the right!

York.
I never saw a fellow worse bested,
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
The servant of this ^note armourer, my lords. Enter at one door, Horner ^note, 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 with a sand-bag fastened to it; and at the other door Peter ^note, his man, with a drum and sand-bag, and 'Prentices drinking to him. ^note

First Neigh.

Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you

in a cup of sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

Sec. Neigh.

And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.

Third Neigh.

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

Hor.

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

First 'Pren.

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

Sec. 'Pren.

Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit ^note 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, an if ^note I die, I give thee my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer: and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence ^note already.

Sal.

Come, leave your drinking ^note, 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.

Hor.

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 ^note 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! ^note

York.
Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double.
Sound, trumpets ^note, alarum ^note to the combatants! [Alarum. ^note They fight, and Peter strikes him down.

Hor.

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 ^note in this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right ^note!

King.
Go, take hence ^note 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 have murder'd ^note wrongfully.
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [Sound a flourish. ^note Exeunt. ^note Scene IV. [Footnote: A street. ^note Enter Gloucester and his Serving-men, ^note in mourning cloaks.

Glou.
Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;
And after summer evermore succeeds
Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping ^{note note} cold:
So cares and joys abound ^note, as seasons fleet.
Sirs, what's o'clock?

Serv.
Ten ^note, my lord.

Glou.
Ten is the hour that was appointed me
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,

To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people gazing on thy face, ^note
With envious looks, laughing ^note at thy shame,
That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare
My tear-stain'd eyes to see ^note her miseries. Enter the Duchess of Gloucester in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand; with Sir John Stanley ^note, the Sheriff, and Officers.

Serv.
So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

Glou.
No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.

Duch.
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, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
And ban thine ^note enemies, both mine and thine!

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

Duch.
Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!
For whilst I think I am thy married wife
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
Methinks I should not thus be led along,
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-fet ^note groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
And when I start, the envious people laugh
And bid me be advised how I tread.
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world,

Or count them happy that enjoy ^note 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 Humphrey's wife,
And he a prince and ruler of the land:
Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was
As ^note he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
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 axe 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 Beaufort, that false priest,
Have all limed bushes to betray ^note thy wings,
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:
But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared,
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

Glou.
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 wiped away,
But I in danger for the breach of law.
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;
These few days' wonder ^note 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 ^note.

Glou.
And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!
This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald. ^note
My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff,
Let not her penance exceed ^note the king's commission.

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

Glou.
Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here ^note?

Stan.
So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

Glou.
Entreat her not the worse in that I pray
You use her well: the world may laugh again; ^note
And I may live to do you kindness if
You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!

Duch.
What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!

Glou.
Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Exeunt ^note Gloucester and Serving-men.

Duch.
Art thou gone too? ^note all comfort go with thee!
For none abides with me: my joy is death,—
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd ^note,
Because I wish'd this world's eternity.
Stanley, I prithee, 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 used according to your state.

Duch.
That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:
And shall I then be used reproachfully?

Stan.
Like to ^note a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady;
According to that state you shall be used.

Duch.
Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

Sher.
It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

Duch.
Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.
Come, Stanley, shall we go?

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

Duch.
My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:
No, it will hang upon my richest robes
And show itself, attire me how I can.
Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison. [Exeunt. ACT III. ^note Scene I. [Footnote: The Abbey ^note at Bury St Edmund's. Sound a Sennet. Enter King, Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, ^note Suffolk, York, Buckingham, Salisbury and Warwick to the Parliament.

King.
I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come:
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now:

Queen.
Can you not see? or will ye ^note not observe
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
With what a majesty he bears himself,
How insolent of late he is become,
How proud, how peremptory ^note, and unlike himself? ^note
We know the time since he was mild and affable,
And if ^note we did but glance a far-off look,
Immediately he was upon his knee,
That all the court admired him for submission:
But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
When every one will give the time of day,

He knits his brow and shows 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 Humphrey is no little man in England.
First note that he is near you in descent,
And should you fall, he as the next will mount.
Me seemeth then it is no policy,
Respecting what a rancorous 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 flattery hath he won the commons' ^note hearts,
And when he 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'ergrow the garden
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
The reverent care I bear unto my lord
Made ^note me collect these dangers in the duke.
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;
Which fear it better reasons can supplant,
I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke.
My lord ^note of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
Reprove my allegation ^note, 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.
The duchess by his subornation,
Upon my life, began ^note her devilish practices ^note:
Or, if he were not privy to those faults,

Yet, by reputing ^note 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 duchess
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep ^note;
And in his simple show he harbours treason.
The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.
No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester 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 money 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 Humphrey.

King.
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, ^note
Our kinsman Gloucester 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 downfall.

Queen.
Ah, what's more dangerous 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 inclined as is the ravenous wolf ^note.
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!

King.
Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?

Som.
That all your ^note interest in those territories
Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

King.
Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done!

York. [Aside ^note]
Cold news for me; for I had hope of France
As firmly as I hope ^note for fertile England.
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud
And caterpillars eat my leaves away;
But I will remedy this gear ere long,
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter Gloucester. ^note

Glou.
All happiness unto my lord the king!
Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.

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

Glou.
Well, Suffolk, thou ^note 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? ^note

York.
'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay;

By means whereof his highness hath lost France. ^note

Glou.
Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
Nor ever ^note 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 mine ^note own proper store,
Because I would not tax the needy commons,
Have I dispursed ^note to the garrisons,
And never ask'd for restitution.

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

Glou.
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 defamed by tyranny.

Glou.
Why, 'tis well known that, whiles ^note 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 fleeced poor passengers,
I never gave them condign punishment:
Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured
Above the felon or what trespass else.

Suf.
My lord, these faults are easy ^note, quickly answered:
But mightier ^note crimes are laid unto your charge,
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
I do arrest you in his highness' name;
And here commit you ^note to my lord cardinal
To keep, until your further time of trial.

King.
My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope

That you will clear yourself from all suspect ^note:
My conscience tells me you are innocent.

Glou.
Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous:
Virtue is choked with foul ambition
And charity chased hence by rancour's hand;
Foul subornation is predominant
And equity exiled 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 tyranny,
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.
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue
The envious load that lies upon his heart;
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whose overweening 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 ^note have stirr'd up
My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together—
Myself had notice ^note of your conventicles—
And all to make ^note away my guiltless life ^note.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons ^note to augment my guilt;
The ancient proverb will be well effected ^note:
‘A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.’

Car.
My liege, his ^note railing is intolerable:

If those that care to keep your royal person
From treason's secret knife and traitors' ^note 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 clerkly couch'd,
As if she had suborned some to swear
False allegations to o'erthrow his state?

Queen.
But I can give the loser leave to chide.

Glou.
Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed;
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd ^note 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 ^note away the duke, and guard him sure.

Glou.
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 ^note fear were false! ah, that it were!
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exit, guarded. ^{note note}

King.
My lords, what to your wisdoms ^note seemeth best,
Do or undo, as if ourself were here.

Queen.
What, will your highness leave the parliament?

King.
Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,
My body round engirt with misery,
For what's more miserable than discontent?
Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
The map of honour, truth and loyalty:
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come
That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith.
What louring star now envies thy estate,

That these great lords and Margaret our queen
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
Thou ^note 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 ^note,
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,
Even so remorseless 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 bewails ^note good Gloucester's case
With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd ^note eyes ^note
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? ^note Gloucester he is none.’ [Exeunt ^note all but Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, and York. ^note

Queen.
Free lords ^note, ^note cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams ^note.
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
Too full of foolish pity, and ^note Gloucester's show
Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers,
Or as the snake roll'd in ^note a flowering ^note 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 mine ^note own wit good—
This Gloucester 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 ^note we have but trivial argument,
More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

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

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

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

Queen.
So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

Suf.
Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness, then,
To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
Who being accused a crafty murderer,
His guilt should be but idly posted over,
Because his purpose is not executed.
No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
By nature proved an enemy to the flock,
Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
As Humphrey, ^note proved by reasons ^note, to my liege.
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,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit ^note
Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

Queen.
Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis ^note 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 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 and 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.

Queen.
And so say I.

York.
And I: and now we three have spoke ^note it,
It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. Enter a Post. ^note

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 uncurable ^note;
For, being green, there is great hope of help.

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

York.
That Somerset be sent as regent ^note thither:
'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd;
Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

Som.
If York, with all his far-fet ^note policy,
Had been the regent there instead of me,
He never would have stay'd 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 burthen of dishonour home
By staying there so long till all were lost.
Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:

Men's flesh preserved so whole do ^note seldom win.

Queen.
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 ^note have proved far worse than his.

York.
What, worse than nought ^note? 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.
The uncivil kernes 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 county ^note 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,
Whiles 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 Humphrey.

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. ^note

York.
My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol ^note 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 ^note all but York. ^note

York.
Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution:

Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art
Resign to death ^note; it is not worth the enjoying:
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought,
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
My brain more busy than the ^note labouring spider
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,
To send me packing with an host of men:
I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me:
I take it kindly; yet be well assured
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles ^note I in Ireland nourish ^note a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven 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 mad-bred ^note flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford, ^note
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 kernes,
And fought ^note so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine ^note;
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
Him caper upright like ^note a wild Morisco,

Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne,
Hath he conversed with the enemy,
And undiscover'd come to me again
And given me notice of their villanies.
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 moved him to those arms ^note.
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 Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next ^note for me. [Exit. ^note Scene II. [Footnote: Bury St Edmund's. A room of state. ^note Enter ^note certain Murderers, hastily.

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

Sec. Mur.
O that it were to do! What have we done?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent? Enter Suffolk.

First Mur.
Here ^note comes my lord.

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

First Mur.
Ay, my good lord, he's dead. ^note

Suf.
Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
I will reward you for this venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand.
Have you laid fair the bed? Is ^note all things well,
According as I gave directions?

First Mur.
'Tis ^note, my good lord.

Suf.
Away! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. ^note Sound trumpets. Enter the King, the Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, ^note Somerset, with Attendants.

King.
Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
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.

King.
Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester
Than from true evidence of good esteem
He be approved in practice culpable.

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

King.
I thank thee, Nell; ^note these words content me much. Re-enter Suffolk. ^note
How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

Suf.
Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.

Queen.
Marry, God forfend!

Car.
God's secret judgement: I did dream to-night

The duke was dumb and could not speak a word. [The King swoons. ^note

Queen.
How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead.

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

Queen.
Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!

Suf.
He doth revive again: madam, be patient.

King.
O heavenly God!

Queen.
How fares my gracious lord?

Suf.
Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort ^note!

King.
What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune ^note bereft my vital powers;
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 murderous 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 Gloucester's dead.

Queen.
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 ^note 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 judged I made the duke away;
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes' courts be fill'd with my ^note reproach.
This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy! ^note
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

King.
Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!

Queen.
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 ^note, waxen deaf?
Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb?
Why, then, dame Eleanor ^note was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his statua and worship it ^note,
And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea
And twice by awkward wind ^note from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well forewarning wind ^note
Did seem to say ‘Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set no ^note footing on this unkind shore? ^note’
What did I then, but cursed the gentle ^note gusts
And he ^note that loosed them forth ^note their brazen caves;
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,

Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? ^note
Yet Æolus would not be a murderer,
But ^note left that hateful office unto thee:
The pretty-vaulting ^note sea refused to drown me,
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore,
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness: ^note
The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands ^note
And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
Might in thy palace perish Eleanor ^note.
As far as I could ken thy ^note chalky cliffs,
When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
I stood upon the hatches in the storm,
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping ^note sight of thy ^note land's view,
I took a costly jewel from my neck—
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds—
And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it,
And so I wish'd thy body might my heart:
And even with this I lost fair England's view
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,
The agent of thy foul inconstancy,
To sit and witch ^note me, as Ascanius did
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts commenced in burning Troy!
Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not ^note false like him?
Ay ^note me, I can no more! die, Eleanor ^note!
For Henry weeps that thou dost ^note live so long. ^note

Noise within. Enter ^note Warwick, Salisbury ^note, and many Commons.

War.
It is reported, mighty sovereign,
That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
By Suffolk ^note and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees
That want their leader, scatter up and down
And care not who they sting in his ^note revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

King.
That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
But how he died God knows, not Henry:
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
And comment then upon his sudden death.

War.
That shall I ^note do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude till I return. [Exit. ^note

King.
O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
For judgement only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses and to drain ^note
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;
And to survey his dead and earthy ^note image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater? Re-enter Warwick and others, bearing Gloucester's body on a bed. ^note

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

King.
That is to see how deep my grave is made;
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
For seeing him I see my life in death ^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? ^note

War.
See how the blood is settled in his face.
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost ^note,
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless ^note,
Being all descended to the labouring heart;
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But see, his face is black and full of blood,
His eye-balls further out than when he lived,
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils ^note stretch'd with struggling;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued:
Look, on the sheets his ^note hair, you see, is sticking;
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged ^note,
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
It cannot be but he was murder'd ^note here;
The least of all these signs were probable.

Suf.
Why, Warwick, who should do the duke ^note to death?
Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;

And we, I hope, sir ^note, are no murderers.

War.
But both of you were vow'd Duke ^note Humphrey's foes ^note,
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.

Queen.
Then ^note you, belike, suspect these noblemen
As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.

War.
Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
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?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Queen.
Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your ^note knife?
Is Beaufort 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 rancorous heart
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.
Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. [Exeunt Cardinal, Somerset, and others. ^note

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

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

War.
Madam, be still; with reverence may I say ^note;
For every 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 Nevils' noble race.

War.
But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
I would, false murderous 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 ^note 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 darest go with me.

War.
Away even now, or I will drag thee hence:
Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee
And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost. [Exeunt ^note Suffolk and Warwick. ^note

King.
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A noise within.

Queen.
What noise is this? Re-enter ^note Suffolk and Warwick, with their weapons drawn.

King.
Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn ^note
Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?
Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

Suf.
The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury

Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

Sal. [to the Commons, entering ^note]
Sirs, stand apart; the king shall know your mind.
Dread Lord, the commons send you word by me,
Unless Lord ^note Suffolk straight be done ^note to death,
Or banished fair England's territories,
They will by violence tear him from your palace
And torture him with grievous lingering death.
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey 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 ^note of your dislike or pain of death,
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait ^note edict,
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
That slily glided towards your majesty,
It were but necessary you were waked,
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful ^note slumber,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you, whether ^note you will or no,
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,
With whose envenomed 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 show how quaint an orator you are:
But all the honour Salisbury hath won
Is, that he was the lord ambassador
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.

Commons [within ^note].
An answer from the king, or we will all break in!

King.
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. [Exit ^note Salisbury.

Queen.
O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

King.
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 ^note all but Queen and Suffolk. ^note

Queen.
Mischance and sorrow go along with you!
Heart's discontent and sour affliction
Be playfellows to keep you company!
There's two of you; the devil make ^note a third!
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

Suf.
Cease, gentle queen, these execrations

And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Queen.
Fie, coward woman ^note and soft-hearted wretch!
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy ^note?

Suf.
A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter-searching ^note 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-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
Mine hair be fix'd on end ^note, as one ^note distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burthen'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that ^note they taste!
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!
Their softest touch as smart ^note as lizards' stings!
Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,
And boding screech-owls make the concert ^note full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated ^note hell—

Queen.
Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself;
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an overcharged ^note gun, recoil,
And turn ^note the force of them upon thyself.

Suf.
You bade 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.

Queen.
O, 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, ^note
To wash away my woful monuments.
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
That thou mightst think upon these ^note by the seal,
Through whom ^note a thousand sighs are breathed for thee!
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
'Tis but surmised whiles ^note thou art standing by,
As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,
Adventure to be banished myself:
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go; speak not to me; even now be gone.
O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewell; and farewell 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 thence ^note;
A wilderness is populous enough,
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With every several pleasure in the world,
And where thou art not, desolation.
I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy ^note in nought ^note but that thou livest. Enter Vaux. ^note

Queen.
Whither ^note goes Vaux so fast? what news, I prithee?

Vaux.
To signify unto his majesty
That Cardinal Beaufort is at point ^note 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.
Sometime he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost
Were by his side; sometime ^note he calls the king
And whispers to his pillow as to him
The secrets of his overcharged soul:
And I am sent to tell his majesty
That even now he cries aloud for him.

Queen.
Go tell this heavy message to the king. [Exit Vaux. ^note
Ay me! what is this world! what news are these!
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's ^note poor loss,
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 ^note 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 ^note either turn my flying soul,
Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
And then it lived ^note in sweet Elysium.

To die by thee were but to die in jest;
From thee to die were torture more than death:
O, let me stay, befall what may befall!

Queen.
Away! ^note though parting be a fretful ^note corrosive ^note,
It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;
For wheresoe'er ^note thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

Suf.
I go.

Queen.
And take my heart with thee ^note.

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

Queen.
This way for me. [Exeunt severally. ^{note note} Scene III. [Footnote: A bedchamber. ^note Enter the King, Salisbury, Warwick, to the Cardinal in bed.

King.
How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign ^note.

Car.
If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain ^note.

King.
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,

Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

War.
Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

Car.
Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Died he not in his bed? where should he ^note die?
Can I make men live, whether ^note they will or no?
O, torture me no more! I will confess.
Alive again? then show 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 the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

King.
O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
O, beat away the busy meddling ^note fiend
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's ^note 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.

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

War.
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

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

ACT IV. ^note Scene I. [Footnote: The coast of Kent. ^note Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter ^note a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, Walter Whitmore, ^note and others; with them Suffolk, and others, prisoners.

Cap. ^note
The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night;
Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,
Clip ^note dead men's 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 discoloured ^note shore.
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this; ^note
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

First 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.

Cap. ^note
What, think you much to pay two thousand ^note crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
Cut both the villains' throats ^note; for die you shall: ^note
The lives of those which we have lost in fight

Be ^note counterpoised with such a petty sum! ^note

First Gent.
I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

Sec. 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 Suf. ^note
And so should these, if I might have my will.

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

Suf.
Look on my George ^note; 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 ^note thou? what, doth death affright ^note?

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 Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

Whit.
Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:
Never ^note yet did base dishonour blur our name,
But with our sword we wiped away the blot;
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, ^note
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. ^note
The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!

Suf.
Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:
Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I? ^note

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

Suf.
Obscure and lowly ^note swain, King Henry's blood ^note,

The honourable ^note blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jaded ^note groom.
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup?
Bare-headed ^note 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-fall'n,
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride;
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
And duly waited for my coming forth?
This hand of mine ^note hath writ in thy behalf
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

Whit.
Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain ^note? ^note

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 darest not, for thy ^note own.

Cap.
Yes, Pole.

Suf.
Pole! ^note

Cap.
Pool! Sir Pool! lord! ^note
Ay ^note, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
For swallowing ^note the treasure of the realm:
Thy lips that kiss'd the queen shall sweep the ground;
And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey's death

Against the senseless winds shalt ^note grin in vain,
Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again:
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
For daring to affy a mighty lord
Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
Having neither ^note subject, wealth, nor diadem.
By devilish policy art thou grown great
And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged ^note
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding ^note heart.
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France,
The false revolting Normans thorough thee
Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
As hating thee, are ^note rising up in arms:
And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
By shameful murder of a guiltless king
And lofty proud encroaching ^note tyranny,
Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
Advance our ^note half-faced 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 ^note 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 paltry, servile, abject drudges!
Small things make base men proud: this villain here,
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens ^note more
Than Bargulus ^note the strong Illyrian pirate.
Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob bee-hives:

It is impossible that I should ^note 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 ^note, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

Suf.
Gelidus ^note timor occupat artus: it is ^note thee I fear.

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

First Gent.
My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.

Suf.
Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
Used 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 heaven and to my king;
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
Than stand uncover'd to the ^note vulgar groom.
True ^note nobility is exempt from fear ^note:
More can I bear than you dare execute.

Cap.
Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

Suf.
Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye ^note can ^note,
That this my death may never be forgot!
Great men oft die by vile bezonians:
A Roman sworder and banditto ^note slave
Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard ^note hand
Stabb'd Julius Cæsar; savage islanders ^note

Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exeunt ^note Whitmore and others 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. [Exeunt all but the First Gentleman. Re-enter Whitmore with Suffolk's body. ^note

Whit. ^note
There let his head and lifeless ^note body lie,
Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. ^note

First 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 ^note with the body. ^note Scene II. [Footnote: Blackheath. ^note Enter George Bevis ^note and John Holland.

Bevis. ^note

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

Holl. ^note

They have the more need to sleep now, then.

Bevis. ^note

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

Holl. ^note

So he had need, for ^note 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never merry ^note world in England since gentlemen came up.

Bevis.

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

Holl.

The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.

Bevis.

Nay, more, the king's council are no good workmen.

Holl.

True; and yet it is said, labour in thy vocation; which is as much to say as, ^note 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.

Holl.

I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner of Wingham,—

Bevis.

He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make dog's-leather of.

Holl.

And Dick the butcher,—

Bevis.

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

Holl.

And Smith ^note the weaver,—

Bevis.

Argo, their thread of life is spun.

Holl.

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