K. Henry.
'Tis not enough, lord Cobham, to submit;
You must forsake your gross opinion.

The bishops find themselves much injured;
And though, for some good service you have done,
We for our part are pleas'd to pardon you,
Yet they will not so soon be satisfy'd.

Cob.
My gracious lord, unto your majesty,
Next unto my God, I do owe my life;
And what is mine, either by nature's gift,
Or fortune's bounty, all is at your service.
But for obedience to the pope of Rome,
I owe him none; nor shall his shaveling priests9Q1354
That are in England, alter my belief.
If out of Holy Scripture they can prove
That I am in an error, I will yield,
And gladly take instruction at their hands:
But otherwise, I do beseech your grace
My conscience may not be incroach'd upon.

King Hen.
We would be loth to press our subjects' bodies,
Much less their souls, the dear redeemed part
Of him that is the ruler of us all:
Yet let me counsel you, that might command.
Do not presume to tempt them with ill words,
Nor suffer any meetings to be had
Within your house; but to the uttermost
Disperse the flocks of this new gathering sect.

Cob.
My liege, if any breathe, that dares come forth,
And say, my life in any of these points
Deserves the attainder of ignoble thoughts,
Here stand I, craving no remorse^{1 note} at all,
But even the utmost rigour may be shown.

K. Henry.
Let it suffice we know your loyalty.
What have you there?

Cob.
A deed of clemency;
Your highness pardon for lord Powis' life,

Which I did beg, and you, my noble lord,
Of gracious favour did vouchsafe to grant.

K. Henry.
But yet it is not signed with our hand.

Cob.
Not yet, my liege.

K. Henry.
The fact you say was done
Not of pretensed malice^{2 note}

Cob.
Upon mine honour so, no otherwise.

K. Henry.
There is his pardon; bid him make amends, [Signs the pardon.
And cleanse his soul to God for his offence:
What we remit, is but the body's scourge^{3 note}.
How now, lord bishop? Enter bishop of Rochester.

Roch.
Justice, dread sovereign:
As thou art king, so grant I may have justice.

K. Henry.
What means this exclamation? let us know.

Roch.
Ah, my good lord, the state is much abus'd,
And our decrees most shamefully prophan'd.

K. Henry.
How? or by whom?

Roch.
Even by this heretick,
This Jew, this traitor to your majesty.

Cob.
Prelate, thou ly'st, even in thy greasy maw* ^note,
Or whosoever twits me with the name
Of either traitor, or of heretick.

K. Henry.
Forbear, I say: and bishop, shew the cause
From whence this late abuse hath been deriv'd.

Roch.
Thus, mighty king. By general consent

A messenger was sent to cite this lord
To make appearance in the consistory;
And coming to his house, a ruffian slave,
One of his daily followers, met the man;
Who, knowing him to be a paritor^{4 note}

,
Assaults him first, and after, in contempt
Of us and our proceedings, makes him eat
The written process, parchment, seal and all;
Whereby his master neither was brought forth^{5 note},
Nor we but scorn'd for our authority.

K. Henry.
When was this done?

Roch.
At six a clock this morning.

K. Henry.
And when came you to court?

Cob.
Last night, my liege.

K. Henry.
By this, it seems he is not guilty of it,
And you have done him wrong to accuse him so.

Roch.
But it was done, my lord, by his appointment;
Or else his man durst not have been so bold.

K. Henry.
Or else you durst not be bold to interrupt
And fill our ears with frivolous complaints.
Is this the duty you do bear to us?
Was't not sufficient we did pass our word
To send for him, but you, misdoubting it,
Or which is worse, intending to forestal
Our regal power, must likewise summon him?
This savours of ambition, not of zeal;
And rather proves you malice his estate,
Than any way that he offends the law.
Go to, we like it not; and he your officer
Had his desert for being insolent,

That was employ'd so much amiss herein.
So, Cobham, when you please, you may depart.

Cob.
I humbly bid farewel unto my liege. [Exit Cobham. Enter Huntington.

K. Henry.
Farewel. What is the news by Huntington?

Hun.
Sir Roger Acton, and a crew, my lord,
Of bold seditious rebels, are in arms,
Intending reformation of religion^{6 note};
And with their army they intend to pitch
In Ficket-field, unless they be repuls'd.

K. Henry.
So near our presence? Dare they be so bold?
And will proud war and eager thirst of blood,
Whom we had thought to entertain far off,
Press forth upon us in our native bounds?
Must we be forc'd to handsel our sharp blades
In England here, which we prepar'd for France?
Well, a god's name be it. What's their number, say,
Or who's the chief commander of this rout^{7 note}?

Hun.
Their number is not known as yet, my lord;
But 'tis reported, sir John Oldcastle
Is the chief man, on whom they do depend.

K. Henry.
How! the lord Cobham?

Hun.
Yes, my gracious lord.

Roch.
I could have told your majesty as much
Before he went, but that I saw your grace
Was too much blinded by his flattery.

Suf.
Send post, my lord, to fetch him back again.

But.
Traitor unto his country, how he smooth'd^{8 note}


,

And seem'd as innocent as truth itself!

K. Henry.
I cannot think it yet he would be false;
But if he be, no matter;—let him go:
We'll meet both him and them unto their woe. [Exeunt king Henry, Suffolk, Huntington, and Butler.

Roch.
This falls out well; and at the last I hope
To see this heretick die in a rope. [Exit.

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