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Som. If York, with all his far-fetch'd policy,
Had been the Regent there inftead of me,
He never would have ftaid in France fo long.

York. No, not to lose it all, as thou halt done;
I rather would have loft my life betimes
Than bring a burden of dishonour home,
By staying there fo long till all were loft.
Shew me one fcar character'd on thy fkin,
Men's flesh, preferv'd fo whole, do seldom win.
Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging

If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with.
No more, good York; fweet Somerset, be still.
Thy fortune, York, hadft thou been Regent there,
Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

York. What, worfe than nought? nay, then a fhame take all!

Som. And, in the number, thee that wifheft fhame! 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 country fome,
And try your hap against the Irishmen ?
York. I will, my Lord, so please his Majefty.
Suf. Why, our Authority is his confent,
And what we do establish, he confirms;
Then, noble York, take thou this talk in hand.


York. I am content. Provide me foldiers, Lords, Whilft 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 fhall 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; E 4


For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

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


Manet York.


York, Now, York, or never fteel thy fearful thoughts, And change mifdoubt to refolution;

Be that thou hop'ft to be, or what thou art
Refign to death, it is not worth th' enjoying.
Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.

Fafter than fpring-time fhow'rs comes thought on thought,

And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more bufy than the lab'ring spider,
Weaves tedious fnares to trap mine enemies,
Well, Nobles, well; 'tis politickly done,
To fend me packing with an hoft of men;
I fear me, you but warm the ftarved Snake,
Who, cherish'd in your breaft, will fting your hearts,
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me ;
I take it kindly; yet be well affur'd,

You put fharp weapons in a mad-man's hands.
Whilft I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will ftir up in England fome black ftorm,
Shall blow ten thoufand fouls to heav'n or hell.
And this fell tempeft fhall not ceafe to rage,
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious fun's tranfparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this' mad-brain'd flaw,
And, for a minister of my intent,

I have feduc'd a headstrong Kentish man,
John Cade of Afford,

Mad-brain'd flaw.] Flaw is a fudden violent gust of wind,


To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.


In Ireland have I feen this ftubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of Kerns;
And fought fo long, till that his thighs with darts.
Were almost like a fharp-quill'd porcupine;
And, in the end being refcu'd, I have feen
Him caper upright like a wild Morifco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a fhag-hair'd crafty Kern,
Hath he converfed with the enemy;
And undiscover'd come to me again,
And giv'n me notice of their villainies.
This devil here fhall be my fubftitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in fpeech he doth refemble.
By this, I fhall perceive the Commons' mind;
How they affect the House and Claim of York.
Say, he be taken, rack'd and tortured;

I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him,
Will make him fay, I mov'd him to thofe arms.
Say, that he thrive; as 'tis great like, he will;
Why, then from Ireland come I with my ftrength,
And reap the harveft which that rafcal fow'd;
For Humphry being dead, as he fhall be,
And Henry put a-part, the next for me.

[blocks in formation]


Enter two or three, running over the Stage, from the murder of Duke Humphry.



UN to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know, We have difpatch'd the Duke, as he commanded.

Second. Oh, that it were to do! what have we done?

A wild Morifco.] A Moor in a military dance, now called at

Morris, that is, a Moorish dance.

Didft ever hear a man fo penitent?

Enter Suffolk.

First. Here comes my Lord.

Suf. Now, Sir, have you difpatch'd this thing?
First. Ay, my good Lord, he's dead.

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


I will reward you for this vent'rous deed.
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?

First. Yes, my good Lord.

Suf. Away, be gone.

[Exeunt Murderers.

Enter King Henry, the Queen, Cardinal, Somerfet, with Attendants.

K. Henry. Go, call our Uncle to our presence strait. Say, we intend to try his Grace to day,

If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suf. I'll call him prefently, my noble Lord. [Exit.
K. Henry. Lords, take your places. And, I pray
you all,

Proceed no ftraiter 'gainst our uncle Glofter,
Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
He be approv'd in practice culpable.

Q. Mar. God forbid, any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a Nobleman!

Pray God, he may acquit him of fufpicion!

K. Henry. I thank thee, Well, thefe words con

[blocks in formation]

Enter Suffolk.

How now? why look'st thou fo pale? why tremblest thou?

Where is our Uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk?

Suf. Dead in his bed, my Lord; Glafter is dead.
Q. Mar, Marry, God forefend !

Car. God's fecret judgment. I did dream to night, The Duke was dumb, and could not fpeak a word.

[King fwoons. Q. Mar. How fares my Lord? help, Lords, the King is dead.

Som. Rear up his body, wring him by the nose.
Q. Mar. Run,
thine eyes,

go, help, help. Oh, Henry, ope

Suf. He doth revive again,

K. Henry, O heav'nly God!

Madam, be patient."

Q. Mar. How fares my gracious Lord?

Suf. Comfort, my Sovereign; gracious Henry, com


K. Henry. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?

Came he right now to fing a raven's note,
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 chafe away the first conceived found?
Hide not thy poison with fuch fugar'd words;
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I fay;
Their touch affrights me as a ferpent's fting,
Thou baleful meffenger, out of my fight!
Upon thy eye-balls murd'rous tyranny
Sits in grim majefty to fright the world.

Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding!-
Yet do not go away-come, bafilifk,

3 Right now.] Juft now; even now.


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