Sink.
Under this thick grown brake we'll shrowd our selves;
For through this Laund anon the Deer will come,
And in this Covert will we make our Stand,
Culling the principal of all the Deer.

Hump.
I'll stay above the Hill, so both may shoot.

Sink.
That cannot be, the noise of thy Cross-bow
Will scare the Herd, and so my shoot is lost:
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best.
And, for the time shall not seem tedious.
I'll tell thee what befel me on a Day,
In this self-place, where now we mean to stand.

Sink.
Here comes a Man, let's stay 'till he be past. Enter King Henry with a Prayer-Book.

K. Henry.
From Scotland am I stol'n even of pure love,
To greet mine own Land with my wishful sight:
No Harry, Harry, 'tis no Land of thine,
Thy place is fill'd, thy Scepter wrung from thee,
Thy Balm washt off wherewith thou wast anointed,
No bending Knee will call thee Cæsar now,
No humble Sutors press to speak for right:
No, not a Man comes for redress to thee;
For how can I help them, and not my self?

Sink.
Ay, here's a Deer, whose Skin's a Keeper's Fee:
This is the quondam King; let's seize upon him.

K. Henry.
Let me embrace the four Adversaries,
For wise Men say, it is the wisest course.

Hump.
Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

Sink.
Forbear a while, we'll hear a little more.

K. Henry.
My Queen and Son are gone to France for aid:
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French King's Sister
To Wife for Edward. If this news be true,
Poor Queen, and Son, your labour is but lost:
For Warwick is a subtle Orator;

And Lewis a Prince soon won with moving Words:
By this account then Margaret may win him,
For she's a Woman to be pitied much:
Her sighs will make a batt'ry in his Breast,
Her Tears will pierce into a Marble Heart:
The Tyger will be mild, whiles she doth mourn;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear and see her plaints, her brinish Tears,
Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give:
She on his left side craving Aid for Henry;
He on his right, asking a Wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says, her Henry is depos'd;
He smiles, and says, his Edward is install'd;
That she poor wretch for grief can speak no more:
Whiles Warwick tells his Title, smooths the wrong,
Inferreth Arguments of mighty strength,
And in conclusion wins the King from her,
With promise of his Sister, and what else,
To strengthen and support King Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be, and thou (poor Soul)
Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn.

Hum.
Say, what art thou that talk'st of Kings, and Queens?

K. Henry.
More than I seem, and less than I was born to;
A Man at least, for less I should not be;
And Men may talk of Kings, and why not I?

Hum.
Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a King.

K. Henry.
Why so I am, in Mind, and that's enough.

Hum.
But if thou be a King, where is thy Crown?

K. Henry.
My Crown is in my Heart, not on my Head:
Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian Stones;
Not to be seen: My Crown is call'd Content,
A Crown it is that seldom Kings enjoy.

Hum.
Well, if you be a King crown'd with Content,
Your Crown Content, and you must be contented
To go along with us. For, as we think,
You are the King, King Edward hath depos'd:
And we his Subjects, sworn in all Allegiance,
Will apprehend you as his Enemy.

K. Henry.
But did you never swear, and break an Oath.

Hum.
No, never such an Oath, nor will not now.

K. Henry.
Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Hum.
Here in this Country, where we now remain.

K. Henry.
I was anointed King at nine Months old,
My Father, and my Grandfather were Kings;
And you were sworn true Subjects unto me:
And tell me then, have you not broke your Oaths?

Sink.
No, for we were Subjects but while you were a King.

K. Henry.
Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a Man?
Ah simple Men, you know not what you swear:
Look, as I blow this Feather from my Face,
And as the Air blows it to me again,
Obeying with my Wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows,
Commanded always by the greater gust;
Such is the lightness of you common Men.
But do not break your Oath, for of that Sin
My mild intreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the King shall be commanded,
And be you Kings, command, and I'll obey.

Sink.
We are true Subjects to the King,
King Edward.

K. Henry.
So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as King Edward is.

Sink.
We charge you in God's Name and in the King's,
To go with us unto the Officers.

K. Henry.
In God's Name lead, your King's Name be obey'd,
And what God will, that let your King perform,
And, what he will, I humbly yield unto. [Exeunt. Enter King Edward, Gloucester, Clarence, and Lady Gray.

K. Edw.
Brother of Glo'ster, at St. Alban's Field
This Lady's Husband, Sir Richard Gray, was slain,
His Land then seiz'd on by the Conqueror:
Her suit is now, to repossess those Lands,
Which we in Justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the House of York,
The worthy Gentleman did lose his Life.

Glo.
Your Highness shall do well to grant her Suit:
It were dishonour to deny it her.

K. Edw.
It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.

Glo.
Yea! is it so?
I see the Lady hath a thing to grant,
Before the King will grant her humble Suit.

Clar.
He knows the Game, how true he keeps the Wind?

Glo.
Silence.

K. Edw.
Widow, we will consider of your suit,
And come, some other time, to know our Mind.

Gray.
Right gracious Lord, I cannot brook delay,
May it please your Highness to resolve me now.
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfie me.

Glo.
Ay, Widow! then I'll warrant you all your Lands,
And if what pleases him, shall please you:
Fight closer, or good faith you'll catch a blow.

Clar.
I fear her not, unless she chance to fall.

Glo.
God forbid that, for he'll take vantages.

K. Edw.
How many Children hast thou, Widow? tell me.

Clar.
I think he means to beg a Child of her.

Glo.
Nay then whip me; he'll rather give her two.

Gray.
Three, my most gracious Lord.

Glo.
You shall have four, if you'll be rul'd by him.

K. Edw.
'Twere pity they should lose their Father's Lands.

Gray.
Be pitiful, dread Lord, and grant it then.

K. Edw.
Lords, give us leave, I'll try this Widow's wit.

Glo.
Ay, good leave have you, for you will have leave,
'Till Youth take leave, and leave you to the Crutch.

K. Edw.
Now tell me, Madam, do you love your Children.

Gray.
Ay, full as dearly as I love my self.

K. Edw.
And would you not do much to do them good.

Gray.
To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

K. Edw.
Then get your Husband's Lands, to do them good.

Gray.
Therefore I came unto your Majesty.

K. Edw.
I'll tell you how these Lands are to be got.

Gray.
So shall you bind me to your Highness Service.

K. Edw.
What Service wilt thou do me, if I give them?

Gray.
What you command that rests in me to do.

K. Edw.
But you will take exceptions to my Boon.

Gray.
No, gracious Lord, except I cannot do it.

K. Edw.
Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

Gray.
Why then I will do what your Grace commands.

Glo.
He plies her hard, and much Rain wears the Marble.

Clar.
As red as fire! nay, then her Wax will melt.

Gray.
Why stops my Lord? shall I not hear my Task?

K. Edw.
An easie Task, 'tis but to love a King.

Gray.
That's soon perform'd, because I am a Subject.

K. Edw.
Why then, thy Husband's Lands I freely give thee.

Gray.
I take my leave with many thousand Thanks.

Glo.
The match is made, she seals it with a Curtsie.

K. Edw.
But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of Love I mean.

Gray.
The fruits of Love, I mean, my loving Liege.

K. Edw.
Ay, but I fear me in another sense.
What Love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get?

Gray.
My Love 'till Death, my humble Thanks, my Prayers.
That Love which Virtue begs, and Virtue grants.

K. Edw.
No, by my troth, I did not mean such Love.

Gray.
Why then you mean not as I thought you did.

K. Edw.
But now you partly may perceive my Mind.

Gray.
My Mind will never grant what I perceive
Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright.

K. Edw.
To tell thee plain, I aim to lye with thee.

Gray.
To tell you plain, I had rather lye in Prison.

K. Edw.
Why then thou shalt not have thy Husband's
Lands.

Gray.
Why then mine Honesty shall be my Dower,
For by that Loss I will not purchase them.

K. Edw.
Therein thou wrong'st thy Children mightily.

Gray.
Herein your Highness wrongs both them and me:
But, mighty Lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my Suit;
Please you dismiss me, either with Ay, or No.

K. Edw.
Ay; if thou wilt say Ay to my request;
No; if thou dost say No to my demand.

Gray.
Then No, my Lord; my Suit is at an end.

Glo.
The Widow likes him not, she knits her Brows.

Clar.
He is the bluntest Wooer in Christendom.

K. Edw.
Her Looks do argue her repleat with Modesty,
Her Words do shew her Wit incomparable,
All her Perfections challenge Sovereignty,
One way or other she is for a King,
And she shall be my Love, or else my Queen.
Say, that King Edward take thee for his Queen?

Gray.
'Tis better said than done, my gracious Lord;
I am a Subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a Sovereign,

K. Edw.
Sweet Widow, by my State I swear to thee,

I speak no more than what my Soul intends,
And that is, to enjoy thee for my Love.

Gray.
And that is more than I will yield unto:
I know I am too mean to be your Queen,
And yet too good to be your Concubine.

K. Edw.
You cavil, Widow, I did mean my Queen.

Gray.
'Twill grieve your Grace, my Sons shall call you Father.

K. Edw.
No more than when my Daughters
Call thee Mother.
Thou art a Widow, and thou hast some Children,
And by God's Mother, I being but a Batchelor,
Have other some. Why, 'tis a happy thing,
To be the Father unto many Sons:
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen.

Glo.
The Ghostly Father now hath done his Shrift.

Clar.
When he was made a Shriver, it was for a shift.

K. Edw.
Brother, you muse what Chat we two have had.

Glo.
The Widow likes it not, for she looks sad.

K. Edw.
You'ld think it strange, if I should marry her.

Clar.
To whom, my Lord?

K. Edw.
Why Clarence, to my self.

Glo.
That would be ten days wonder at the least.

Clar.
That's a day longer than a Wonder lasts.

Glo.
By so much is the Wonder in extreams.

K. Edw.
Well, jest on, Brothers, I can tell you both,
Her suit is granted for her Husband's Lands. Enter a Nobleman.

Nob.
My gracious Lord, Henry your Foe is taken,
And brought your Prisoner to your Palace Gate.

K. Edw.
See that he be convey'd unto the Tower:
And go we, Brothers, to the Man that took him,
To question of his Apprehension.
Widow, go you along: Lords, use her honourably. [Exeunt. Manet Gloucester.

Glo.
Ay, Edward will use Women honourably.
Would he were wasted, Marrow, Bones, and all,
That from his Loins no hopeful Branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for:
And yet, between my Soul's desire and me,
That lustful Edward's Title buried,

Is Clarence, Henry, and his Son young Edward,
And all the unlook'd for Issue of their Bodies,
To take their Rooms e'er I can place my self:
A cold premeditation for my purpose.
Why then I do but dream on Sovereignty,
Like one that stands upon a Promontory,
And spys a far-off shore, where he would tread,
Wishing his Foot were equal with his Eye,
And chides the Sea that sunders him from thence,
Saying, he'll lave it dry to have his way:
So do I wish the Crown, being so far off,
And so I chide the means that keeps me from it,
And so (I say) I'll cut the Causes off,
Flattering me with Impossibilities:
My Eye's too quick, my Heart o'er-weens too much,
Unless my Hand and Strength could equal them.
Well, say there is no Kingdom then for Richard;
What other pleasure can the World afford?
I'll make my Heaven in a Lady's lap,
And deck my Body in gay Ornaments,
And 'witch sweet Ladies with my Words and Looks.
Oh miserable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty Golden Crowns.
Why, Love forswore me in my Mother's Womb:
And, for I should not deal in her soft Laws,
She did corrupt frail Nature with some Bribe,
To shrink mine Arm like to a wither'd shrub,
To make an envious Mountain on my Back,
Where sits Deformity to mock my Body;
To shape my Legs of an unequal size,
To disproportion me in every part:
Like to a Chaos, or unlick'd Bear whelp
That carries no impression like the Dam.
And am I then a Man to be belov'd?
Oh monstrous Fault, to harbour such a Thought.
Then since this Earth affords no Joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'er-bear such
As are of better Person than my self;
I'll make my Heaven to dream upon the Crown,
And whiles I live t'account this World but Hell,
Until this miss-shap'd Trunk that bears this Head,

Be round impaled with a glorious Crown.
And yet I know not how to get the Crown,
For many Lives stand between me and home:
And I, like one lost in a thorny Wood,
That rents the Thorns, and is rent with the Thorns,
Seeking a way, and straying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open Air,
But toiling desperately to find it out,
Torment my self to catch the English Crown;
And from that torment I will free my self,
Or hew my way out with a bloody Ax.
Why I can smile, and murther whiles I smile,
And cry, Content, to that which grieves my Heart,
And wet my Cheeks with artificial Tears,
And frame my Face to all Occasions.
I'll drown more Sailors than the Mermaid shall,
I'll slay more Gazers than the Basilisk,
I'll play the Orator as well as Nestor,
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,
And like a Sinon, take another Troy.
I can add Colours to the Camelion,
Change shapes with Proteus for Advantages,
And set the murtherous Matchevil to School.
Can I do this, and cannot get a Crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. [Exit.

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