York. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol I expect my foldiers; For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.
Suf. I'll fee it truly done, my Lord of York. [Exeunt.
York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution : Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art Resign to death, it is not worth th' enjoying: Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man, And find no harbour in a royal heart. Faster than spring timeshow'rs, comes thought onthought, And not a thought, but thinks on dignity. My brain, more busy than the lab'ring spider, Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. Well, Nobles, well; 'tis politickly done, To fend me packing with an hoft of men: I fear me, you but warm the starved Snake, Who, cherish'd in your breast, will sting your hearts. "Twas men I lack'd, and you you will give them me; I take it kindly: yet be well affur'd, You put sharp weapons in a mad-man's hands. Whilst I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will ftir up in England some black storm, Shall blow ten thousand souls to heav'n or hell. And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage, Until the golden circuit on my head, (Like to the glorious sun's tranfparent beams,) Do calm the fury of this mad-brain'd flaw. And, for a minister of my intent, I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentish man, 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 againft a troop of kerns; And fought fo long, till that his thighs with darts Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine:
And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen Him caper upright like a wild Morifco, 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 giv'n me notice of their villanies. This devil here shall be my substitute; For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gait, in speech he doth resemble. By this, I shall perceive the Commons' mind How they affect the house and claim of York. Say, he be taken, rack'd and tortured; I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him, Will make him say, I mov'd him to those arms. Say, that he thrive; as 'tis great like, he will; Why, then, from Ireland come I with my strength, And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd; For Humphry being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put a-part, the next for me.
SCENE, an Apartment in the Palace.
Enter two or three, running over the Stage, from the murder of Duke Humphry.
UN to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know, We have dispatch'd the Duke, as he commanded.
2. Oh, that it were to do! what have we done?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent ?
Enter Suffolk.
1. Here comes my Lord.
Suf. Now, Sir, have you dispatch'd this thing? 1. 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 vent'rous deed :
The King and all the Peers are here at hand. - Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well,
According as I gave directions ?
1. Yes,
1. Yes, my good Lord.
Enter King Henry, the Queen, Cardinal, Somerset, with
K. Henry. Go, call our Uncle to our prefence strait: 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. Henry. Lords, take your places: and, I pray you all, Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Glo'ster, Than from true evidence, of good esteem, He be approv'd in practice culpable.
Q. Mar. God forbid, any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman! Pray God, he may acquit him of fufpicion !
K. Henry. I thank thee: Well, these words content me
How now? why look'ft thou pale? why trembleft thou ? Where is our Uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk ?
(8) I thank thee, Nell, these words content me much.] This is King Henry's Reply to his Wife Margaret. Our Poet, I remember, in his King John, makes Faulconbridge the Bastard, upon his firft stepping into Honour, say, that he will study to forget his old Acquaintance;
And if bis Name be George, I'll call bim Peter; For new-made Honour doth forget Mens Names.
But, surely, this is wide of King Henry's Cafe; and it can be no Reason why he should forget his own Wife's Name; and call her Well instead of Margaret. As the Change of a fingle Letter sets all right, I am willing to suppose it came from his Pen thus;
I thank thee: Well, these Words content me much.
King Henry was a Prince of great Piety and Meekness, a great Lover of his Uncle Gloucester, whom his Nobles were rigidly perfecuting: and to whom he fufpected the Queen bore no very good Will in her Heart: But finding her, beyond his hopes, speak fo candidly in the Duke's Cafe, he is mightily comforted and contented at her impartial Seeming.
Suf. Dead in his bed my Lord; Glo'ster is dead. Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend!
Car. God's fecret judgment: I did dream to-night, The Duke was dumb, and could not speak a word.
Q. Mar. How fares my Lord? help, Lords, the King is dead.
Som. Rear up his body, wring him by the nose. Q. M. Run, go, help, help: oh, Henry, ope thine eyes. Suf. He doth revive again; Madam, be patient. K. Henry. O heav'nly God!
Q. Mar. How fares my gracious Lord?
Suf. Comfort, my Sovereign; gracious Henry, comfort. K. Hen. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to fing a raven's note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs: And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breaft, Can chafe away the first-conceived found? Hide not thy poison with fuch fugar'd words; Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say; Their touch affrights me as a ferpent's sting. Thou baleful messenger, out of my fight! Upon thy eye-balls murd'rous tyranny Sits in grim majesty to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding! Yet do not go away; come, bafilifk; And kill the innocent gazer with thy fight: For in the shade of death I shall find joy; In life, but double death, now Glo'fter'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-confuming sighs recall his life; I would be blind with weeping, fick with groans, Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking fighs, And all to have the noble Duke alive.
What know I, how the world may deem of me ?
For, it is known, we were but hollow friends: It may be judg'd, I made the Duke away;
So shall my name with flander's tongue be wounded, And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach: This get I by his death: ah, me unhappy! To be a Queen, and crown'd with infamy.
K. Henry. Ah, woe is me for Glo'ster, 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 pois'nous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen, Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? Why, then, dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy. Erect his statue, and do worship to ft, And make my image but an ale-house sign. Was I for this nigh wreckt upon the fea, And twice by adverse winds from England's bank Drove back again unto my native clime? What boaded this but well-fore-warning winds Did seem to say, feek not a scorpion's nest: Nor set no footing on this unkind shore. What did I then? but curst the gentle gufts, And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves; And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore, Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock : Yet Æolus would not be a murderer; But left that hateful office unto thee. 'The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me; Knowing, that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shore With tears as falt as sea, through thy unkindness. The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands, And would not dash me with their ragged fides; Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret. As far as I could ken the chalky cliffs, When from thy shore the tempest beat us back, I stood upon the hatches in the storm; And when the dusky sky began to rob My earnest-gaping fight of thy Land's view,
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