Que.
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.

Kin.
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 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.

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

Car.
I thought as much, he'd be above the clouds.

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

Kin.
The treasury of everlasting joy!

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

Glo.
What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown so peremptory?
Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ? churchmen so hot?
Good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness,
Can you not do it?

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

Glo.
As who, my lord?

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

Glo.
Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

Que.
And thy ambition, Gloster.

Kin.
I pr'ythee, peace, good queen; ^note
And whet not on these too too ^note furious peers,

For blessed are the peace-makers on earth.

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

Glo.
'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to that.

Car.
Marry, when thou dar'st.

Glo.
Make up no factious numbers for the matter,
In thine own person answer thy abuse.

Car.
Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: &clquo;an if thou dar'st,&crquo;
&clquo;This evening, on the east side of the grove.&crquo;

Kin.
How now, my lords?

Car.
Believe me, cousin Gloster,
Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
We had had more sport. &clquo;Come with thy two-hand sword.&crquo;

Glo.
True, uncle, Are ye avis'd?14Q0801 &clquo;The east side of the grove?&crquo;
&clquo;Cardinal, I am with you.&crquo;

Kin.
Why, how now, uncle Gloster?

Glo.
Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.—
&clquo;Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this ^note,&crquo;
&clquo;Or all my fence shall fail.&crquo;

&clquo;Car.
&clquo;Medice ^note teipsum;&crquo;
&clquo;Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.&crquo;

Kin.
The winds grow high; so do your stomacks, lords.
How irksome is this musick to my heart!
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. Enter One of the Town, crying out, A miracle!

Glo.
What means this noise?—Fellow, what miracle
Dost thou proclaim?

Tow.
A miracle, a miracle!

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

Tow.
Forsooth, a blind man at saint Alban's shrine,

Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight;
A man, that ne'er saw in his life before.

Kin.
Now God be prais'd! that to believing souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair. Enter a great Multitude, bearing Simpcox between two in a Chair, his Wife with him; the Mayor of Saint Alban's, and his Brethren, following in Procession.

Car.
Here are the ^note14Q0802 townsmen on procession,
Come to present your highness with the man.

Kin.
Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
Though ^note by his sight his sin be multiply'd.

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

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

Sim.
Born blind, an't please your grace.

Wif.
Ay, indeed, was he.

Suf.
What woman is this?

Wif.
His wife, an't like your worship.

Glo.
Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'st have better told.

Kin.
Where wert thou born?

Sim.
At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.

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

Que.
Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance,
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

Sim.
God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
A hundred times, and oftner, in my sleep
By good saint Alban: who said,—Saunder, ^note come;

Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.

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

Car.
What, art thou lame?

Sim.
Ay, God almighty help me!

Suf.
How cam'st thou so?

Sim.
A fall off of a tree.

Wif.
A plum-tree, master.

Glo.
How long hast thou been blind?

Sim.
O, born so, master.

Glo.
What, and would'st climb a tree?

Sim.
But that in all my life, when I was a youth.

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

Glo.
Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that would'st venture so.

Sim.
Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons,
And made me climb, with danger of my life.

Glo.
A subtle knave; but yet it shall not serve.—
Let me see thine eyes: wink now; now open them:
In my opinion, yet thou see'st not well.

Sim.
Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and saint Alban ^note.

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

Sim.
Red, master; red as blood.

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

Sim.
Black, forsooth;
Coal-black as jet.

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

Suf.
And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

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

Wif.
Never, before this day, in all his life.

Glo.
Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

Sim.
Alas, master, I know not.

Glo.
What's his † name?

Sim.
I know not.

Glo.
Nor † his?

Sim.
No, indeed, master.

Glo.
What's thine own name?

Sim.
Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

Glo.
Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lying'st knave
In christendom. If thou hadst been born blind,
Thou might'st as well know all ^note our names, as thus
To name the several colours we do wear.
Sight may distinguish colours; but suddenly
To nominate them all, it is impossible.—
My lords, saint Alban here hath done a miracle;
Would ^note ye not think his cunning ^note to be great,
That could restore this cripple to his legs again?

Sim.
O, master, that you could!

Glo.
My masters of Saint Alban's,
Have you not beadles in your town, and things
Call'd whips?

May.
Yes, my good lord, if't please your grace.

Glo.
Then send for one presently.

May.
Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. [Exit an Attendant.

Glo.
Now ^note fetch me a stool hither by and by.—
Now, sirrah, [Stool set out.
If you do mean to save yourself from whipping,
Leap me over this stool, and run away.

Sim.
Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone:
You go about to torture me in vain. Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle.

Glo.
Well, sir, we must have you find your legs.—

Sirrah beadle, whip him 'till he leap over that same stool.

Bea.

I will, my lord.—Come on, sirrah; off with your doublet quickly.

Sim.

Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.

Kin.
O God, seest thou this, and bear'st so long?

Que.
It made me laugh, to see the villain run.

Glo.
Follow the knave; and take this drab away.

Wif.
Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.

Glo.
Let them be whipt through every market town,
'Till they do come to Berwick, whence ^note they came. [Exeunt Wife, Beadle, Mayor, &c.

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

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

Glo.
But you have done more miracles than I;
You, in a day, my lord, made whole towns fly.14Q0803 Enter Buckingham.

Kin.
What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

Buc.
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 ring-leader and head of all this rout,—
Have practic'd dang'rously 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.
And so, my lord protector, by this means
Your lady is forth-coming yet at London.
&clquo;This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;&crquo;
&clquo;'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.&crquo;

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

Kin.
O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones;
Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!

Que.
Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest;
And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

Glo.
Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,
How I have lov'd my king, and common-weal:
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 convers'd 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 Gloster's honest name.

Kin.
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.

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