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Witness the fortune he hath had in France-
Som. If York, with all his far-fetch'd policy,
Had been the Regent there instead of me,
He never wou'd have ftaid in France so long.

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

2. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fewel be brought to feed it with.
No more, good York; fweet Somerset, be still.
Thy fortune, York, hadit thou been Regent there,
Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

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

Som. And, in the number, thee that wisheth 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 fome, And try your hap against the Irishmen ? York. I will, my Lord so please his Majefty. 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 foldiers, Lords, Whilst I take order for mine own affairs.

Suf. A charge, Lord York, that I will fee perform'd: But now return we to the falfe Duke Humphry. Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him, That henceforth he shall trouble us no more: And fo 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 foldiers;

For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

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

[Exeunt. SCENE

SCENE V. Manet York.

York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution :
Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art
Resign to death, it is not worth th' enjoying:
Let pale-face'd Fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time show'rs, comes thought on
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
(thought,
My brain, more busy than the lab'ring fpider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well; 'tis politicly done,
To fend me packing with an host of men :
I fear me you but warm the starved snake,
Who, cherifh'd in your breast, will sting your hearts..
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me;
I take it kindly yet be well assur'd,
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whilft I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will ftir up in England some black storm
Shall blow ten thousand fouls to heav'n or hell.
And this fell tempest shall not ceafe to rage,
Until the golden circuit on my head,
(Like to the glorious fun's transparent beams),
Do calm the fury of this mad-brain'd flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,
I have feduce'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 the stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against 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 feen
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 undifcover'd. come to me again,
And give me notice of their villanies.

This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gate, in fpeech he doth refemble.
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say he be taken, rack'd, and tortur'd;
I know no pain they can inflict upon him
Will make him fay, 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 rafcal fow'd:
For Humphry being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me.

[Exit.

SCENE VI. An apartment in the palace.

Enter two or three running over the stage from the murther of Duke Humphry.

1. Run 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.

Suff. Now, Sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing? 1. Ay, my good Lord, he's dead.

Suff. Why, that's well faid. Go, get you to my

I will reward you for this vent'rous deed:

[house;

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, my good lord.

Suff. Away, be gone.

[Exeunt Murtherers.

Enter King Henry, the Queen, Cardinal, Somerset,

with Attendants.

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

Suff. I'll call him presently, my noble Lord. [Exits
K. Henry

K. Henry. Lords, take your places: and I pray you

Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Glo'ster,
Than from true evidence of good efteem
He be approv'd in practice culpable.

2. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail,

That faultless may condemn a Nobleman!
Pray God he may acquit him of fufpicion !

[all,

K. Henry. I thank thee. Well, these words content

me much.

Enter Suffolk.

How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk?
Suff. Dead in his bed, my Lord; Glo'ster is dead.
2. Mar. Marry, God forefend!

Car. God's secret judgement: I did dream to-night, The Duke was dumb, and could not speak

a

word. [King fwoons. 2. Mar. How fares my Lord? help, Lords, the King

is dead.

Som. Rear up his body, wring him by the nofe. 2. Mar. Run, go, help, help! oh, Henry, ope thine

eyes.

Suff. He doth revive again; Madam, be patient.
K. Henry. O heav'nly God!

2. Mar. How fares my gracious Lord?

Suff. Comfort, my Sovereign; gracious Henry, com

fort.

K. Henry. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort Came he right now to fing a raven's note, [me? Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs; And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceived sound? Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words; Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say; Their touch affrights me as a 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

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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'ster's dead.

2. 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 fighs, recal 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 Slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death: ah, me unhappy!
To be a Queen, and crown'd with infamy.

K. Henry. Ah, woe is me for Glo'ster, wretched man! 2. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.

What, doft thou turn away and hide thy face?
I am no lothsome 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 Glo'ster's tomb?
Why, then, Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his ftatue, and do worship to it,
And make my image but an alehouse-fign.
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the fea,
And twice by adverse winds from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this? but well-forewarning
Did seem to say, Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor fet no footing on this unkind shore.
What did I then, but curse the gentle gusts,
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 murtherer,

winds

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