So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue,

While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland, Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood,

As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd

Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.'

Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French!
Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
Even as I have of fertile England's soil.

A day will come when York shall claim his own;
And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts.

And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey,
And when I spy advantage, claim the crown,

For that's the golden mark I seek to hit.
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,
Nor wear the diadem upon his head,

Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown.
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve :
Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep,
To pry into the secrets of the state,

Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,

With his new bride, and England's dear-bought queen, And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars:

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,

With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd,
And in my standard bear the arms of York,
To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown,
Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down

[Exit.

SCENE II.-The Same. A Room in the Duke of GLOSTER'S House.

Enter GLOSTER and the Duchess.

Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn, Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load? Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows, As frowning at the favours of the world? Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?

1 Meleager, prince of Calydon, died in great torments, when his mother, Althea, threw into the flames the firebrand, upon the preservation of which his life depended.-Knight.

What seest thou there? king Henry's diadem,
Enchas'd with all the honours of the world?
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,
Until thy head be circled with the same.

Put forth thy hand; reach at the glorious gold.-
What, is 't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine;
And having both together heav'd it up,
We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,

And never more abase our sight so low,

As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

Glo. O Nell! sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts; And may that thought, when I imagine ill Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry, Be my last breathing in this mortal world.

My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. Duch. What dream'd my lord? tell me, and I'll requite it

With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

Glo. Methought, this staff, mine office-badge in court, Was broke in twain: by whom, I have forgot, But, as I think, 't was by the cardinal;

And on the pieces of the broken wand

Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset,
And William de la Poole, first duke of Suffolk.
This was my dream: what it doth bode God knows.
Duch. Tut! this was nothing but an argument,
That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove
Shall lose his head for his presumption.

But list to me, my Humphrey ! my sweet duke :
Methought, I sat in seat of majesty,

In the cathedral church of Westminster,

And in that chair where kings and queens were crown'd;
Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me,
And on my head did set the diadem.

Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright.
Presumptuous dame! ill-nurtur'd Eleanor!
Art thou not second woman in the realm,
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him?
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,
Above the reach or compass of thy thought?
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
To tumble down thy husband, and thyself,
From top of honour to disgrace's feet?

Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess'

gold,

Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume!

Seal up your lips, and give no words but mum :
The business asketh silent secrecy.

Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch:
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
Yet have I gold flies from another coast:
I dare not say, from the rich cardinal,

And from the great and new made duke of Suffolk ;
Yet I do find it so: for, to be plain,

They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
Have hired me to undermine the duchess,
And buz these conjurations in her brain.
They say, a crafty knave does need no broker;
Yet am I Suffolk's, and the cardinal's broker.
Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
Well, so it stands; and thus, I fear, at last,
Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck,
And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall.
Sort' how it will, I shall have gold for all.
SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter PETER, and others, with Petitions.

[Exit.

1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close my lord protector will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our supplications in sequel2.

2 Pet. Marry, the lord protect him, for he's a good man. Jesu bless him!

Enter SUFFOLK and Queen MARGARET.

1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen with him. I'll be the first, sure.

2 Pet. Come back, fool! this is the duke of Suffolk, and not my lord protector.

Suf. How now, fellow! wouldst any thing with me? 1 Pet. I pray my lord, pardon me : took ye for my lord protector.

Q. Mar. "To my lord protector!" are your supplications to his lordship? Let me see them. What is thine ?

1 Pet. Mine is, an 't please your grace, against John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping my 1 Happen. 2 in the quill: in f. e.