The Second part of King Henry the Sixth

1As by your high imperial majesty

2I had in charge at my depart for France,

3As procurator to your excellence,

4To marry Princess Margaret for your grace,

5So, in the famous ancient city, Tours,

6In presence of the Kings of France and Sicil,

7The Dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretagne and Alencon,

8Seven earls, twelve barons and twenty reverend bishops,

9I have perform'd my task and was espoused:

10And humbly now upon my bended knee,

11In sight of England and her lordly peers,

12Deliver up my title in the queen

13To your most gracious hands, that are the substance

14Of that great shadow I did represent;

15The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,

16The fairest queen that ever king received.

17Suffolk, arise. Welcome, Queen Margaret:

18I can express no kinder sign of love

19Than this kind kiss. O Lord, that lends me life,

20Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness!

21For thou hast given me in this beauteous face

22A world of earthly blessings to my soul,

23If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.

24Great King of England and my gracious lord,

25The mutual conference that my mind hath had,

26By day, by night, waking and in my dreams,

27In courtly company or at my beads,

28With you, mine alder-liefest sovereign,

29Makes me the bolder to salute my king

30With ruder terms, such as my wit affords

31And over-joy of heart doth minister.

32Her sight did ravish; but her grace in speech,

33Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,

34Makes me from wondering fall to weeping joys;

35Such is the fulness of my heart's content.

36Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love.

37[Kneeling] Long live Queen Margaret, England's

38happiness!

39We thank you all.

40My lord protector, so it please your grace,

41Here are the articles of contracted peace

42Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,

43For eighteen months concluded by consent.

44[Reads] 'Imprimis, it is agreed between the French

45king Charles, and William de la Pole, Marquess of

46Suffolk, ambassador for Henry King of England, that

47the said Henry shall espouse the Lady Margaret,

48daughter unto Reignier King of Naples, Sicilia and

49Jerusalem, and crown her Queen of England ere the

50thirtieth of May next ensuing. Item, that the duchy

51of Anjou and the county of Maine shall be released

52and delivered to the king her father'--

53Uncle, how now!

54Pardon me, gracious lord;

55Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart

56And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no further.

57Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on.

58[Reads] 'Item, It is further agreed between them,

59that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be

60released and delivered over to the king her father,

61and she sent over of the King of England's own

62proper cost and charges, without having any dowry.'

63They please us well. Lord marquess, kneel down:

64We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,

65And gird thee with the sword. Cousin of York,

66We here discharge your grace from being regent

67I' the parts of France, till term of eighteen months

68Be full expired. Thanks, uncle Winchester,

69Gloucester, York, Buckingham, Somerset,

70Salisbury, and Warwick;

71We thank you all for the great favour done,

72In entertainment to my princely queen.

73Come, let us in, and with all speed provide

74To see her coronation be perform'd.

75Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,

76To you Duke Humphrey must unload his grief,

77Your grief, the common grief of all the land.

78What! did my brother Henry spend his youth,

79His valour, coin and people, in the wars?

80Did he so often lodge in open field,

81In winter's cold and summer's parching heat,

82To conquer France, his true inheritance?

83And did my brother Bedford toil his wits,

84To keep by policy what Henry got?

85Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,

86Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,

87Received deep scars in France and Normandy?

88Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself,

89With all the learned council of the realm,

90Studied so long, sat in the council-house

91Early and late, debating to and fro

92How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe,

93And had his highness in his infancy

94Crowned in Paris in despite of foes?

95And shall these labours and these honours die?

96Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,

97Your deeds of war and all our counsel die?

98O peers of England, shameful is this league!

99Fatal this marriage, cancelling your fame,

100Blotting your names from books of memory,

101Razing the characters of your renown,

102Defacing monuments of conquer'd France,

103Undoing all, as all had never been!

104Nephew, what means this passionate discourse,

105This peroration with such circumstance?

106For France, 'tis ours; and we will keep it still.

107Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can;

108But now it is impossible we should:

109Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roast,

110Hath given the duchy of Anjou and Maine

111Unto the poor King Reignier, whose large style

112Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.

113Now, by the death of Him that died for all,

114These counties were the keys of Normandy.

115But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son?

116For grief that they are past recovery:

117For, were there hope to conquer them again,

118My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears.

119Anjou and Maine! myself did win them both;

120Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer:

121And are the cities, that I got with wounds,

122Delivered up again with peaceful words?

123Mort Dieu!

124For Suffolk's duke, may he be suffocate,

125That dims the honour of this warlike isle!

126France should have torn and rent my very heart,

127Before I would have yielded to this league.

128I never read but England's kings have had

129Large sums of gold and dowries with their wives:

130And our King Henry gives away his own,

131To match with her that brings no vantages.

132A proper jest, and never heard before,

133That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth

134For costs and charges in transporting her!

135She should have stayed in France and starved

136in France, Before--

137My Lord of Gloucester, now ye grow too hot:

138It was the pleasure of my lord the King.

139My Lord of Winchester, I know your mind;

140'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike,

141But 'tis my presence that doth trouble ye.

142Rancour will out: proud prelate, in thy face

143I see thy fury: if I longer stay,

144We shall begin our ancient bickerings.

145Lordings, farewell; and say, when I am gone,

146I prophesied France will be lost ere long.

147So, there goes our protector in a rage.

148'Tis known to you he is mine enemy,

149Nay, more, an enemy unto you all,

150And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.

151Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,

152And heir apparent to the English crown:

153Had Henry got an empire by his marriage,

154And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west,

155There's reason he should be displeased at it.

156Look to it, lords! let not his smoothing words

157Bewitch your hearts; be wise and circumspect.

158What though the common people favour him,

159Calling him 'Humphrey, the good Duke of

160Gloucester,'

161Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice,

162'Jesu maintain your royal excellence!'

163With 'God preserve the good Duke Humphrey!'

164I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,

165He will be found a dangerous protector.

166Why should he, then, protect our sovereign,

167He being of age to govern of himself?

168Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,

169And all together, with the Duke of Suffolk,

170We'll quickly hoise Duke Humphrey from his seat.

171This weighty business will not brook delay:

172I'll to the Duke of Suffolk presently.

173Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's pride

174And greatness of his place be grief to us,

175Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal:

176His insolence is more intolerable

177Than all the princes in the land beside:

178If Gloucester be displaced, he'll be protector.

179Or thou or I, Somerset, will be protector,

180Despite Duke Humphrey or the cardinal.

181Pride went before, ambition follows him.

182While these do labour for their own preferment,

183Behoves it us to labour for the realm.

184I never saw but Humphrey Duke of Gloucester

185Did bear him like a noble gentleman.

186Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal,

187More like a soldier than a man o' the church,

188As stout and proud as he were lord of all,

189Swear like a ruffian and demean himself

190Unlike the ruler of a commonweal.

191Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age,

192Thy deeds, thy plainness and thy housekeeping,

193Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,

194Excepting none but good Duke Humphrey:

195And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,

196In bringing them to civil discipline,

197Thy late exploits done in the heart of France,

198When thou wert regent for our sovereign,

199Have made thee fear'd and honour'd of the people:

200Join we together, for the public good,

201In what we can, to bridle and suppress

202The pride of Suffolk and the cardinal,

203With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition;

204And, as we may, cherish Duke Humphrey's deeds,

205While they do tend the profit of the land.

206So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,

207And common profit of his country!

208[Aside] And so says York, for he hath greatest cause.

209Then let's make haste away, and look unto the main.

210Unto the main! O father, Maine is lost;

211That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,

212And would have kept so long as breath did last!

213Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,

214Which I will win from France, or else be slain,

215Anjou and Maine are given to the French;

216Paris is lost; the state of Normandy

217Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:

218Suffolk concluded on the articles,

219The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleased

220To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.

221I cannot blame them all: what is't to them?

222'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.

223Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage

224And purchase friends and give to courtezans,

225Still revelling like lords till all be gone;

226While as the silly owner of the goods

227Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands

228And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,

229While all is shared and all is borne away,

230Ready to starve and dare not touch his own:

231So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,

232While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.

233Methinks the realms of England, France and Ireland

234Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood

235As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd

236Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.

237Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!

238Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,

239Even as I have of fertile England's soil.

240A day will come when York shall claim his own;

241And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts

242And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,

243And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown,

244For that's the golden mark I seek to hit:

245Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,

246Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,

247Nor wear the diadem upon his head,

248Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.

249Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve:

250Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,

251To pry into the secrets of the state;

252Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,

253With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,

254And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:

255Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,

256With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed;

257And in my standard bear the arms of York

258To grapple with the house of Lancaster;

259And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown,

260Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down.

1Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,

2Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?

3Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,

4As frowning at the favours of the world?

5Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,

6Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?

7What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem,

8Enchased with all the honours of the world?

9If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,

10Until thy head be circled with the same.

11Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.

12What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine:

13And, having both together heaved it up,

14We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,

15And never more abase our sight so low

16As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

17O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,

18Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts.

19And may that thought, when I imagine ill

20Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,

21Be my last breathing in this mortal world!

22My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

23What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it

24With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

25Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,

26Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot,

27But, as I think, it was by the cardinal;

28And on the pieces of the broken wand

29Were placed the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset,

30And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk.

31This was my dream: what it doth bode, God knows.

32Tut, this was nothing but an argument

33That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove

34Shall lose his head for his presumption.

35But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:

36Methought I sat in seat of majesty

37In the cathedral church of Westminster,

38And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;

39Where Henry and dame Margaret kneel'd to me

40And on my head did set the diadem.

41Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright:

42Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,

43Art thou not second woman in the realm,

44And the protector's wife, beloved of him?

45Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,

46Above the reach or compass of thy thought?

47And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,

48To tumble down thy husband and thyself

49From top of honour to disgrace's feet?

50Away from me, and let me hear no more!

51What, what, my lord! are you so choleric

52With Eleanor, for telling but her dream?

53Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself,

54And not be cheque'd.

55Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again.

56My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure

57You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,

58Where as the king and queen do mean to hawk.

59I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?

60Yes, my good lord, I'll follow presently.

61Follow I must; I cannot go before,

62While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.

63Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,

64I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks

65And smooth my way upon their headless necks;

66And, being a woman, I will not be slack

67To play my part in Fortune's pageant.

68Where are you there? Sir John! nay, fear not, man,

69We are alone; here's none but thee and I.

70Jesus preserve your royal majesty!

71What say'st thou? majesty! I am but grace.

72But, by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,

73Your grace's title shall be multiplied.

74What say'st thou, man? hast thou as yet conferr'd

75With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch,

76With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer?

77And will they undertake to do me good?

78This they have promised, to show your highness

79A spirit raised from depth of under-ground,

80That shall make answer to such questions

81As by your grace shall be propounded him.

82It is enough; I'll think upon the questions:

83When from St. Alban's we do make return,

84We'll see these things effected to the full.

85Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man,

86With thy confederates in this weighty cause.

87Hume must make merry with the duchess' gold;

88Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume!

89Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum:

90The business asketh silent secrecy.

91Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:

92Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.

93Yet have I gold flies from another coast;

94I dare not say, from the rich cardinal

95And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk,

96Yet I do find it so; for to be plain,

97They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,

98Have hired me to undermine the duchess

99And buz these conjurations in her brain.

100They say 'A crafty knave does need no broker;'

101Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.

102Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near

103To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.

104Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last

105Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck,

106And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall:

107Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all.

1My masters, let's stand close: my lord protector

2will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver

3our supplications in the quill.

4Marry, the Lord protect him, for he's a good man!

5Jesu bless him!

6Here a' comes, methinks, and the queen with him.

7I'll be the first, sure.

8Come back, fool; this is the Duke of Suffolk, and

9not my lord protector.

10How now, fellow! would'st anything with me?

11I pray, my lord, pardon me; I took ye for my lord

12protector.

13[Reading] 'To my Lord Protector!' Are your

14supplications to his lordship? Let me see them:

15what is thine?

16Mine is, an't please your grace, against John

17Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my

18house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.

19Thy wife, too! that's some wrong, indeed. What's

20yours? What's here!

21'Against the Duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the

22commons of Melford.' How now, sir knave!

23Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our whole township.

24[Giving his petition] Against my master, Thomas

25Horner, for saying that the Duke of York was rightful

26heir to the crown.

27What sayst thou? did the Duke of York say he was

28rightful heir to the crown?

29That my master was? no, forsooth: my master said

30that he was, and that the king was an usurper.

31Who is there?

32Take this fellow in, and send for

33his master with a pursuivant presently: we'll hear

34more of your matter before the King.

35And as for you, that love to be protected

36Under the wings of our protector's grace,

37Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.

38Away, base cullions! Suffolk, let them go.

39Come, let's be gone.

40My Lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,

41Is this the fashion in the court of England?

42Is this the government of Britain's isle,

43And this the royalty of Albion's king?

44What shall King Henry be a pupil still

45Under the surly Gloucester's governance?

46Am I a queen in title and in style,

47And must be made a subject to a duke?

48I tell thee, Pole, when in the city Tours

49Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love

50And stolest away the ladies' hearts of France,

51I thought King Henry had resembled thee

52In courage, courtship and proportion:

53But all his mind is bent to holiness,

54To number Ave-Maries on his beads;

55His champions are the prophets and apostles,

56His weapons holy saws of sacred writ,

57His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves

58Are brazen images of canonized saints.

59I would the college of the cardinals

60Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,

61And set the triple crown upon his head:

62That were a state fit for his holiness.

63Madam, be patient: as I was cause

64Your highness came to England, so will I

65In England work your grace's full content.

66Beside the haughty protector, have we Beaufort,

67The imperious churchman, Somerset, Buckingham,

68And grumbling York: and not the least of these

69But can do more in England than the king.

70And he of these that can do most of all

71Cannot do more in England than the Nevils:

72Salisbury and Warwick are no simple peers.

73Not all these lords do vex me half so much

74As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife.

75She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,

76More like an empress than Duke Humphrey's wife:

77Strangers in court do take her for the queen:

78She bears a duke's revenues on her back,

79And in her heart she scorns our poverty:

80Shall I not live to be avenged on her?

81Contemptuous base-born callet as she is,

82She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day,

83The very train of her worst wearing gown

84Was better worth than all my father's lands,

85Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.

86Madam, myself have limed a bush for her,

87And placed a quire of such enticing birds,

88That she will light to listen to the lays,

89And never mount to trouble you again.

90So, let her rest: and, madam, list to me;

91For I am bold to counsel you in this.

92Although we fancy not the cardinal,

93Yet must we join with him and with the lords,

94Till we have brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.

95As for the Duke of York, this late complaint

96Will make but little for his benefit.

97So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last,

98And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.

99For my part, noble lords, I care not which;

100Or Somerset or York, all's one to me.

101If York have ill demean'd himself in France,

102Then let him be denay'd the regentship.

103If Somerset be unworthy of the place,

104Let York be regent; I will yield to him.

105Whether your grace be worthy, yea or no,

106Dispute not that: York is the worthier.

107Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.

108The cardinal's not my better in the field.

109All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick.

110Warwick may live to be the best of all.

111Peace, son! and show some reason, Buckingham,

112Why Somerset should be preferred in this.

113Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.

114Madam, the king is old enough himself

115To give his censure: these are no women's matters.

116If he be old enough, what needs your grace

117To be protector of his excellence?

118Madam, I am protector of the realm;

119And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.

120Resign it then and leave thine insolence.

121Since thou wert king--as who is king but thou?--

122The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck;

123The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas;

124And all the peers and nobles of the realm

125Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.

126The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's bags

127Are lank and lean with thy extortions.

128Thy sumptuous buildings and thy wife's attire

129Have cost a mass of public treasury.

130Thy cruelty in execution

131Upon offenders, hath exceeded law,

132And left thee to the mercy of the law.

133They sale of offices and towns in France,

134If they were known, as the suspect is great,

135Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.

136Give me my fan: what, minion! can ye not?

137I cry you mercy, madam; was it you?

138Was't I! yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman:

139Could I come near your beauty with my nails,

140I'd set my ten commandments in your face.

141Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against her will.

142Against her will! good king, look to't in time;

143She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby:

144Though in this place most master wear no breeches,

145She shall not strike Dame Eleanor unrevenged.

146Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,

147And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds:

148She's tickled now; her fume needs no spurs,

149She'll gallop far enough to her destruction.

150Now, lords, my choler being over-blown

151With walking once about the quadrangle,

152I come to talk of commonwealth affairs.

153As for your spiteful false objections,

154Prove them, and I lie open to the law:

155But God in mercy so deal with my soul,

156As I in duty love my king and country!

157But, to the matter that we have in hand:

158I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man

159To be your regent in the realm of France.

160Before we make election, give me leave

161To show some reason, of no little force,

162That York is most unmeet of any man.

163I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why I am unmeet:

164First, for I cannot flatter thee in pride;

165Next, if I be appointed for the place,

166My Lord of Somerset will keep me here,

167Without discharge, money, or furniture,

168Till France be won into the Dauphin's hands:

169Last time, I danced attendance on his will

170Till Paris was besieged, famish'd, and lost.

171That can I witness; and a fouler fact

172Did never traitor in the land commit.

173Peace, headstrong Warwick!

174Image of pride, why should I hold my peace?

175Because here is a man accused of treason:

176Pray God the Duke of York excuse himself!

177Doth any one accuse York for a traitor?

178What mean'st thou, Suffolk; tell me, what are these?

179Please it your majesty, this is the man

180That doth accuse his master of high treason:

181His words were these: that Richard, Duke of York,

182Was rightful heir unto the English crown

183And that your majesty was a usurper.

184Say, man, were these thy words?

185An't shall please your majesty, I never said nor

186thought any such matter: God is my witness, I am

187falsely accused by the villain.

188By these ten bones, my lords, he did speak them to

189me in the garret one night, as we were scouring my

190Lord of York's armour.

191Base dunghill villain and mechanical,

192I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech.

193I do beseech your royal majesty,

194Let him have all the rigor of the law.

195Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the words.

196My accuser is my 'prentice; and when I did correct

197him for his fault the other day, he did vow upon his

198knees he would be even with me: I have good

199witness of this: therefore I beseech your majesty,

200do not cast away an honest man for a villain's

201accusation.

202Uncle, what shall we say to this in law?

203This doom, my lord, if I may judge:

204Let Somerset be regent over the French,

205Because in York this breeds suspicion:

206And let these have a day appointed them

207For single combat in convenient place,

208For he hath witness of his servant's malice:

209This is the law, and this Duke Humphrey's doom.

210I humbly thank your royal majesty.

211And I accept the combat willingly.

212Alas, my lord, I cannot fight; for God's sake, pity

213my case. The spite of man prevaileth against me. O

214Lord, have mercy upon me! I shall never be able to

215fight a blow. O Lord, my heart!

216Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd.

217Away with them to prison; and the day of combat

218shall be the last of the next month. Come,

219Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.

1Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects

2performance of your promises.

3Master Hume, we are therefore provided: will her

4ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms?

5Ay, what else? fear you not her courage.

6I have heard her reported to be a woman of an

7invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient,

8Master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be

9busy below; and so, I pray you, go, in God's name,

10and leave us.

11Mother Jourdain, be you

12prostrate and grovel on the earth; John Southwell,

13read you; and let us to our work.

14Well said, my masters; and welcome all. To this

15gear the sooner the better.

16Patience, good lady; wizards know their times:

17Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night,

18The time of night when Troy was set on fire;

19The time when screech-owls cry and ban-dogs howl,

20And spirits walk and ghosts break up their graves,

21That time best fits the work we have in hand.

22Madam, sit you and fear not: whom we raise,

23We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.

24Adsum.

25Asmath,

26By the eternal God, whose name and power

27Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask;

28For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.

29Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done!

30'First of the king: what shall of him become?'

31The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose;

32But him outlive, and die a violent death.

33'What fates await the Duke of Suffolk?'

34By water shall he die, and take his end.

35'What shall befall the Duke of Somerset?'

36Let him shun castles;

37Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains

38Than where castles mounted stand.

39Have done, for more I hardly can endure.

40Descend to darkness and the burning lake!

41False fiend, avoid!

42Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash.

43Beldam, I think we watch'd you at an inch.

44What, madam, are you there? the king and commonweal

45Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains:

46My lord protector will, I doubt it not,

47See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts.

48Not half so bad as thine to England's king,

49Injurious duke, that threatest where's no cause.

50True, madam, none at all: what call you this?

51Away with them! let them be clapp'd up close.

52And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us.

53Stafford, take her to thee.

54We'll see your trinkets here all forthcoming.

55All, away!

56Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well:

57A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!

58Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.

59What have we here?

60'The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose;

61But him outlive, and die a violent death.'

62Why, this is just

63'Aio te, AEacida, Romanos vincere posse.'

64Well, to the rest:

65'Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?

66By water shall he die, and take his end.

67What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?

68Let him shun castles;

69Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains

70Than where castles mounted stand.'

71Come, come, my lords;

72These oracles are hardly attain'd,

73And hardly understood.

74The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's,

75With him the husband of this lovely lady:

76Thither go these news, as fast as horse can

77carry them:

78A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

79Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York,

80To be the post, in hope of his reward.

81At your pleasure, my good lord. Who's within

82there, ho!

83Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick

84To sup with me to-morrow night. Away!

1Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,

2I saw not better sport these seven years' day:

3Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;

4And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

5But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,

6And what a pitch she flew above the rest!

7To see how God in all his creatures works!

8Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.

9No marvel, an it like your majesty,

10My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;

11They know their master loves to be aloft,

12And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.

13My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind

14That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

15I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.

16Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that?

17Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven?

18The treasury of everlasting joy.

19Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts

20Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;

21Pernicious protector, dangerous peer,

22That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal!

23What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?

24Tantaene animis coelestibus irae?

25Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;

26With such holiness can you do it?

27No malice, sir; no more than well becomes

28So good a quarrel and so bad a peer.

29As who, my lord?

30Why, as you, my lord,

31An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

32Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence.

33And thy ambition, Gloucester.

34I prithee, peace, good queen,

35And whet not on these furious peers;

36For blessed are the peacemakers on earth.

37Let me be blessed for the peace I make,

38Against this proud protector, with my sword!

39[Aside to CARDINAL] Faith, holy uncle, would

40'twere come to that!

41[Aside to GLOUCESTER] Marry, when thou darest.

42[Aside to CARDINAL] Make up no factious

43numbers for the matter;

44In thine own person answer thy abuse.

45[Aside to GLOUCESTER] Ay, where thou darest

46not peep: an if thou darest,

47This evening, on the east side of the grove.

48How now, my lords!

49Believe me, cousin Gloucester,

50Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,

51We had had more sport.

52Come with thy two-hand sword.

53True, uncle.

54[Aside to GLOUCESTER] Are ye advised? the

55east side of the grove?

56[Aside to CARDINAL] Cardinal, I am with you.

57Why, how now, uncle Gloucester!

58Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord.

59Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this,

60Or all my fence shall fail.

61[Aside to GLOUCESTER] Medice, teipsum--

62Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.

63The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.

64How irksome is this music to my heart!

65When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?

66I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.

67What means this noise?

68Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

69A miracle! a miracle!

70Come to the king and tell him what miracle.

71Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine,

72Within this half-hour, hath received his sight;

73A man that ne'er saw in his life before.

74Now, God be praised, that to believing souls

75Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

76Here comes the townsmen on procession,

77To present your highness with the man.

78Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,

79Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.

80Stand by, my masters: bring him near the king;

81His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

82Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,

83That we for thee may glorify the Lord.

84What, hast thou been long blind and now restored?

85Born blind, an't please your grace.

86Ay, indeed, was he.

87What woman is this?

88His wife, an't like your worship.

89Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst have

90better told.

91Where wert thou born?

92At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace.

93Poor soul, God's goodness hath been great to thee:

94Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,

95But still remember what the Lord hath done.

96Tell me, good fellow, camest thou here by chance,

97Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

98God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd

99A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep,

100By good Saint Alban; who said, 'Simpcox, come,

101Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.'

102Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft

103Myself have heard a voice to call him so.

104What, art thou lame?

105Ay, God Almighty help me!

106How camest thou so?

107A fall off of a tree.

108A plum-tree, master.

109How long hast thou been blind?

110Born so, master.

111What, and wouldst climb a tree?

112But that in all my life, when I was a youth.

113Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.

114Mass, thou lovedst plums well, that wouldst

115venture so.

116Alas, good master, my wife desired some damsons,

117And made me climb, with danger of my life.

118A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.

119Let me see thine eyes: wink now: now open them:

120In my opinion yet thou seest not well.

121Yes, master, clear as day, I thank God and

122Saint Alban.

123Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of?

124Red, master; red as blood.

125Why, that's well said. What colour is my gown of?

126Black, forsooth: coal-black as jet.

127Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of?

128And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

129But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many.

130Never, before this day, in all his life.

131Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?

132Alas, master, I know not.

133What's his name?

134I know not.

135Nor his?

136No, indeed, master.

137What's thine own name?

138Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.

139Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in

140Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou

141mightest as well have known all our names as thus to

142name the several colours we do wear. Sight may

143distinguish of colours, but suddenly to nominate them

144all, it is impossible. My lords, Saint Alban here

145hath done a miracle; and would ye not think his

146cunning to be great, that could restore this cripple

147to his legs again?

148O master, that you could!

149My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not beadles in

150your town, and things called whips?

151Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.

152Then send for one presently.

153Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

154Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, sirrah,

155if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me

156over this stool and run away.

157Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone:

158You go about to torture me in vain.

159Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah

160beadle, whip him till he leap over that same stool.

161I will, my lord. Come on, sirrah; off with your

162doublet quickly.

163Alas, master, what shall I do? I am not able to stand.

164O God, seest Thou this, and bearest so long?

165It made me laugh to see the villain run.

166Follow the knave; and take this drab away.

167Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.

168Let them be whipped through every market-town, till

169they come to Berwick, from whence they came.

170Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.

171True; made the lame to leap and fly away.

172But you have done more miracles than I;

173You made in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.

174What tidings with our cousin Buckingham?

175Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.

176A sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent,

177Under the countenance and confederacy

178Of Lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,

179The ringleader and head of all this rout,

180Have practised dangerously against your state,

181Dealing with witches and with conjurers:

182Whom we have apprehended in the fact;

183Raising up wicked spirits from under ground,

184Demanding of King Henry's life and death,

185And other of your highness' privy-council;

186As more at large your grace shall understand.

187[Aside to GLOUCESTER] And so, my lord protector,

188by this means

189Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.

190This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge;

191'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.

192Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart:

193Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers;

194And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,

195Or to the meanest groom.

196O God, what mischiefs work the wicked ones,

197Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby!

198Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest.

199And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.

200Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal,

201How I have loved my king and commonweal:

202And, for my wife, I know not how it stands;

203Sorry I am to hear what I have heard:

204Noble she is, but if she have forgot

205Honour and virtue and conversed with such

206As, like to pitch, defile nobility,

207I banish her my bed and company

208And give her as a prey to law and shame,

209That hath dishonour'd Gloucester's honest name.

210Well, for this night we will repose us here:

211To-morrow toward London back again,

212To look into this business thoroughly

213And call these foul offenders to their answers

214And poise the cause in justice' equal scales,

215Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.

1Now, my good Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,

2Our simple supper ended, give me leave

3In this close walk to satisfy myself,

4In craving your opinion of my title,

5Which is infallible, to England's crown.

6My lord, I long to hear it at full.

7Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good,

8The Nevils are thy subjects to command.

9Then thus:

10Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons:

11The first, Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales;

12The second, William of Hatfield, and the third,

13Lionel Duke of Clarence: next to whom

14Was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster;

15The fifth was Edmund Langley, Duke of York;

16The sixth was Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester;

17William of Windsor was the seventh and last.

18Edward the Black Prince died before his father

19And left behind him Richard, his only son,

20Who after Edward the Third's death reign'd as king;

21Till Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster,

22The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,

23Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,

24Seized on the realm, deposed the rightful king,

25Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came,

26And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know,

27Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.

28Father, the duke hath told the truth:

29Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown.

30Which now they hold by force and not by right;

31For Richard, the first son's heir, being dead,

32The issue of the next son should have reign'd.

33But William of Hatfield died without an heir.

34The third son, Duke of Clarence, from whose line

35I claimed the crown, had issue, Philippe, a daughter,

36Who married Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March:

37Edmund had issue, Roger Earl of March;

38Roger had issue, Edmund, Anne and Eleanor.

39This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke,

40As I have read, laid claim unto the crown;

41And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king,

42Who kept him in captivity till he died.

43But to the rest.

44His eldest sister, Anne,

45My mother, being heir unto the crown

46Married Richard Earl of Cambridge; who was son

47To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son.

48By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir

49To Roger Earl of March, who was the son

50Of Edmund Mortimer, who married Philippe,

51Sole daughter unto Lionel Duke of Clarence:

52So, if the issue of the elder son

53Succeed before the younger, I am king.

54What plain proceeding is more plain than this?

55Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,

56The fourth son; York claims it from the third.

57Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign:

58It fails not yet, but flourishes in thee

59And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock.

60Then, father Salisbury, kneel we together;

61And in this private plot be we the first

62That shall salute our rightful sovereign

63With honour of his birthright to the crown.

64Long live our sovereign Richard, England's king!

65We thank you, lords. But I am not your king

66Till I be crown'd and that my sword be stain'd

67With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster;

68And that's not suddenly to be perform'd,

69But with advice and silent secrecy.

70Do you as I do in these dangerous days:

71Wink at the Duke of Suffolk's insolence,

72At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,

73At Buckingham and all the crew of them,

74Till they have snared the shepherd of the flock,

75That virtuous prince, the good Duke Humphrey:

76'Tis that they seek, and they in seeking that

77Shall find their deaths, if York can prophesy.

78My lord, break we off; we know your mind at full.

79My heart assures me that the Earl of Warwick

80Shall one day make the Duke of York a king.

81And, Nevil, this I do assure myself:

82Richard shall live to make the Earl of Warwick

83The greatest man in England but the king.

1Stand forth, Dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloucester's wife:

2In sight of God and us, your guilt is great:

3Receive the sentence of the law for sins

4Such as by God's book are adjudged to death.

5You four, from hence to prison back again;

6From thence unto the place of execution:

7The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes,

8And you three shall be strangled on the gallows.

9You, madam, for you are more nobly born,

10Despoiled of your honour in your life,

11Shall, after three days' open penance done,

12Live in your country here in banishment,

13With Sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.

14Welcome is banishment; welcome were my death.

15Eleanor, the law, thou see'st, hath judged thee:

16I cannot justify whom the law condemns.

17Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.

18Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age

19Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground!

20I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go;

21Sorrow would solace and mine age would ease.

22Stay, Humphrey Duke of Gloucester: ere thou go,

23Give up thy staff: Henry will to himself

24Protector be; and God shall be my hope,

25My stay, my guide and lantern to my feet:

26And go in peace, Humphrey, no less beloved

27Than when thou wert protector to thy King.

28I see no reason why a king of years

29Should be to be protected like a child.

30God and King Henry govern England's realm.

31Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm.

32My staff? here, noble Henry, is my staff:

33As willingly do I the same resign

34As e'er thy father Henry made it mine;

35And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it

36As others would ambitiously receive it.

37Farewell, good king: when I am dead and gone,

38May honourable peace attend thy throne!

39Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret queen;

40And Humphrey Duke of Gloucester scarce himself,

41That bears so shrewd a maim; two pulls at once;

42His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off.

43This staff of honour raught, there let it stand

44Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.

45Thus droops this lofty pine and hangs his sprays;

46Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.

47Lords, let him go. Please it your majesty,

48This is the day appointed for the combat;

49And ready are the appellant and defendant,

50The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,

51So please your highness to behold the fight.

52Ay, good my lord; for purposely therefore

53Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.

54O God's name, see the lists and all things fit:

55Here let them end it; and God defend the right!

56I never saw a fellow worse bested,

57Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant,

58The servant of this armourer, my lords.

59Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you in a cup of

60sack: and fear not, neighbour, you shall do well enough.

61And here, neighbour, here's a cup of charneco.

62And here's a pot of good double beer, neighbour:

63drink, and fear not your man.

64Let it come, i' faith, and I'll pledge you all; and

65a fig for Peter!

66First 'Prentice Here, Peter, I drink to thee: and be not afraid.

67Second 'Prentice Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master: fight

68for credit of the 'prentices.

69I thank you all: drink, and pray for me, I pray

70you; for I think I have taken my last draught in

71this world. Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee

72my apron: and, Will, thou shalt have my hammer:

73and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. O

74Lord bless me! I pray God! for I am never able to

75deal with my master, he hath learnt me so much fence already.

76Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.

77Sirrah, what's thy name?

78Peter, forsooth.

79Peter! what more?

80Thump.

81Thump! then see thou thump thy master well.

82Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon my man's

83instigation, to prove him a knave and myself an

84honest man: and touching the Duke of York, I will

85take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor the

86king, nor the queen: and therefore, Peter, have at

87thee with a downright blow!

88Dispatch: this knave's tongue begins to double.

89Sound, trumpets, alarum to the combatants!

90Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess treason.

91Take away his weapon. Fellow, thank God, and the

92good wine in thy master's way.

93O God, have I overcome mine enemy in this presence?

94O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right!

95Go, take hence that traitor from our sight;

96For his death we do perceive his guilt:

97And God in justice hath revealed to us

98The truth and innocence of this poor fellow,

99Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully.

100Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.

1Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud;

2And after summer evermore succeeds

3Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold:

4So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.

5Sirs, what's o'clock?

6Ten, my lord.

7Ten is the hour that was appointed me

8To watch the coming of my punish'd duchess:

9Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,

10To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.

11Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook

12The abject people gazing on thy face,

13With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,

14That erst did follow thy proud chariot-wheels

15When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.

16But, soft! I think she comes; and I'll prepare

17My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.

18So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

19No, stir not, for your lives; let her pass by.

20Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?

21Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!

22See how the giddy multitude do point,

23And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee!

24Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,

25And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,

26And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine!

27Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

28Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself!

29For whilst I think I am thy married wife

30And thou a prince, protector of this land,

31Methinks I should not thus be led along,

32Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back,

33And followed with a rabble that rejoice

34To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.

35The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,

36And when I start, the envious people laugh

37And bid me be advised how I tread.

38Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?

39Trow'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world,

40Or count them happy that enjoy the sun?

41No; dark shall be my light and night my day;

42To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.

43Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humphrey's wife,

44And he a prince and ruler of the land:

45Yet so he ruled and such a prince he was

46As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,

47Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock

48To every idle rascal follower.

49But be thou mild and blush not at my shame,

50Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death

51Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will;

52For Suffolk, he that can do all in all

53With her that hateth thee and hates us all,

54And York and impious Beaufort, that false priest,

55Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings,

56And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee:

57But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared,

58Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

59Ah, Nell, forbear! thou aimest all awry;

60I must offend before I be attainted;

61And had I twenty times so many foes,

62And each of them had twenty times their power,

63All these could not procure me any scathe,

64So long as I am loyal, true and crimeless.

65Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?

66Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away

67But I in danger for the breach of law.

68Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell:

69I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience;

70These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.

71I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament,

72Holden at Bury the first of this next month.

73And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before!

74This is close dealing. Well, I will be there.

75My Nell, I take my leave: and, master sheriff,

76Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

77An't please your grace, here my commission stays,

78And Sir John Stanley is appointed now

79To take her with him to the Isle of Man.

80Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

81So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

82Entreat her not the worse in that I pray

83You use her well: the world may laugh again;

84And I may live to do you kindness if

85You do it her: and so, Sir John, farewell!

86What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell!

87Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.

88Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee!

89For none abides with me: my joy is death;

90Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd,

91Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

92Stanley, I prithee, go, and take me hence;

93I care not whither, for I beg no favour,

94Only convey me where thou art commanded.

95Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man;

96There to be used according to your state.

97That's bad enough, for I am but reproach:

98And shall I then be used reproachfully?

99Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady;

100According to that state you shall be used.

101Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,

102Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

103It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

104Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.

105Come, Stanley, shall we go?

106Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,

107And go we to attire you for our journey.

108My shame will not be shifted with my sheet:

109No, it will hang upon my richest robes

110And show itself, attire me how I can.

111Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.

1I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come:

2'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,

3Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

4Can you not see? or will ye not observe

5The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?

6With what a majesty he bears himself,

7How insolent of late he is become,

8How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself?

9We know the time since he was mild and affable,

10And if we did but glance a far-off look,

11Immediately he was upon his knee,

12That all the court admired him for submission:

13But meet him now, and, be it in the morn,

14When every one will give the time of day,

15He knits his brow and shows an angry eye,

16And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,

17Disdaining duty that to us belongs.

18Small curs are not regarded when they grin;

19But great men tremble when the lion roars;

20And Humphrey is no little man in England.

21First note that he is near you in descent,

22And should you fall, he as the next will mount.

23Me seemeth then it is no policy,

24Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears

25And his advantage following your decease,

26That he should come about your royal person

27Or be admitted to your highness' council.

28By flattery hath he won the commons' hearts,

29And when he please to make commotion,

30'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.

31Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;

32Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden

33And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

34The reverent care I bear unto my lord

35Made me collect these dangers in the duke.

36If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;

37Which fear if better reasons can supplant,

38I will subscribe and say I wrong'd the duke.

39My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,

40Reprove my allegation, if you can;

41Or else conclude my words effectual.

42Well hath your highness seen into this duke;

43And, had I first been put to speak my mind,

44I think I should have told your grace's tale.

45The duchess, by his subornation,

46Upon my life, began her devilish practises:

47Or, if he were not privy to those faults,

48Yet, by reputing of his high descent,

49As next the king he was successive heir,

50And such high vaunts of his nobility,

51Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess

52By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.

53Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep;

54And in his simple show he harbours treason.

55The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.

56No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man

57Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.

58Did he not, contrary to form of law,

59Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

60And did he not, in his protectorship,

61Levy great sums of money through the realm

62For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it?

63By means whereof the towns each day revolted.

64Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown.

65Which time will bring to light in smooth

66Duke Humphrey.

67My lords, at once: the care you have of us,

68To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,

69Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience,

70Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent

71From meaning treason to our royal person

72As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove:

73The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given

74To dream on evil or to work my downfall.

75Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond affiance!

76Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed,

77For he's disposed as the hateful raven:

78Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him,

79For he's inclined as is the ravenous wolf.

80Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?

81Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all

82Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.

83All health unto my gracious sovereign!

84Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?

85That all your interest in those territories

86Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

87Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God's will be done!

88[Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France

89As firmly as I hope for fertile England.

90Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud

91And caterpillars eat my leaves away;

92But I will remedy this gear ere long,

93Or sell my title for a glorious grave.

94All happiness unto my lord the king!

95Pardon, my liege, that I have stay'd so long.

96Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon,

97Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art:

98I do arrest thee of high treason here.

99Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush

100Nor change my countenance for this arrest:

101A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.

102The purest spring is not so free from mud

103As I am clear from treason to my sovereign:

104Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

105'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,

106And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay;

107By means whereof his highness hath lost France.

108Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?

109I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,

110Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.

111So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,

112Ay, night by night, in studying good for England,

113That doit that e'er I wrested from the king,

114Or any groat I hoarded to my use,

115Be brought against me at my trial-day!

116No; many a pound of mine own proper store,

117Because I would not tax the needy commons,

118Have I disbursed to the garrisons,

119And never ask'd for restitution.

120It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.

121I say no more than truth, so help me God!

122In your protectorship you did devise

123Strange tortures for offenders never heard of,

124That England was defamed by tyranny.

125Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was

126protector,

127Pity was all the fault that was in me;

128For I should melt at an offender's tears,

129And lowly words were ransom for their fault.

130Unless it were a bloody murderer,

131Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers,

132I never gave them condign punishment:

133Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured

134Above the felon or what trespass else.

135My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered:

136But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,

137Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.

138I do arrest you in his highness' name;

139And here commit you to my lord cardinal

140To keep, until your further time of trial.

141My lord of Gloucester, 'tis my special hope

142That you will clear yourself from all suspect:

143My conscience tells me you are innocent.

144Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous:

145Virtue is choked with foul ambition

146And charity chased hence by rancour's hand;

147Foul subornation is predominant

148And equity exiled your highness' land.

149I know their complot is to have my life,

150And if my death might make this island happy,

151And prove the period of their tyranny,

152I would expend it with all willingness:

153But mine is made the prologue to their play;

154For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,

155Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.

156Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,

157And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;

158Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue

159The envious load that lies upon his heart;

160And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,

161Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back,

162By false accuse doth level at my life:

163And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,

164Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,

165And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up

166My liefest liege to be mine enemy:

167Ay, all you have laid your heads together--

168Myself had notice of your conventicles--

169And all to make away my guiltless life.

170I shall not want false witness to condemn me,

171Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt;

172The ancient proverb will be well effected:

173'A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.'

174My liege, his railing is intolerable:

175If those that care to keep your royal person

176From treason's secret knife and traitors' rage

177Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,

178And the offender granted scope of speech,

179'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.

180Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here

181With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd,

182As if she had suborned some to swear

183False allegations to o'erthrow his state?

184But I can give the loser leave to chide.

185Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed;

186Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false!

187And well such losers may have leave to speak.

188He'll wrest the sense and hold us here all day:

189Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.

190Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.

191Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch

192Before his legs be firm to bear his body.

193Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,

194And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.

195Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were!

196For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.

197My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best,

198Do or undo, as if ourself were here.

199What, will your highness leave the parliament?

200Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,

201Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes,

202My body round engirt with misery,

203For what's more miserable than discontent?

204Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see

205The map of honour, truth and loyalty:

206And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come

207That e'er I proved thee false or fear'd thy faith.

208What louring star now envies thy estate,

209That these great lords and Margaret our queen

210Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?

211Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong;

212And as the butcher takes away the calf

213And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,

214Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,

215Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;

216And as the dam runs lowing up and down,

217Looking the way her harmless young one went,

218And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,

219Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case

220With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes

221Look after him and cannot do him good,

222So mighty are his vowed enemies.

223His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan

224Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.'

225Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.

226Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,

227Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show

228Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile

229With sorrow snares relenting passengers,

230Or as the snake roll'd in a flowering bank,

231With shining chequer'd slough, doth sting a child

232That for the beauty thinks it excellent.

233Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I--

234And yet herein I judge mine own wit good--

235This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,

236To rid us of the fear we have of him.

237That he should die is worthy policy;

238But yet we want a colour for his death:

239'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

240But, in my mind, that were no policy:

241The king will labour still to save his life,

242The commons haply rise, to save his life;

243And yet we have but trivial argument,

244More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

245So that, by this, you would not have him die.

246Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!

247'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.

248But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,

249Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,

250Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set

251To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,

252As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

253So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

254Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness, then,

255To make the fox surveyor of the fold?

256Who being accused a crafty murderer,

257His guilt should be but idly posted over,

258Because his purpose is not executed.

259No; let him die, in that he is a fox,

260By nature proved an enemy to the flock,

261Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,

262As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege.

263And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:

264Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,

265Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,

266So he be dead; for that is good deceit

267Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

268Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

269Not resolute, except so much were done;

270For things are often spoke and seldom meant:

271But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,

272Seeing the deed is meritorious,

273And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,

274Say but the word, and I will be his priest.

275But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,

276Ere you can take due orders for a priest:

277Say you consent and censure well the deed,

278And I'll provide his executioner,

279I tender so the safety of my liege.

280Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

281And so say I.

282And I and now we three have spoke it,

283It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.

284Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,

285To signify that rebels there are up

286And put the Englishmen unto the sword:

287Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime,

288Before the wound do grow uncurable;

289For, being green, there is great hope of help.

290A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!

291What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

292That Somerset be sent as regent thither:

293'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd;

294Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

295If York, with all his far-fet policy,

296Had been the regent there instead of me,

297He never would have stay'd in France so long.

298No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:

299I rather would have lost my life betimes

300Than bring a burthen of dishonour home

301By staying there so long till all were lost.

302Show me one scar character'd on thy skin:

303Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.

304Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire,

305If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:

306No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still:

307Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,

308Might happily have proved far worse than his.

309What, worse than nought? nay, then, a shame take all!

310And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!

311My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.

312The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms

313And temper clay with blood of Englishmen:

314To Ireland will you lead a band of men,

315Collected choicely, from each county some,

316And try your hap against the Irishmen?

317I will, my lord, so please his majesty.

318Why, our authority is his consent,

319And what we do establish he confirms:

320Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

321I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,

322Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

323A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.

324But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.

325No more of him; for I will deal with him

326That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.

327And so break off; the day is almost spent:

328Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

329My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days

330At Bristol I expect my soldiers;

331For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

332I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York.

333Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,

334And change misdoubt to resolution:

335Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art

336Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying:

337Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,

338And find no harbour in a royal heart.

339Faster than spring-time showers comes thought

340on thought,

341And not a thought but thinks on dignity.

342My brain more busy than the labouring spider

343Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

344Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,

345To send me packing with an host of men:

346I fear me you but warm the starved snake,

347Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting

348your hearts.

349'Twas men I lack'd and you will give them me:

350I take it kindly; and yet be well assured

351You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.

352Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,

353I will stir up in England some black storm

354Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;

355And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage

356Until the golden circuit on my head,

357Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,

358Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.

359And, for a minister of my intent,

360I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,

361John Cade of Ashford,

362To make commotion, as full well he can,

363Under the title of John Mortimer.

364In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade

365Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,

366And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts

367Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;

368And, in the end being rescued, I have seen

369Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,

370Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.

371Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,

372Hath he conversed with the enemy,

373And undiscover'd come to me again

374And given me notice of their villanies.

375This devil here shall be my substitute;

376For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,

377In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:

378By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,

379How they affect the house and claim of York.

380Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured,

381I know no pain they can inflict upon him

382Will make him say I moved him to those arms.

383Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,

384Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength

385And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;

386For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,

387And Henry put apart, the next for me.

1Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know

2We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

3O that it were to do! What have we done?

4Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

5Here comes my lord.

6Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?

7Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

8Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;

9I will reward you for this venturous deed.

10The king and all the peers are here at hand.

11Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,

12According as I gave directions?

13'Tis, my good lord.

14Away! be gone.

15Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;

16Say we intend to try his grace to-day.

17If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

18I'll call him presently, my noble lord.

19Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,

20Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester

21Than from true evidence of good esteem

22He be approved in practise culpable.

23God forbid any malice should prevail,

24That faultless may condemn a nobleman!

25Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

26I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.

27How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?

28Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

29Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.

30Marry, God forfend!

31God's secret judgment: I did dream to-night

32The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

33How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead.

34Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

35Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!

36He doth revive again: madam, be patient.

37O heavenly God!

38How fares my gracious lord?

39Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

40What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?

41Came he right now to sing a raven's note,

42Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;

43And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,

44By crying comfort from a hollow breast,

45Can chase away the first-conceived sound?

46Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;

47Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;

48Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.

49Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!

50Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny

51Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.

52Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:

53Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,

54And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;

55For in the shade of death I shall find joy;

56In life but double death, now Gloucester's dead.

57Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?

58Although the duke was enemy to him,

59Yet he most Christian-like laments his death:

60And for myself, foe as he was to me,

61Might liquid tears or heart-offending groans

62Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,

63I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,

64Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,

65And all to have the noble duke alive.

66What know I how the world may deem of me?

67For it is known we were but hollow friends:

68It may be judged I made the duke away;

69So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,

70And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.

71This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy!

72To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

73Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man!

74Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.

75What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?

76I am no loathsome leper; look on me.

77What! art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?

78Be poisonous too and kill thy forlorn queen.

79Is all thy comfort shut in Gloucester's tomb?

80Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.

81Erect his statue and worship it,

82And make my image but an alehouse sign.

83Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the sea

84And twice by awkward wind from England's bank

85Drove back again unto my native clime?

86What boded this, but well forewarning wind

87Did seem to say 'Seek not a scorpion's nest,

88Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'?

89What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts

90And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves:

91And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,

92Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock

93Yet AEolus would not be a murderer,

94But left that hateful office unto thee:

95The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me,

96Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore,

97With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness:

98The splitting rocks cower'd in the sinking sands

99And would not dash me with their ragged sides,

100Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,

101Might in thy palace perish Margaret.

102As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,

103When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,

104I stood upon the hatches in the storm,

105And when the dusky sky began to rob

106My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,

107I took a costly jewel from my neck,

108A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,

109And threw it towards thy land: the sea received it,

110And so I wish'd thy body might my heart:

111And even with this I lost fair England's view

112And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart

113And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,

114For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.

115How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue,

116The agent of thy foul inconstancy,

117To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did

118When he to madding Dido would unfold

119His father's acts commenced in burning Troy!

120Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?

121Ay me, I can no more! die, Margaret!

122For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

123It is reported, mighty sovereign,

124That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd

125By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.

126The commons, like an angry hive of bees

127That want their leader, scatter up and down

128And care not who they sting in his revenge.

129Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,

130Until they hear the order of his death.

131That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;

132But how he died God knows, not Henry:

133Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,

134And comment then upon his sudden death.

135That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury,

136With the rude multitude till I return.

137O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,

138My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul

139Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!

140If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,

141For judgment only doth belong to thee.

142Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips

143With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain

144Upon his face an ocean of salt tears,

145To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,

146And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:

147But all in vain are these mean obsequies;

148And to survey his dead and earthly image,

149What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

150Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.

151That is to see how deep my grave is made;

152For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,

153For seeing him I see my life in death.

154As surely as my soul intends to live

155With that dread King that took our state upon him

156To free us from his father's wrathful curse,

157I do believe that violent hands were laid

158Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

159A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!

160What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?

161See how the blood is settled in his face.

162Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,

163Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale and bloodless,

164Being all descended to the labouring heart;

165Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,

166Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;

167Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth

168To blush and beautify the cheek again.

169But see, his face is black and full of blood,

170His eye-balls further out than when he lived,

171Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;

172His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with struggling;

173His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd

174And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued:

175Look, on the sheets his hair you see, is sticking;

176His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,

177Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.

178It cannot be but he was murder'd here;

179The least of all these signs were probable.

180Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?

181Myself and Beaufort had him in protection;

182And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

183But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes,

184And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep:

185'Tis like you would not feast him like a friend;

186And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

187Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen

188As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death.

189Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh

190And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,

191But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?

192Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,

193But may imagine how the bird was dead,

194Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?

195Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

196Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife?

197Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons?

198I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men;

199But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,

200That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart

201That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.

202Say, if thou darest, proud Lord of Warwick-shire,

203That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.

204What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

205He dares not calm his contumelious spirit

206Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,

207Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

208Madam, be still; with reverence may I say;

209For every word you speak in his behalf

210Is slander to your royal dignity.

211Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanor!

212If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,

213Thy mother took into her blameful bed

214Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock

215Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,

216And never of the Nevils' noble race.

217But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee

218And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,

219Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,

220And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,

221I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee

222Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,

223And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st

224That thou thyself was born in bastardy;

225And after all this fearful homage done,

226Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,

227Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men!

228Thou shall be waking well I shed thy blood,

229If from this presence thou darest go with me.

230Away even now, or I will drag thee hence:

231Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee

232And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost.

233What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!

234Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,

235And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel

236Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

237What noise is this?

238Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn

239Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?

240Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

241The traitorous Warwick with the men of Bury

242Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

243[To the Commons, entering] Sirs, stand apart;

244the king shall know your mind.

245Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,

246Unless Lord Suffolk straight be done to death,

247Or banished fair England's territories,

248They will by violence tear him from your palace

249And torture him with grievous lingering death.

250They say, by him the good Duke Humphrey died;

251They say, in him they fear your highness' death;

252And mere instinct of love and loyalty,

253Free from a stubborn opposite intent,

254As being thought to contradict your liking,

255Makes them thus forward in his banishment.

256They say, in care of your most royal person,

257That if your highness should intend to sleep

258And charge that no man should disturb your rest

259In pain of your dislike or pain of death,

260Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,

261Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,

262That slily glided towards your majesty,

263It were but necessary you were waked,

264Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,

265The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal;

266And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,

267That they will guard you, whether you will or no,

268From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is,

269With whose envenomed and fatal sting,

270Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,

271They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

272[Within] An answer from the king, my

273Lord of Salisbury!

274'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,

275Could send such message to their sovereign:

276But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,

277To show how quaint an orator you are:

278But all the honour Salisbury hath won

279Is, that he was the lord ambassador

280Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.

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

282Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me.

283I thank them for their tender loving care;

284And had I not been cited so by them,

285Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;

286For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy

287Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means:

288And therefore, by His majesty I swear,

289Whose far unworthy deputy I am,

290He shall not breathe infection in this air

291But three days longer, on the pain of death.

292O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

293Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk!

294No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him,

295Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.

296Had I but said, I would have kept my word,

297But when I swear, it is irrevocable.

298If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found

299On any ground that I am ruler of,

300The world shall not be ransom for thy life.

301Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;

302I have great matters to impart to thee.

303Mischance and sorrow go along with you!

304Heart's discontent and sour affliction

305Be playfellows to keep you company!

306There's two of you; the devil make a third!

307And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

308Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,

309And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

310Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch!

311Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

312A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?

313Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,

314I would invent as bitter-searching terms,

315As curst, as harsh and horrible to hear,

316Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,

317With full as many signs of deadly hate,

318As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:

319My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;

320Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;

321Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract;

322Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:

323And even now my burthen'd heart would break,

324Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!

325Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!

326Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!

327Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!

328Their softest touch as smart as lizards' sting!

329Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss,

330And boding screech-owls make the concert full!

331All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell--

332Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself;

333And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,

334Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,

335And turn the force of them upon thyself.

336You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?

337Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,

338Well could I curse away a winter's night,

339Though standing naked on a mountain top,

340Where biting cold would never let grass grow,

341And think it but a minute spent in sport.

342O, let me entreat thee cease. Give me thy hand,

343That I may dew it with my mournful tears;

344Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,

345To wash away my woful monuments.

346O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,

347That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,

348Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee!

349So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;

350'Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by,

351As one that surfeits thinking on a want.

352I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,

353Adventure to be banished myself:

354And banished I am, if but from thee.

355Go; speak not to me; even now be gone.

356O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn'd

357Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,

358Loather a hundred times to part than die.

359Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

360Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished;

361Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.

362'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence;

363A wilderness is populous enough,

364So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:

365For where thou art, there is the world itself,

366With every several pleasure in the world,

367And where thou art not, desolation.

368I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;

369Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.

370Wither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I prithee?

371To signify unto his majesty

372That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;

373For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,

374That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air,

375Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.

376Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphrey's ghost

377Were by his side; sometime he calls the king,

378And whispers to his pillow, as to him,

379The secrets of his overcharged soul;

380And I am sent to tell his majesty

381That even now he cries aloud for him.

382Go tell this heavy message to the king.

383Ay me! what is this world! what news are these!

384But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,

385Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?

386Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,

387And with the southern clouds contend in tears,

388Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?

389Now get thee hence: the king, thou know'st, is coming;

390If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

391If I depart from thee, I cannot live;

392And in thy sight to die, what were it else

393But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?

394Here could I breathe my soul into the air,

395As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe

396Dying with mother's dug between its lips:

397Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,

398And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,

399To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;

400So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,

401Or I should breathe it so into thy body,

402And then it lived in sweet Elysium.

403To die by thee were but to die in jest;

404From thee to die were torture more than death:

405O, let me stay, befall what may befall!

406Away! though parting be a fretful corrosive,

407It is applied to a deathful wound.

408To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;

409For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,

410I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

411I go.

412And take my heart with thee.

413A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask

414That ever did contain a thing of worth.

415Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we

416This way fall I to death.

417This way for me.

1How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to

2thy sovereign.

3If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,

4Enough to purchase such another island,

5So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

6Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,

7Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

8Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

9Bring me unto my trial when you will.

10Died he not in his bed? where should he die?

11Can I make men live, whether they will or no?

12O, torture me no more! I will confess.

13Alive again? then show me where he is:

14I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.

15He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.

16Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,

17Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.

18Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary

19Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

20O thou eternal Mover of the heavens.

21Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!

22O, beat away the busy meddling fiend

23That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul.

24And from his bosom purge this black despair!

25See, how the pangs of death do make him grin!

26Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.

27Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be!

28Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,

29Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.

30He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!

31So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

32Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.

33Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;

34And let us all to meditation.

1The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day

2Is crept into the bosom of the sea;

3And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades

4That drag the tragic melancholy night;

5Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,

6Clip dead men's graves and from their misty jaws

7Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.

8Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;

9For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,

10Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,

11Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.

12Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;

13And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;

14The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

15What is my ransom, master? let me know.

16A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

17Master's-Mate And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

18What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,

19And bear the name and port of gentlemen?

20Cut both the villains' throats; for die you shall:

21The lives of those which we have lost in fight

22Be counterpoised with such a petty sum!

23I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

24And so will I and write home for it straight.

25I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,

26And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;

27And so should these, if I might have my will.

28Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.

29Look on my George; I am a gentleman:

30Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

31And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.

32How now! why start'st thou? what, doth

33death affright?

34Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.

35A cunning man did calculate my birth

36And told me that by water I should die:

37Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;

38Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

39Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not:

40Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,

41But with our sword we wiped away the blot;

42Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,

43Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,

44And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!

45Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince,

46The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

47The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!

48Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:

49Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I?

50But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

51Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,

52The honourable blood of Lancaster,

53Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.

54Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand and held my stirrup?

55Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule

56And thought thee happy when I shook my head?

57How often hast thou waited at my cup,

58Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board.

59When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?

60Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall'n,

61Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride;

62How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood

63And duly waited for my coming forth?

64This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,

65And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

66Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?

67First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

68Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou.

69Convey him hence and on our longboat's side