1 Pet.

Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be the first, sure.

2 Pet.

Come back, fool! this is the duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector.

Suf.

How now, fellow! would'st any thing with me?

1 Pet.

I pray my lord, pardon me: I took ye for my lord protector.

Q. Mar.

“To my lord protector!” are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine?

1 Pet.

Mine is, an't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.

Suf.

Thy wife too! that is some wrong indeed.— What's your's?—What's here? [Reads.] “Against the duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.” —How now, sir knave?

2 Pet.

Alas! sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.

Peter. [Presenting his Petition.]

Against my master, Thomas Horner, for saying, that the duke of York was rightful heir to the crown?

Q. Mar.

What say'st thou? Did the duke of York say, he was rightful heir to the crown.

Pet.

That my master was^{1 note}

Suf.

Who is there? [Enter Servants.]—Take this fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant presently.—We'll hear more of your matter before the king.

Q. Mar.
And as for you, that love to be protected
Under the wings of our protector's grace,
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him. [Tears the Petition.
Away, base cullions!—Suffolk, let them go.

All.
Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners.

Q. Mar.
My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
Is this the fashion in the court of England?
Is this the government of Britain's isle,
And this the royalty of Albion's king?
What! shall king Henry be a pupil still,
Under the surly Gloster's governance?
Am I a queen in title and in style,
And must be made a subject to a duke?
I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours
Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love,
And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France,
I thought king Henry had resembled thee,
In courage, courtship, and proportion;
But all his mind is bent to holiness,
To number Ave-Maries on his beads:
His champions are the prophets and apostles;
His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ;
His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints.
I would, the college of the cardinals^{2 note}
Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,
And set the triple crown upon his head:
That were a state fit for his holiness.

Suf.
Madam, be patient: as I was cause
Your highness came to England, so will I
In England work your grace's full content.

Q. Mar.
Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort,
The imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,
And grumbling York: and not the least of these,
But can do more in England than the king.

Suf.
And he of these that can do most of all,
Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:

Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers.

Q. Mar.
Not all these lords do vex me half so much,
As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife:
She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife.
Strangers in court do take her for the queen:
She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
And in her heart she scorns our poverty.
Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her?
Contemptuous base-born callat^{3 note} as she is,
She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day,
The very train of her worst wearing gown
Was better worth than all my father's lands,
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.

Suf.
Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her;
And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds,
That she will light to listen to the lays,
And never mount to trouble you again.
So, let her rest; and, madam, list to me,
For I am bold to counsel you in this.
Although we fancy not the cardinal,
Yet must we join with him, and with the lords,
Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace.
As for the duke of York, this late complaint
Will make but little for his benefit:
So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 11Q0720 Enter King Henry, York, and Somerset; Duke and Duchess of Gloster, Cardinal Beaufort, Buckingham, Salisbury, and Warwick.

K. Hen.
For my part, noble lords, I care not which;
Or Somerset, or York, all's one to me.

York.
If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
Then let him be denay'd the regentship^{4 note}.

Som.
If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
Let York be regent; I will yield to him.

War.
Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no,
Dispute not that York is the worthier.

Car.
Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

War.
The cardinal's not my better in the field.

Buck.
All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.

War.
Warwick may live to be the best of all.

Sal.
Peace, son!—and show some reason, Buckingham,
Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this.

Q. Mar.
Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.

Glo.
Madam, the king is old enough himself
To give his censure^{5 note}. These are no women's matters.

Q. Mar.
If he be old enough, what needs your grace
To be protector of his excellence?

Glo.
Madam, I am protector of the realm,
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.

Suf.
Resign it, then, and leave thine insolence.
Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou?)
The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck:
The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas,
And all the peers and nobles of the realm
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

Car.
The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags
Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

Som.
Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's attire,
Have cost a mass of public treasury.

Buck.
Thy cruelty, in execution
Upon offenders, hath exceeded law,

And left thee to the mercy of the law.

Q. Mar.
Thy sale of offices, and towns in France,
If they were known, as the suspect is great,
Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. [Exit Gloster. The Queen drops her Fan.
Give me my fan: what, minion! can you not? [Giving the Duchess a box on the ear.
I cry you mercy, madam: was it you?

Duch.
Was't I? yea, I it was, proud French-woman:
Could I come near your beauty with my nails,
I'd set my ten commandments in your face.

K. Hen.
Sweet aunt, be quiet: 'twas against her will.

Duch.
Against her will! Good king, look to't in time;
She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:
Though in this place most master wear no breeches,
She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd^{6 note}














. [Exit Duchess.

Buck.
Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:
She's tickled now; her fume can need no spurs^{7 note},

She'll gallop far enough to her destruction 11Q0721^{8 note}. [Exit Buckingham. Re-enter Gloster.

Glo.
Now, lords, my choler being over-blown
With walking once about the quadrangle,
I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.
As for your spiteful false objections,
Prove them, and I lie open to the law;
But God in mercy so deal with my soul,
As I in duty love my king and country.
But, to the matter that we have in hand.—
I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
To be your regent in the realm of France.

Suf.
Before we make election, give me leave
To show some reason, of no little force,
That York is most unmeet of any man.

York.
I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet.
First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride:
Next, if I be appointed for the place,
My lord of Somerset will keep me here,
Without discharge, money, or furniture,
Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands.
Last time I danc'd attendance on his will,
Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost.

War.
That can I witness; and a fouler fact
Did never traitor in the land commit.

Suf.
Peace, headstrong Warwick!

War.
Image of pride, why should I hold my peace? Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner and Peter.

Suf.
Because here is a man accus'd of treason:
Pray God, the duke of York excuse himself!

York.
Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?

K. Hen.
What mean'st thou, Suffolk? tell me, what are these?

Suf.
Please it your majesty, this is the man
That doth accuse his master of high treason.
His words were these:—that Richard, duke of York,
Was rightful heir unto the English crown,
And that your majesty was an usurper.

K. Hen.
Say, man, were these thy words?

Hor.

An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor thought any such matter. God is my witness, I am falsely accused by the villain.

Pet.

By these ten bones, my lords, [Holding up his hands.] he did speak them to me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my lord of York's armour.

York.
Base dunghill villain, and mechanical,
I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.—
I do beseech your royal majesty,
Let him have all the rigour of the law.

Hor.

Alas! my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words. My accuser is my prentice; and when I did correct him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his knees he would be even with me. I have good witness of this: therefore, I beseech your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a villain's accusation.

K. Hen.
Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

Glo.
This doom, my lord, if I may judge.
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French,
Because in York this breeds suspicion;
And let these have a day appointed them
For single combat in convenient place,
For he hath witness of his servant's malice.
This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom.

Som.
I humbly thank your royal majesty^{9 note}.

Hor.
And I accept the combat willingly.

Pet.

Alas! my lord, I cannot fight: for God's sake, pity my case! the spite of man prevaileth against me. O, Lord have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!

Glo.
Sirrah, or you must fight or else be hang'd.

K. Hen.
Away with them to prison; and the day
Of combat shall be the last of the next month.—
Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The Same. The Duke of Gloster's Garden. Enter Margery Jourdain^{1 note}, Hume, Southwell, and Bolingbroke.

Hume.

Come, my masters: the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises.

Boling.

Master Hume, we are therefore provided. Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?

Hume.

Ay; what else? fear you not her courage.

Boling.

I have heard her reported to be a woman of an invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient, master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go in God's name, and leave us. [Exit Hume.] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, and grovel on the earth:—John Southwell, read you, and let us to our work.

Duch.

Well said, my masters, and welcome all. To this geer; the sooner the better.

11Q0722

Boling.
Patience, good lady; wizards know their times.
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,
The time of night when Troy was set on fire;
The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl,
And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves,
That time best fits the work we have in hand.
Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise,
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. [Here they perform the Ceremonies belonging, and make the Circle; Bolingbroke, or Southwell, reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth.

Spir.
Adsum.

M. Jourd.
Asmath!
By the eternal God, whose name and power
Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;
For till thou speak thou shalt not pass from hence.

Spir.
Ask what thou wilt.—That I had said and done!

Boling.
First, of the king: what shall of him become^{2 note}?

Spir.
The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death. [As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the answer.

Boling.
What fates await the duke of Suffolk?

Spir.
By water shall he die, and take his end.

Boling.
What shall befall the duke of Somerset?

Spir.
Let him shun castles:
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains

Than where castles mounted stand.
Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

Boling.
Descend to darkness, and the burning lake:
False fiend, avoid! [Thunder, and Lightning. Spirit descends. Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, with their Guards.

York.
Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash.
Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch.—
What! madam, are you there? the king and commonweal
Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains:
My lord protector will, I doubt it not,
See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

Duch.
Not half so bad as thine to England's king,
Injurious duke, that threat'st where is no cause.

Buck.
True, madam, none at all. What call you this. [Showing her the Papers.
Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close,
And kept asunder.—You, madam, shall with us:
Stafford, take her to thee.— [Exit Duchess from above.
We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming;
All.—Away! [Exeunt Guards, with South., Boling., &c.

York.
Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well:
A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!
Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
What have we here? [Reads.
“The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.”
Why, this is just
Aio te, Æacida, Romanos vincere posse.
Well, to the rest:
“Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk?—

By water shall he die, and take his end.”—
“What shall betide the duke of Somerset?—
Let him shun castles;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains,
Than where castles mounted stand.”
Come, come, my lords;
These oracles are hardly attain'd,
And hardly understood^{3 note}
.
The king is now in progress towards Saint Albans;
With him the husband of this lovely lady:
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them;
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

Buck.
Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York,
To be the post in hope of his reward.

York.
At your pleasure, my good lord.—Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servant.
Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick,
To sup with me to-morrow night.—Away! [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Saint Albans. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret^{4 note}, Gloster, Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hollaing.

Q. Mar.
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.

K. Hen.
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?

K. Hen.
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 commonweal!

Glo.
What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?
Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?
Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;
With such holiness can you do it. 11Q0723

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 you, my lord;
An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

Glo.
Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

Q. Mar.
And thy ambition, Gloster.

K. Hen.
I pr'ythee, peace,
Good queen; and whet not on these furious peers,
For blessed are the peacemakers 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! [Aside to the Cardinal.

Car.
Marry, when thou dar'st. [Aside.

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

Car.
Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar'st,
This evening on the east side of the grove. [Aside.

K. Hen.
How now, my lords!

Car.
Believe me, cousin Gloster,
Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,
We had had more sport.—Come with thy two-hand sword. [Aside to Glo.

Glo.
True, uncle.

Car.
Are you advis'd?—the east side of the grove.

Glo.
Cardinal, I am with you^{5 note}. [Aside.

K. Hen.
Why, how now, uncle Gloster!

Glo.
Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.—
Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown
For this, or all my fence shall fail. [Aside.

Car.
Medice teipsum:
Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. [Aside.

K. Hen.
The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.
How irksome is this music to my heart!
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.

Enter one, crying, “A Miracle^{6 note}!”

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

One.
A miracle! a miracle!

Suf.
Come to the king, and tell him what miracle.

One.
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.

K. Hen.
Now, God be prais'd, that to believing souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans, and his Brethren^{7 note}; and Simpcox, borne between two persons in a Chair; his Wife and a great Multitude following.

Car.
Here come the townsmen on procession,
To present your highness with the man.

K. Hen.
Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.

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

K. Hen.
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?

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

Wife.
Ay, indeed, was he.

Suf.
What woman is this?

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

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

K. Hen.
Where wert thou born?

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

K. Hen.
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.

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

Simp.
God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep,
By good Saint Alban; who said,—“Simpcox, come^{8 note};
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.”

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

Car.
What! art thou lame?

Simp.
Ay, God Almighty help me!

Suf.
How cam'st thou so?

Simp.
A fall off of a tree.

Wife.
A plum-tree, master.

Glo.
How long hast thou been blind?

Simp.
O! born so, master.

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

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

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

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

Simp.
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 seest not well.

Simp.
Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and Saint Alban.

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

Simp.
Red, master; red as blood.

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

Simp.
Black, forsooth; coal-black as jet.

K. Hen.
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.

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

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

Simp.
Alas! master, I know not.

Glo.
What's his name?

Simp.
I know not.

Glo.
Nor his?

Simp.
No, indeed, master.

Glo.
What's thine own name?

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

Glo.
Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave
In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind,
Thou might'st as well have known all our names, as thus
To name the several colours we do wear.
Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly
To nominate them all, it is impossible.—
My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle;
And would ye not think that cunning to be great^{9 note},
That could restore this cripple to his legs again?

Simp.

O, master, that you could!

Glo.

My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips?

May.

Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.

Glo.

Then send for one presently.

May.

Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

Glo.

Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A Stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and run away.

Simp.

Alas! master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain.

Glo.

Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.

Bead.

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

Simp.

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

K. Hen.
O God! seest thou this, and bearest so long?

Q. Mar.
It made me laugh to see the villain run.

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

Wife.
Alas! sir, we did it for pure need.

Glo.
Let them be whipp'd through every market town,
Till they come to Berwick, from whence they came. [Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, &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 made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. Enter Buckingham.

K. Hen.
What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

Buck.
Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent^{1 note},
Under the countenance and confederacy
Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
The ringleader and head of all this rout,
Have practis'd dangerously 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 forthcoming^{2 note} yet at London.
This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;
'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.

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.

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

Q. Mar.
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 commonweal;
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.

K. Hen.
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. [Flourish. Exeunt. SCENE II. London. The Duke of York's Garden. Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick.

York.
Now, my good lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
Our simple supper ended, give me leave,
In this close walk, to satisfy myself,
In craving your opinion of my title,
Which is infallible, to England's crown.

Sal.
My lord, I long to hear it at full.

War.
Sweet York, begin; and if thy claim be good,
The Nevils are thy subjects to command.

York.
Then thus:—
Edward the third, my lords, had seven sons:
The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales;
The second, William of Hatfield; and the third,
Lionel, duke of Clarence; next to whom,
Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster;
The fifth was Edmond Langley, duke of York;
The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloster;
William of Windsor was the seventh, and last.
Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father,
And left behind him Richard, his only son;
Who, after Edward the third's death, reign'd as king,

Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster,
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
Crown'd by the name of Henry the fourth,
Seized on the realm; depos'd the rightful king;
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,
And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,
Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.

War.
Father, the duke hath told the truth:
Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

York.
Which now they hold by force, and not by right;
For Richard, the first son's heir being dead,
The issue of the next son should have reign'd.

Sal.
But William of Hatfield died without an heir.

York.
The third son, duke of Clarence, from whose line
I claim the crown, had issue—Philippe, a daughter,
Who married Edmond Mortimer, earl of March,
Edmond had issue—Roger, earl of March:
Roger had issue—Edmond, Anne, and Eleanor.

Sal.
This Edmond, in the reign of Bolingbroke,
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;
And but for Owen Glendower had been king,
Who kept him in captivity, till he died.
But to the rest.

York.
His eldest sister, Anne,
My mother, being heir unto the crown,
Married Richard, earl of Cambridge; who was
To Edmond Langley, Edward the third's fifth son, son^{3 note}.
By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir
To Roger, earl of March; who was the son
Of Edmund Mortimer; who married Philippe,
Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence:
So, if the issue of the elder son

Succeed before the younger, I am king.

War.
What plain proceeding is more plain than this?
Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
The fourth son; York claims it from the third.
Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign:
It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee,
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.—
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;
And, in this private plot, be we the first,
That shall salute our rightful sovereign
With honour of his birthright to the crown.

Both.
Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king!

York.
We thank you, lords! But I am not your king,
Till I be crown'd, and that my sword be stain'd
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;
And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,
But with advice, and silent secrecy.
Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days,
Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence,
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,
Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock,
That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey.
'Tis that they seek; and they, in seeking that,
Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.

Sal.
My lord, break we off: we know your mind at full.

War.
My heart assures me, that the earl of Warwick
Shall one day make the duke of York a king.

York.
And, Nevil, this I do assure myself,
Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick
The greatest man in England, but the king. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Same. A Hall of Justice. Trumpets sounded. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloster, Margery Jourdain, Southwell, Hume, and Bolingbroke, under guard.

K. Hen.
Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloster's wife.
In sight of God, and us, your guilt is great:
Receive the sentence of the law, for sins
Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death.—
You four, from hence to prison back again; [To Jourd., &c.
From thence, unto the place of execution:
The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,
And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.—
You, madam, for you are more nobly born,
Despoiled of your honour in your life,
Shall, after three days' open penance done,
Live in your country here, in banishment,
With sir John Stanley in the Isle of Man.

Duch.
Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.

Glo.
Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee:
I cannot justify whom the law condemns.— [Exeunt the Duchess, and the other Prisoners, guarded.
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
Ah, Humphrey! this dishonour in thine age
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground.—
I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;
Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease.

K. Hen.
Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster. Ere thou go,
Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself

Protector be; and God shall be my hope,
My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet.
And go in peace, Humphrey; no less belov'd,
Than when thou wert protector to thy king.

Q. Mar.
I see no reason why a king of years
Should be to be protected like a child.—
God and king Henry govern England's realm^{4 note}.
Give up you staff, sir, and the king his realm.

Glo.
My staff?—here, noble Henry, is my staff;
As willingly do I the same resign,
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine: 11Q0724
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it,
As others would ambitiously receive it.
Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,
May honourable peace attend thy throne. [Exit.

Q. Mar.
Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;
And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself,
That bears so shrew'd a maim: two pulls at once,—
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off;
This staff of honour raught^{5 note}:—there let it stand,
Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.

Suf.
Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays;
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.

York.
Lords, let him go^{6 note}.—Please it your majesty,
This is the day appointed for the combat;
And ready are the appellant and defendant,
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,

So please your highness to behold the fight.

Q. Mar.
Ay, good my lord; for purposely, therefore,
Left I the court to see this quarrel tried.

K. Hen.
O' God's name, see the lists and all things fit:
Here let them end it, and God defend the right!

York.
I never saw a fellow worse bestead,
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,
The servant of this armourer, my lords. Enter, on one side, Horner, and his Neighbours, drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it; a drum before him: at the other side, Peter, with a drum and a similar staff; accompanied by Prentices drinking to him.

1 Neigh.

Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of sack. And fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

2 Neigh.

And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco^{7 note}.

3 Neigh.

And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour: drink, and fear not your man.

Hor.

Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and a fig for Peter!

1 Pren.

Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be not afraid.

2 Pren.

Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight for credit of the prentices.

Peter.

I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray you, for, I think, I have taken my last draught in this world.—Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee my apron; and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:—and here, Tom, take all the money that I have.—O Lord,

bless me! I pray God, for I am never able to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence already.

Sal.

Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.— Sirrah, what's thy name?

Peter.

Peter, forsooth.

Sal.

Peter! what more?

Peter.

Thump.

Sal.

Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.

Hor.

Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and myself an honest man: and touching the duke of York, I will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at thee with a downright blow^{8 note}.

York.
Despatch: this knave's tongue begins to double.
Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants. [Alarum, They fight, and Peter strikes down his Master.

Hor.
Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason. [Dies.

York.

Take away his weapon.—Fellow, thank God, and the good wine in thy master's way.

Peter.

O God! have I overcome mine enemies in this presence? O Peter! thou hast prevailed in right.

K. Hen.
Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;
For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt:
And God in justice hath reveal'd to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,
Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.—
Come, fellow; follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The Same. A Street. Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning Cloaks.

Glo.
Thus, sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;
And after summer evermore succeeds
Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:
So, cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.—
Sirs, what's o'clock?

Serv.
Ten, my lord.

Glo.
Ten is the hour that was appointed me
To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:
Uneath may she endure^{9 note} the flinty streets,
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people, gazing on thy face
With envious looks, laughing at thy shame^{1 note},
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels,
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
But, soft! I think, she comes; and I'll prepare
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a white sheet, with verses written upon her back^{2 note}, her feet bare, and a taper burning in her hand; Sir John Stanley, a Sheriff, and Officers.

Serv.
So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

Glo.
No, stir not, for your lives: let her pass by.

Duch.
Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how they gaze:
See, how the giddy multitude do point,
And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee.
Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks;
And in thy closet pent up rue my shame,
And ban thine enemies^{3 note}, both mine and thine.

Glo.
Be patient, gentle Nell: forget this grief.

Duch.
Ah, Gloster! teach me to forget myself;
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife,
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
Methinks, I should not thus be led along,
Mail'd up in shame^{4 note}, with papers on my back,
And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice
To see my tears, and hear my deep-fet groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet;
And when I start the envious people laugh,
And bid me be advised how I tread.
Ah, Humphrey! can I bear this shameful yoke?
Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world,
Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?
No; dark shall be my light, and night my day:
To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say I am duke Humphrey's wife,
And he a prince, and ruler of the land;
Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was,
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess,

Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock,
To every idle rascal follower.
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame:
Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will;
For Suffolk,—he that can do all in all
With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all,—
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings;
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee.
But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd,
Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

Glo.
Ah, Nell! forbear; thou aimest all awry:
I must offend before I be attainted;
And had I twenty times so many foes,
And each of them had twenty times their power,
All these could not procure me any scathe,
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach?
Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away,
But I in danger for the breach of law.
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell;
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience:
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn. Enter a Herald.

Her.

I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament, holden at Bury the first of this next month.

Glo.
And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before?
This is close dealing.—Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald.
My Nell, I take my leave:—and, master sheriff,
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

Sher.
An't please your grace, here my commission stays;
And sir John Stanley is appointed now
To take her with him to the isle of Man.

Glo.
Must you, sir John, protect my lady here?

Stan.
So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

Glo.
Entreat her not the worse^{5 note}, in that I pray
You use her well. The world may laugh again;
And I may live to do you kindness, if
You do it her: and so, sir John, farewell.

Duch.
What! gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell?

Glo.
Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Exeunt Gloster and Servants.

Duch.
Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee,
For none abides with me: my joy is—death;
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,
Because I wish'd this world's eternity.—
Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence;
I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
Only convey me where thou art commanded.

Stan.
Why, madam, that is to the isle of Man;
There to be us'd according to your state.

Duch.
That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:
And shall I, then, be us'd reproachfully?

Stan.
Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's lady:
According to that state you shall be used.

Duch.
Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
Although thou hast been conduct of my shame!

Sher.
It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

Duch.
Ay, ay, farewell: thy office is discharg'd.—
Come, Stanley, shall we go?

Stan.
Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
And go we to attire you for our journey.

Duch.
My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:

No; it will hang upon my richest robes,
And show itself, attire me how I can.
Go, lead the way: I long to see my prison. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. The Abbey at Bury. A Sennet^{6 note}. Enter to the Parliament, King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, and Others.

K. Hen.
I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come:
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

Q. Mar.
Can you not see? or will you not observe
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
With what a majesty he bears himself;
How insolent of late he is become,
How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?
We know the time since he was mild and affable;
And if we did but glance a far-off look,
Immediately he was upon his knee,
That all the court admir'd him for submission:
But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
When every one will give the time of day,
He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye,
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,

Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
Small curs are not regarded when they grin,
But great men tremble when the lion roars;
And Humphrey is no little man in England.
First, note, that he is near you in descent,
And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
Me seemeth, then, it is no policy,
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,
And his advantage following your decease,
That he should come about your royal person,
Or be admitted to your highness' council.
By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts,
And, when he please to make commotion,
'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him.
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden,
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
The reverent care I bear unto my lord
Made me collect these dangers in the duke.
If it be fond^{7 note}, call it a woman's fear;
Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
I will subscribe and say, I wrong'd the duke.
My lord of Suffolk,—Buckingham, and York,—
Reprove my allegation, if you can,
Or else conclude my words effectual.

Suf.
Well hath your highness seen into this duke;
And had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think, I should have told your grace's tale.
The duchess by his subornation,
Upon my life, began her devilish practices:
Or if he were not privy to those faults,
Yet, by reputing of his high descent^{8 note},
As next the king he was successive heir,

And such high vaunts of his nobility,
Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess,
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,
And in his simple show he harbours treason.
The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb:
No, no, my sovereign; Gloster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

Car.
Did he not, contrary to form of law,
Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

York.
And did he not, in his protectorship,
Levy great sums of money through the realm
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?
By means whereof the towns each day revolted.

Buck.
Tut! these are petty faults to faults unknown,
Which time will bring to light in smooth duke Humphrey.

K. Hen.
My lords, at once: the care you have of us,
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience?
Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent
From meaning treason to our royal person,
As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove.
The duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given,
To dream on evil, or to work my downfall.

Q. Mar.
Ah! what's more dangerous than this fond affiance?
Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd,
For he's disposed as the hateful raven.
Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,
For he's inclin'd as is the ravenous wolf^{9 note}.
Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit?
Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.

Enter Somerset.

Som.
All health unto my gracious sovereign!

K. Hen.
Welcome, lord Somerset. What news from France?

Som.
That all your interest in those territories
Is utterly bereft you: all is lost.

K. Hen.
Cold news, lord Somerset; but God's will be done.

York.
Cold news for me; [Aside.] for I had hope of France,
As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
And caterpillars eat my leaves away;
But I will remedy this gear ere long^{1 note},
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. Enter Gloster.

Glo.
All happiness unto my lord the king!
Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.

Suf.
Nay, Gloster, 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^{2 note},
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 sovereign.
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

York.
'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
And, being protector, stayed 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 trial day!
No: many a pound of mine own proper store,
Because I would not tax the needy commons,
Have I dispursed 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 murderer,
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,
I never gave them condign punishment.
Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
Above the felon, or what trespass else.

Suf.
My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd;
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
I do arrest you in his highness' name;
And here commit you to my lord cardinal
To keep, until your farther time of trial.

K. Hen.
My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope,
That you will clear yourself from all suspense: 11Q0725
My conscience tells me you are innocent.

Glo.
Ah, gracious lord! these days are dangerous:
Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition,
And charity chas'd hence by rancour'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.
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue
The envious load that lies upon his heart;
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whose overweening 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 endeavour have stirr'd up
My liefest liege^{3 note} to be mine enemy.—
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together:
Myself had notice of your conventicles,
And all to make away my guiltless life^{4 note}.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;
The ancient proverb will be well effected^{5 note},—
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.

Car.
My liege, his railing is intolerable.
If those that care to keep your royal person

From treason's secret knife, and traitors' 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 clerkly couch'd,
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 played 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. [Exeunt Attendants with Gloster.

K. Hen.
My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best,
Do, or undo, as if ourself were here.

Q. Mar.
What! will your highness leave the parliament?

K. Hen.
Ay, Margaret, my heart is drown'd with grief,
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes;
My body round engirt with misery,
For what's more miserable than discontent?—
Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see
The map of honour, truth, and loyalty;
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come,
That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith.

What lowering star now envies thy estate,
That these great lords, and Margaret our queen,
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?
Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong:
And as the butcher takes away the calf,
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house;
Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence:
And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
Looking the way her harmless young one went,
And can do nought but wail her darling's loss;
Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case,
With sad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good,
So mighty are his vowed enemies.
His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan,
Say—“Who's a traitor? Gloster he is none.” [Exit.

Q. Mar.
Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
Too full of foolish pity; and Gloster's show
Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering bank,
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child,
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I,
(And yet herein I judge mine own wit good)
This Gloster should be quickly rid the world,
To rid us from the fear we have of him.

Car.
That he should die is worthy policy,
But yet we want a colour for his death:
'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

Suf.
But, in my mind that were no policy:
The king will labour still to save his life;
The commons haply rise to save his life;
And yet we have but trivial argument,

More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

York.
So that, by this, you would not have him die.

Suf.
Ah! York, no man alive so fain as I.

York.
'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.—
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk,
Say, as you think, and speak it from your souls,
Wer't not all one an empty eagle were set
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

Q. Mar.
So the poor chicken should be sure of death

Suf.
Madam, tis true: and wer't not madness, then,
To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
Who, being accus'd a crafty murderer,
His guilt should be but idly posted over,
Because his purpose is not executed?
No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,
Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
As Humphrey prov'd by reasons to my liege.
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty,
Sleeping, or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first^{6 note}, that first intends deceit.

Q. Mar.
Thrice noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

Suf.
Not resolute, except so much were done,
For things are often spoke, and seldom meant;
But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,—
Seeing the deed is meritorious,
And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,—
Say but the word, and I will be his priest.

Car.
But I would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk,

Ere you can take due orders for a priest.
Say, you consent, and censure well the deed,
And I'll provide his executioner;
I tender so the safety of my liege.

Suf.
Here is my hand; the deed is worthy doing.

Q. Mar.
And so say I.

York.
And I: and now we three have spoke it,
It skills not^{7 note} greatly who impugns our doom. Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,
To signify that rebels there are up,
And put the Englishmen unto the sword.
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,
Before the wound do grow incurable;
For, being green, there is great hope of help.

Car.
A breach that craves a quick expedient stop^{8 note}!
What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

York.
That Somerset be sent as regent thither.
'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd;
Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

Som.
If York, with all his far-fet policy,
Had been the regent there instead of me,
He never would have stay'd in France so long.

York.
No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done.
I rather would have lost my life betimes,
Than bring a burden of dishonour home,
By staying there so long, till all were lost.
Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:
Men's flesh preserv'd so whole do seldom win.

Q. Mar.
Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with.—

No more, good York;—sweet Somerset, be still:—
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

York.
What, worse than naught? nay, then a shame take all.

Som.
And, in the number, thee, that wishest shame.

Car.
My lord of York, try what your fortune is.
The uncivil kernes of Ireland^{9 note} are in arms,
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:
To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
Collected choicely, from each county some,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?

York.
I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

Suf.
Why our authority is his consent,
And what we do establish, he confirms:
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

York.
I am content. Provide me soldiers, lords,
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

Suf.
A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd.
But now return we to the false duke Humphrey.

Car.
No more of him; for I will deal with him,
That henceforth, he shall trouble us no more:
And so break off; the day is almost spent.
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

York.
My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days,
At Bristol I expect my soldiers,
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

Suf.
I'll see it truly done, my lord of York. [Exeunt all but York.

York.
Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution:
Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art
Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying.
Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.

Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought,
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well; 'tis politicly done,
To send me packing with an host of men:
I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me:
I take it kindly; yet, be well assur'd,
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm, 11Q0726
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell;
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw^{1 note}.
And, for a minister of my intent,
I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,
To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kernes;
And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine:
And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen
Him caper upright, like a wild Morisco^{2 note},
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.

Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne,
Hath he conversed with the enemy,
And undiscover'd come to me again,
And given me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured,
I know, no pain they can inflict upon him
Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms.
Say, that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit. SCENE II. Bury. A Room in the Palace. Enter certain Murderers, hastily^{3 note}

1 Mur.
Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know,
We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

2 Mur.
O, that it were to do!—What have we done?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

1 Mur.
Here comes my lord. Enter Suffolk.

Suf.
Now, sirs, have you despatch'd this thing?

1 Mur.
Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

Suf.
Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
I will reward you for this venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand.
Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well,
According as I gave directions?

1 Mur.
'Tis, my good lord.

Suf.
Away! be gone. [Exeunt Murderers. Sound trumpets. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal Beaufort, Somerset, Lords, and Others.

K. Hen.
Go, call our uncle to our presence straight:
Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suf.
I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit.

K. Hen.
Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster,
Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
He be approv'd in practice culpable.

Q. Mar.
God forbid any malice should prevail,
That faultless may condemn a noble man!
Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion!

K. Hen.
I thank thee, Meg^{4 note}; these words content me much.—

Re-enter Suffolk.
How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

Suf.
Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead.

Q. Mar.
Marry, God forefend!

Car.
God's secret judgment!—I did dream to-night,
The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [The King swoons.

Q. Mar.
How fares my lord?—Help, lords! the king is dead.

Som.
Rear up his body: wring him by the nose.

Q. Mar.
Run, go, help, help!—O, Henry, ope thine eyes!

Suf.
He doth revive again.—Madam, be patient.

K. Hen.
O heavenly God!

Q. Mar.
How fares my gracious lord?

Suf.
Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

K. Hen.
What! doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers,
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words.
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say:
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding.—

Yet do not go away:—come, basilisk,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
For in the shade of death I shall find joy,
In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead.

Q. Mar.
Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus?
Although the duke was enemy to him,
Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death:
And for myself, foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs,
And all to have the noble duke alive.
What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known, we were but hollow friends;
It may be judg'd, I made the duke away:
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death. Ah me, unhappy!
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

K. Hen.
Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man!

Q. Mar.
Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
What! dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper; look on me.
What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?
Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy:
Erect his statue, and worship it^{5 note},
And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea,
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind

Did seem to say,—Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore.
What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts,
And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves; 11Q0727
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock.
Yet Æolus would not be a murderer,
But left that hateful office unto thee:
The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me,
Knowing that thou would'st have me drown'd on shore,
With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness:
The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands,
And would not dash me with their ragged sides,
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
When from the shore the tempest beat us back,
I stood upon the hatches in the storm;
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
I took a costly jewel from my neck,—
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,—
And threw it towards thy land. The sea receiv'd it,
And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart:
And even with this I lost fair England's view,
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart,
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
(The agent of thy foul inconstancy)
To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did^{6 note}

,

When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy?
Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
Ah me! I can no more. Die, Margaret,
For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long. Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury. The Commons press to the door.

War.
It is reported, mighty sovereign,
That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees
That want their leader, scatter up and down,
And care not who they sting in his revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

K. Hen.
That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
But how he died, God knows, not Henry.
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
And comment then upon his sudden death.

War.
That I shall do, my liege.—Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, till I return. [Warwick goes into an inner Room^{7 note}, and Salisbury retires.

K. Hen.
O, thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts!
My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul,
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life.

If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
For judgment only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears 11Q0728,
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling;
But all in vain are these mean obsequies,
And to survey his dead and earthy image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater? The Doors of an inner Chamber are thrown open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his Bed; Warwick and Others standing by it^{8 note}.

War.
Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.

K. Hen.
That is to see how deep my grave is made;
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
For seeing him, I see my life in death.

War.
As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King, that took our state upon him
To free us from his Father's wrathful curse,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

Suf.
A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow?

War.
See, how the blood is settled in his face.
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,

Being all descended to the labouring heart;
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But see, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eye-balls farther out than when he liv'd,
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man:
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd,
And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdued.
Look on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking;
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd.
It cannot be but he was murder'd here;
The least of all these signs were probable.

Suf.
Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?
Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection,
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

War.
But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's foes,
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:
'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend,
And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

Q. Mar.
Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death.

War.
Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh,
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Q. Mar.
Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where's your knife?
Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons?

Suf.
I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men;
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart,
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.—
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. [Exeunt Cardinal, Som., and Others.

War.
What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

Q. Mar.
He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

War.
Madam, be still, with reverence may I say;
For every word you speak in his behalf
Is slander to your royal dignity.

Suf.
Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour,
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,
And never of the Nevils' noble race.

War.
But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee,
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
And say, it was thy mother that thou meant'st;
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy:
And, after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men.

Suf.
Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood,
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.

War.
A way even now, or I will drag thee hence.
Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee,

And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. [Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick^{9 note}.

K. Hen.
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just^{1 note}

;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A Noise within^{2 note}.

Q. Mar.
What noise is this? Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their Weapons drawn.

K. Hen.
Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn
Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?—
Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

Suf.
The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury,
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. Noise of a Crowd within. Re-enter Salisbury.

Sal.
Sirs, stand apart; [Speaking to those within.] the king shall know your mind.—
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
Unless lord Suffolk straight be done to death,

Or banished fair England's territories,
They will by violence tear him from your palace,
And torture him with grievous lingering death.
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died;
They say, in him they fear your highness' death;
And mere instinct of love, and loyalty,
Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
As being thought to contradict your liking,
Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
They say, in care of your most royal person,
That, if your highness should intend to sleep,
And charge, that no man should disturb your rest,
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death,
Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict,
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
That slily glided towards your majesty,
It were but necessary, you were wak'd;
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal:
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you, whe'r you will or no^{3 note},
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;
With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons. [Within.]
An answer from the king, my lord of Salisbury!

Suf.
'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,
Could send such message to their sovereign;
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To show how quaint an orator you are:
But all the honour Salisbury hath won,
Is, that he was the lord ambassador,
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king^{4 note}.

Commons. [Within.]
An answer from the king, or we will all break in!

K. Hen.
Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care,
And had I not been 'cited so by them,
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means:
And therefore, by his majesty I swear,
Whose far unworthy deputy I am,
He shall not breathe infection in this air
But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Exit Salisbury.

Q. Mar.
O Henry! let me plead for gentle Suffolk.

K. Hen.
Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk.
No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but said, I would have kept my word,
But, when I swear, it is irrevocable.—
If after three days' space thou here be'st found
On any ground that I am ruler of,
The world shall not be ransom for thy life.—
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
I have great matters to impart to thee. [Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, &c.

Q. Mar.
Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you!
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction,
Be playfellows to keep you company!
There's two of you; the devil make a third,
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

Suf.
Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Q. Mar.
Fie, coward, woman, and soft-hearted wretch!
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

Suf.
A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?

Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan^{5 note},
I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave.
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks!
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings! 11Q0729
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss,
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell—

Q. Mar.
Enough, sweet Suffolk: thou torment'st thyself;
And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf.
You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
Well could I curse away a winter's night,
Though standing naked on a mountain top,
Where biting cold would never let grass grow,

And think it but a minute spent in sport.

Q. Mar.
O! let me entreat thee, cease. Give me thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woeful monuments.
O! could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,
Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee.
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by,
As one that surfeits, thinking on a want.
I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd,
Adventure to be banished myself;
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go; speak not to me: even now be gone.—
O! go not yet.—Even thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee.

Suf.
Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence:
A wilderness is populous enough,
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company;
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With every several pleasure in the world,
And where thou art not, desolation.
I can no more.—Live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. Enter Vaux.

Q. Mar.
Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I pr'ythee?

Vaux.
To signify unto his majesty,
That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,

That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.
Sometime he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost
Were by his side; sometime he calls the king,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
The secrets of his overcharged soul:
And I am sent to tell his majesty,
That even now he cries aloud for him.

Q. Mar.
Go, tell this heavy message to the king. [Exit Vaux.
Ah me! what is this world? what news are these?
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
And with the southern clouds contend in tears?
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows.
Now, get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is coming:
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

Suf.
If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
And in thy sight to die, what were it else,
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe,
Dying with mother's dug between its lips;
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth:
So should'st thou either turn my flying soul,
Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee, were but to die in jest;
From thee to die, were torture more than death.
O! let me stay, befal what may befal.

Q. Mar.
Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive,
It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;

For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris^{6 note} that shall find thee out.

Suf.
I go.

Q. Mar.
And take my heart with thee.

Suf.
A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we:
This way fall I to death.

Q. Mar.
This way for me. [Exeunt, severally. SCENE III. London. Cardinal Beaufort's Bed-chamber. Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and Others. The Cardinal in bed^{7 note}; Attendants with him.

K. Hen.
How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.

Car.
If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

K. Hen.
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

War.
Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

Car.
Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?—
O! torture me no more, I will confess.—
Alive again? then show me where he is:

I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.—
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.—
Comb down his hair: look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.—
Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Hen.
O, thou eternal mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
O! beat away the busy meddling fiend,
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair.

War.
See, how the pangs of death do make him grin.

Sal.
Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.

K. Hen.
Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be.
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.—
He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!

War.
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

K. Hen.
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.—
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat, a Captain^{8 note}, a Master, a Master's-Mate, Walter Whitmore, and Others; with them Suffolk, disguised; and other Gentlemen, prisoners.

Cap.
The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea,

And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night;
Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
Clip dead men's graves^{9 note}, and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
For whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.—
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;—
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;—
The other, [Pointing to Suffolk,] Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

1 Gent.
What is my ransom, master? let me know.

Mast.
A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

Mate.
And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

Cap.
What! think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?—
Cut both the villains' throats!—for die you shall:
The lives of those which we have lost in fight,
Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum 11Q0730^{1 note}?

1 Gent.
I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

2 Gent.
And so will I, and write home for it straight.

Whit.
I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
And, therefore, to revenge it shalt thou die; [To Suf.
And so should these, if I might have my will.

Cap.
Be not so rash: take ransom; let him live.

Suf.
Look on my George: I am a gentleman.

Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

Whit.
And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
How now! why start'st thou? what! doth death affright?

Suf.
Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
A cunning man did calculate my birth,
And told me that by water I should die^{2 note}:
Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded;
Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

Whit.
Gaultier, or Walter, which it is, I care not;
Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,
But with our sword we wip'd away the blot:
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! [Lays hold on Suffolk.

Suf.
Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,
The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole.

Whit.
The duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!

Suf.
Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:
Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I^{3 note}?

Cap.
But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

Suf.
Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood^{4 note},
The honourable blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup?
Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule,
And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
How often hast thou waited at my cup,
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,

When I have feasted with queen Margaret?
Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n;
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride.
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood,
And duly waited for my coming forth.
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

Whit.
Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? 11Q0731

Cap.
First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

Suf.
Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.

Cap.
Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side
Strike off his head.

Suf.
Thou dar'st not for thy own.

Cap.
Yes, Poole.

Suf.
Poole^{5 note}?

Cap.
Poole? Sir Poole? lord?
Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
Now, will I dam up this thy yawning mouth,
For swallowing the treasure of the realm:
Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground;
And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's death,
Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,
Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again:
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
For daring to affy a mighty lord
Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
By devilish policy art thou grown great,
And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France:
The false revolting Normans thorough thee

Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy
Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts,
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
As hating thee, are rising^{6 note} up in arms:
And now the house of York-thrust from the crown,
By shameful murder of a guiltless king,
And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny,—
Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
Advance our half-fac'd sun^{7 note}
, striving to shine,
Under the which is writ—Invitis nubibus.
The commons, here in Kent, are up in arms;
And to conclude, reproach, and beggary,
Is crept into the palace of our king,
And all by thee.—Away!—Convey him hence.

Suf.
O, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
Small things make base men proud: this villain, here,
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate^{8 note}

.
Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives.
It is impossible, that I should die
By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me 11Q0732^{9 note}:

I go of message from the queen to France;
I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel.

Cap.
Walter!—

Whit.
Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death^{1 note}

.

Suf.
Penè gelidus timor occupat artus^{2 note}:—it is thee I fear.

Whit.
Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee.
What! are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop?

1 Gent.
My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.

Suf.
Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour.
Far be it we should honour such as these
With humble suit: no, rather let my head
Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any,
Save to the God of heaven, and to my king;
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole,
Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
True nobility is exempt from fear:
More can I bear, than you dare execute.

Cap.
Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

Suf.
Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can^{3 note},

That this my death may never be forgot.—
Great men oft die by vile bezonians^{4 note}:
A Roman sworder and banditto slave
Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
Stabb'd Julius Cæsar; savage islanders
Pompey the great, and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exit Suf., with Whit. and Others.

Cap.
And as for these whose ransom we have set,
It is our pleasure one of them depart:
Therefore, come you with us, and let him go. [Exeunt all but the first Gentleman. Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's Body.

Whit.
There let his head and lifeless body lie,
Until the queen, his mistress, bury it. Exit.

1 Gent.
O, barbarous and bloody spectacle!
His body will I bear unto the king:
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
So will the queen, that living held him dear. [Exit, with the Body. SCENE II. Blackheath. Enter George Bevis and John Holland.

Geo.

Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath: they have been up these two days.

John.

They have the more need to sleep now then.

Geo.

I tell thee, Jack Cade, the clothier, means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.

John.

So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England, since gentlemen came up.

Geo.

O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.

John.

The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.

Geo.

Nay more; the king's council are no good workmen.

John.

True; and yet it is said, — labour in thy vocation: which is as much to say, as,—let the magistrates be labouring men; and therefore should we be magistrates.

Geo.

Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave mind, than a hard hand.

John.

I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner of Wingham.

Geo.

He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's leather of.

John.

And Dick, the butcher.

Geo.

Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf.

John.

And Smith, the weaver.

Geo.

Argo, their thread of life is spun.

John.

Come, come; let's fall in with them.