Enter King Henry, Queen, Protector, Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Faulkners hallooing.

B

2. MARGAR E t.

ELIEVE me, lords, for flying at the brook,
I faw not better sport these seven years' day;
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high,
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

K. Henry. But what a point, my lord, your Faulcon made,

And what a pitch fhe flew above the reft:
To fee how God in all his creatures works!
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
Suf. No marvel, an it like your Majefty,
My lord Protector's Hawks do towre fo well;
They know, their Mafter loves to be aloft,
And bears his thoughts above his Faulcon's pitch.
Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind,
That mounts no higher than a bird can foar.

Car. I thought as much, he'd be above the clouds.
Glo. Ay, my lord Card'nal, how think you by that?
Were it not good, your Grace could-fly to heav'n?
K. Henry. The treafury of everlafting joy!

Car. Thy heaven is on earth, thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a Crown, the treasure of thy heart: Pernicious Protector, dangerous Peer,

That smooth'ft it fo with King and Common-weal!
Glo. What, Card'nal! Is your priesthood grown fo
peremptory? Tantene animis Cæleftibus ira?

Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide fuch malice.
With fuch Holiness can you do it?

Suf. No malice, Sir, no more than well becomes
So good a quarrel, and fo bad a Peer.

VOL. V.

B

Gle.

Glo. As who, my lord?

Suf. Why, as yourself, my lord;

An't like your lordly, lord Protectorship.

Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Glofter.

K. Henry. I pr'ythee, peace, good Queen; And whet not on these too too furious Peers, For bleffed are the peace-makers on earth.

Car. Let me be bleffed for the peace I make, Againft this proud Protector, with my fword! Glo. Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to that.

Car. Marry, when thou dar'ft.

Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the

matter,

In thine own person answer thy abuse.

Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: and,
if thou dar'ft,

This Ev'ning on the eaft fide of the grove.
K. Henry. How now, my lords?

Car. Believe me, coufin Glofter,

Had not your man put up the fowl fo fuddenly,

We'd had more sport

fword. (4)

Glo. True, uncle.

[Afide.

Come with thy two-hand

[Afide to Glo.

Car. Are you advis'd?—The east fide of the Grove. Glo. Cardinal, I am with you.

K. Henry. Why, how now, uncle Glofter?

[Afide.

Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing elfe, my lord.

(4) -Come with thy two-hand Sword.

Glo. True, Uncle, are ye advis'd? The Eaft-fide of the Grove. Cardinal, I am with Ton.] Thus is the whole Speech plac'd to Gloucester, in all the Editions: but furely, with great Inadver tence. It is the Cardinal, who first appoints the Eaft fide of the Grove for the place of Duell: and how finely does it exprefs the Rancour and Impetuofity of the Cardinal, for fear Gloucefter fhould mistake, to repeat the Appointment, and ask his Antagonist if he takes him right! So I have ventur'd to regulate the Speeches; as it improves a Beauty, and avoids an Abfurdity.

Now,

Now, by God's mother, Prieft, I'll have your crown

for this,

Or all my Fence fhall fail.

Car. [Afide.] Medice, teipfum.

Protector, fee to't well, protect your felf.

[Afide.

[lords.

K. Henry. The winds grow high, fo do-your ftomachs,

How irksome is this musick to my heart!

When fuch strings jar, what hopes of harmony?

I pray, my lords, let me compound this ftrife.
Enter One, crying, A Miracle!

Glo. What means this noise?

Fellow, what miracle doft thou proclaim?

One. A miracle, a miracle!

Suf. Come to the King, and tell him what miracle. One. Forfooth, a blind man at St. Alban's fhrine, Within this half hour hath receiv'd his fight;

A man, that ne'er faw in his life before."

K. Henry. Now God be prais'd, that to believing fouls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

Enter the Mayor of St. Albans, and his brethren, bearing Simpcox between two in a chair, Simpcox's wife fol lowing.

Car. Here come the townfmen on proceffion, Before your Highness to present the man.

K. Henry. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Though by his fight his fin be multiply'd.

Glo. Stand by, my mafters, bring him near the King, His Highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

K. Henry. Good fellow, tell us here the circumftance That we, for thee, may glorify the Lord.

What, haft thou been long blind, and now restor'd?
Simp. Born blind, an't please your Grace.

Wife. Ay, indeed, was he.

Suf. What woman is this?

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

Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou couldst have

better told.

K. Henry. Where wert thou born?

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

B 2

K. Henry. Poor Soul! God's goodness hath been great to thee:

Let never day or night unhallowed pass,

But ftill remember what the Lord hath done.

Queen. Tell me, good fellow, cam'ft thou here by chance,

Or of devotion, to this holy shrine?

Simp. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd
A hundred times and oftner, in my sleep,

By good Saint Alban; who faid, "Simpcox, come; (5)
"Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.
Wife. Moft true, forfooth; and many a time and oft
My felf have heard a voice to call him fo.

Car. What, art thou lame?
Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me!
Suf. How cam'ft thou fo?

Simp. A fall off of a tree.

Wife. A plum-tree, master.

Glo. How long haft thou been blind?
Simp. O, born so, master.

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

Simp. But once in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife. Too true, and bought his climbing very dear. Glo. Mafs, thou lov'dft plums well, that would'ft venture fo.

Simp Alas, good Sir, my wife defir'd fome damfons, And made me climb, with danger of my life.

Glo. A fubtle knave! but yet it fhall not ferve: Let's fee thine eyes; wink now, now open them ;

(s)

who faid, Simon, come;

Come offer at my Shrine, and I will help thee.] The Editions here are all at odds with the Hiftory.- -For why, Simon? The Chronicles, that take Notice of Glo'ster's detecting this pretended Miracle, tell us, that the Impoftor, who afferted himfelf to be cur'd of Blindness, was call'd Saunder Simpcox. Simon was therefore a Corruption thro' the Negligence of the Copyifts, and continued by the Indolence of the Editors. Nor have we need of going back to Chronicles to fettle this Point, fince our Poet, in the Course of this very Scene, gives us the Fellow's Names correfpondent with the History.

In

In my opinion, yet, thou fee'st not well.

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

Glo. Say'ft thou me fo? what colour is this cloak of? Simp. Red, master, red as blood.

Glo. Why, that's well faid: what colour is my gown

of?

Simp. Black, forfooth, coal-black, as jet.

K. Henry. Why then thou know'st what colour jet is of?

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

Glo. But cloaks and gowns, before this day, a many.
Wife. Never before this day, in all his life.

Glo. Tell me, Sirrah, what's my name?
Simp. Alas, mafter, I know not.
Glo. What's his name?

Simp. I know not.

Glo. Nor his ?

Simp. No, indeed, mafter.

Glo. What's thine own name?

Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it pleafe you, mafter. Glo. Saunder, fit there, the lying'it knave in Chriftendom.

If thou hadst been born blind,

Thou might'ft as well know all our names, as thus
To name the feveral colours we do wear.

Sight may diftinguish colours:

But fuddenly to nominate them all,

It is impoffible.

My Lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle :
Would ye not think that Cunning to be great,
That could restore this cripple to his legs?

Simp. O mafter, that you could!

Glo. My mafters of Saint Albans,

Have you not beadles in your town,

And things call'd whips?

Mayor. Yes, my lord, if it please your Grace.

Glo. Then fend for one presently.

Mayor. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither ftraight.