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Tell me, what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk?
By water fhall be die, and take his end.
What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?

Let him foun Caftles,

Safer fhall be be on the fandy plains,
Than where Cafiles mounted stand,
Come, come, my Lords;

3 These Oracles are hardily attain'd,
And hardly understood.

The King is now in progrefs tow'rds St. Albans,
With him, the hufband of this lovely lady,

Thither go these news, as faft as horfe can carry them; A forry breakfast for my Lord Protector.

Buck. Your Grace fhall give me leave, my Lord of York,

To be the Poft, in hope of his reward.

York. At your pleasure, my good Lord. Who's within there, ho?

Enter a Serving-man.

Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick,
To fup with me to-morrow night. Away!· [Exeunt.

3 Thefe Oracles are hardly attain'd,

And hardly understood.] Not only the Lameness of the Verfification, but the Imperfection of the Senfe too, made me fufpe&t this paffage to be corrupt. York, feizing the Parties and their Papers, fays, he'll fee the Devil's Writ; and finding the Wizard's Anfwers intricate and ambiguous, he makes this general Comment

upon fuch fort of Intelligence, as I have reftor'd the Text:

Thefe Oracles are hardily attain'd,

And hardly underfood. i. e. A great Rifque and Hazard is run to obtain them; and yet, after thefe bardy Steps taken, the informations are fo perplex'd that they are hardly to be understood.





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



ELIEVE me, lords, for flying at the brook, I faw no 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 tow'r 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 bafe 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 treasury of everlasting joy!

Car. Thy heaven is on earth, thine eyes and thoughts Bent on a Crown, the treasure of thy heart,

For flying at the brook.] The falconer's term for hawking at water-fowl.

5 The wind was very high, And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.] I am told by a gentleman better acquainted

with falconry than myself, that the meaning, however expreffed, is, that, the wind being high, it was ten to one that the old hawk had flown quite away; a trick which hawks often play their mafters in windy weather.

Pernicious Protector, dangerous Peer,

That smooth'ft it fo with King and Common-weal! Glo. What, Cardinal! Is your priesthood grown fo peremptory?

Tantæne animis Cæleftibus ire?

Churchmen fo hot? good uncle, hide fuch malice. • With fuch Holinefs can you do it?

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

Glo. As who, my Lord?

Suf. Why, as yourfelf, my Lord; An't like your lordly, lord Protectorship.

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

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

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

Car. Marry, when thou dar'st.

Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the


In thine own person answer thy abuse.

Car. Ay, where thou dar'ft not peep; and,

if thou dar'ft,

This Ev'ning on the eaft-fide of the grove.

6 With fuch Holiness can you do it ?] Do what? the verfe wants a foot, we should read, With fuch Holiness can you NOT

do it?

Spoken ironically. By holinefs he means hypocrify and fays, have you not hypocrify enough to hide your malice?

WARBURTON. The verfe is lame enough after the emendation, nor does the


negative particle improve the fenfe. When words are omitted it is not often easy to say what they were if there is a perfect fenfe without them. I read, but fomewhat at random,

A Churchman, with fuch bolinefs can you do it? The tranfcriber faw churchman just above, and therefore omitted it in the fecond line.

K. Henry,

K. Henry. How now, my Lords?

Car. Believe me, coufin Glo'fter,

Had not your man put up the fowl fo fuddenly,

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We'd had more fport Come with thy two-hand [Afide to Glo'fter.


Glo. True, uncle.

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

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


Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing elfe, my Lord.— Now, by God's mother, Prieft, I'll fhave your crown for this,

Or all my Fence fhall fail.

Car. [Afide.] Medice, teipfum.

Protector, fee to't well, protect yourself.


K. Henry. The winds grow high, so do your
machs, Lords.

How irksome is this mufick to my heart!
When fuch strings jar, what hopes of harmony?
I pray, my Lords, let me compound this strife.


Enter One, crying, A Miracle!

Glo. What means this noife?

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,

-Come with thy two-band
Glo. True, Uncle, are ye ad-
vis'd? the Eaft fide of the

Cardinal, I am with You.] Thus is the whole Speech plac'd to Glofter, in all the Editions: but furely, with great inadver

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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


Gives light in dark nefs, comfort in despair!

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

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 Highnefs' pleasure is to talk with him.

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

What haft thou been long blind, and now reftor'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.

Gle. Had'ft thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told.

K. Henry. Where wert thou born?

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your Grace. 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 fhrine?

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


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