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

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

Som. And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!
Car. My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
Th' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms,
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen :
To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
Collected choicely, from each county some,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?
York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
Suf. Why, our authority is his consent;
And what we do establish he confirms:
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

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

Suf. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.
Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him,
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
And so break off; the day is almost spent:
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.
York. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol I expect my soldiers;

For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

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

[Exeunt all except YORK. York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution :

Be that thou hopest to be; or what thou art
Resign to death,-it is not worth th' enjoying:
Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.

Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on
thought;

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And not a thought but thinks on dignity.

My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,

To send me packing with an host of men:

I fear me you but warm the starved snake,

Who, cherisht in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lackt, and you will give them me:
I take it kindly; yet be well assured

You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm,
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
And for a minister of my intent

I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,

To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.

In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade

Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,

And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
Hath he conversed with the enemy,
And, undiscover'd, come to me again,
And given me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,

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How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say he be taken, rackt, and tortured,

I know no pain they can inflict upon him
Will make him say I moved him to those arms.
Say that he thrive,—as 'tis great like he will,—
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, 380
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me.

[Exit.

SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state. Enter two or three running over the stage, from the murder of DUKE HUMPHREY.

First Mur. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know

We have dispatcht the duke, as he commanded. Sec. Mur. O, that it were to do!-What have we done?

Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

First Mur. Here comes my lord.

Enter SUFFOLK.

Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatcht this thing?
First Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

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

I will reward you for this venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand:-
Have you laid fair the bed? is all things well,
According as I gave directions?

First Mur. 'Tis, my good lord.
Suf. Away! be gone.

[Exeunt Murderers.

Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL BEAUFORT, SOMERSET, Lords, and others.

K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;

Say we intend to try his Grace to-day,

If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

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

[Exit.

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

He be approved in practice culpable.

Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman!

Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

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

Enter SUFFOLK.

How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk ?
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead.
Q. Mar. Marry, God forfend!

Car. God's secret judgement:-I did dream to-night The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [The KING swoons.

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

Som. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help!-O Henry, ope thine eyes!

Suf. He doth revive again :-madam, be patient.
K. Hen. O heavenly God!

Q. Mar.

How fares my gracious lord? Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, com

fort!

K. Hen. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a raven's note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; And thinks he that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceived sound?

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Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words:
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eyeballs murderous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.

-

Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding :-
Yet do not go away :-come, basilisk,

And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
For in the shade of death I shall find joy,-

In life but double death, now Gloster's dead.

Q. Mar. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus? Although the duke was enemy to him,

Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death:
And for myself,-foe as he was to me,-
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,

I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
And all to have the noble duke alive.

What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known we were but hollow friends:

It may be judged I made the duke away;

So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death: ay me, unhappy!

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

K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man! Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? I am no loathsome leper,-look on me. What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf? Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? Why, then, Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy: Erect his statua, and worship it,

And make my image but an alehouse sign.

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