Safer shall he be on the sandy plains,

Than where castles mounted stand."
Come, come, my lords;

These oracles are hardly attain'd,

And hardly understood.

The king is now in progress towards Saint Albans ;
With him the husband of this lovely lady:

Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them;
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.

Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, To be the post in hope of his reward.

York. At your pleasure, my good lord.-Who's within there, ho!

Enter a Servant.

Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick,
To sup with me to-morrow night.-Away! [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.-Saint Albans.

Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, GLOSTER, Car-
dinal, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers, hollaing.
Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,'
I saw 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. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
And what a pitch she flew above the rest.
To see how God in all his creatures works!
Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high.
Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well:
They know their master loves to be aloft,
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
Glo. My lord, 't is but a base ignoble mind,

That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.

Car. I thought as much he 'd be above the clouds. Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal; how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy!

1 Birds of the brook.

Protector, see to 't well, protect yourself.

[Aside.

K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs,

lords.

How irksome is this music to my heart!

When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?

I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.
Enter one, crying, "A Miracle!"

Glo. What means this noise?

Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

One. A miracle! a miracle!

Suf. Come to the king: tell him what miracle. One. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's shrine, Within this half hour hath receiv'd his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before.

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

Enter the Mayor of St. Albans, and his Brethren; and SIMPCOX, borne between two persons in a Chair; his Wife and the Multitude following.

Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man.

K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Though by his sight his sin be multiplied.

Glo. Stand by, my masters; bring him near the king: His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

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

What! hast 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. Hadst thou been his mother, thou could'st have better told.

K. Hen. Where wert thou born?

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an 't like your grace. K. Hen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been great to thee:

Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,

But still remember what the Lord hath done.

Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance,

Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ?

Simp. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd