Scroop.
Seize—Seize the traitors there—arrest them all.

King.
Who are they, lords? put up, here is but one.

Cam.
All's lost. (Aside.

Grey.
All's ruin'd. (Aside.

Scroop.
May heav'n preserve your majesty; we fear'd
Some dang'rous treason at the cry of guards;
And therefore rush'd thus arm'd into your presence.

King.
My lords, I thank ye; and in right good time
Ye come, to vindicate your noble characters
Against th' aspersion of this villain traitor;
Who, with a bloody and malicious purpose,
Came here to seek our life: but, failing there,
In that I wrested from him this same poniard,
He dares, with matchless and assured countenance,
Charge you, my lords, and you, Sir Thomas Grey;
My best, my nearest, dearest, worthiest friends,
With being vile abettors of his treason.
My lords, you speak not.—Yet I do not wonder;
Ye are struck dumb with horrour and amazement:
For what consummate villainy is that
Which can suggest men so resemble devils,
That they can wear an angel's outward form,
And yet be black at heart as hell itself?
What shall be done, my lords, with this vile monster?

Scroop.
Thou hoary villain! thou ungrateful traitor!
Was it for this I sought unto his highness
To have some pity on thy bending age,
And take thee back again to grace and favour?
Is this the fair return thou mak'st my kindness?
By heav'n, wer't not in presence of the king,
I would this instant pluck thee by the beard,
And stab thee to the heart.—My sov'reign liege,
So dear I hold your highness' sacred person,

That, for this execrably vile attempt,
I think this horrid wretch should strait be sentenc'd,
And executed without farther question.

King.
And yet, my lord, the busy prating world,
For ever envious of the good man's fame,
Might whisper still what his vile breath hath utter'd.
No, my good friends, ye shall be fully clear'd.
This wretch shall shew at length, before the world,
That what he has avow'd is false: for true
It cannot be. What traitor canst thou offer,
To prove your charge against these noble lords?

Fal.
My liege, by good luck have I here two letters,
Sent by these lords to me, upon this business:
The writing theirs, their signets too preserv'd. (Gives the letters to the King.)

Scroop.
What forgery too! hath heav'n no thunder left
To strike this precious villain?

Fal.

By heav'ns, a noble actor! 'tis a pity he was not bred to th' stage.

Scroop.

Cambridge! why man your quiv'ring lip betrays you.

Cam.

It is in vain: let us at once confess.

Scroop.

Confess! damnation! hush—hush for your life.

King.

Look here, my lords, are these your signatures?

Scroop.

Flat forgery! and yet, good heav'ns, how like!

King.
What art there is in diabolick natures!
But if such things as these obtain i' th' world,
Not angel innocence on earth is safe.

Fal.

My liege, it is no forgery; I can dare them to the proof.

Scroop.
Dare us, thou traitor! thou must find the proof.
But tell us here, before our sovreign's face,
If thou hast sold thy self to hell for this,
What devil furnish'd thee with seal and characters
So much resembling mine?

Fal.

If they're not yours, it was, indeed, the devil in likeness of yourself.

King.
This is too much: what in our presence thus
To vent this insolence! Take him away.

Fal.
Good, my liege.

King.
Guards take him hence. (Falstaff exit guarded.)—And now, my worthy lords,
Altho' I clearly see this traitor's purpose,
I hold it meet, that on this accusation,
You and our friend Sir Thomas Gray submit
To have your innocence clear'd up in form.
This traitor doubtless hath accomplices;
We'll publish instantly reward and pardon
For their discovery.

Scroop.
I hope your majesty
Hath not a doubt, as touching our allegiance.

King.
My lord, I know your worth to well, to doubt it:
And also yours, lord Cambridge, and Sir Gray:
Yet, to appear impartial to the world,
And stop the mouth of ev'ry future censure;
Ye must be well contented, for a while,
To bear ye as arrested for high treason.
We will a while delay our embarkation,
To bring this matter to immediate issue:
So when th' accuser's falsehood be made known,
Ye shall come forth again, like gold refin'd,
By so much brighter as severe your trial.
By heav'n, I'd sooner lose my own right hand
Than any true and loyal heart that's here
Should suffer by the practices of treason.
Uncle, a guard.—Ye now, good sirs, are prisoners. (The conspirators deliver up their Swords.)

Scroop.
Confiding in your highness' sacred word,
We thus obey your pleasure; nothing doubting
But from your majesty we shall have justice. (Scroop, Cambridge and Grey are led off.)

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