Glo.
All happiness unto my lord the King:
Pardon, my Liege, that I have staid so long.

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

Glo.
Well Suffolk, yet thou 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 Soveraign.
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

York.
'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
And being Protector, staid the soldiers pay,
By means whereof his Highness hath lost France,

Glo.
Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
Nor ever 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 tryal day.
No; many a pound of my own proper store,
Because I would not tax the needy commons,
Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
And never ask'd for restitution.

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

Glo.
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 defam'd by tyranny.

Glo.
Why 'tis well known, that whiles 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 murtherer,
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,
I never gave them condign punishment.
Murther indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
Above the felon, or what trespass else.

Suf.
My lord, these faults are easie, quickly answer'd:
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
Whereof you cannot easily purge your self.
I do arrest you in his Highness' name,
And here commit you to my lord Cardinal
To keep, until your further time of tryal.

K. Henry.
My lord of Glo'ster, 'tis my special hope
That you will clear your self from all suspicion;
My conscience tells me you are innocent.

Glo.
Ah gracious lord, these days are dangerous:
Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition,
And charity chac'd hence by rancor's hand;
Foul subornation is predominant,
And equity exil'd 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.
Beauford'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 lyes upon his heart:
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whose over-weening 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 endeavours have stirr'd up
My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together,

(My self had notice of your conventicles)
And all to make away my guiltless life.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt:
The ancient proverb will be well effected,
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.

Car.
My Liege, his railing is intollerable.
If those that care to keep your royal person
From treason's secret knife and traitor's 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 clarkly coucht?
As if she had suborned some to swear
False allegations, to o'erthrow his state.

Q. Mar.
But I can give the loser leave to chide.

Glo.
Far truer spoke than meant; I lose indeed,
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd 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 away the Duke, and guard him sure.

Glo.
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 fear were false, ah that it were:
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exit.

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