Q. Kath. Deliver all with charity. K. Hen. My learn'd lord cardinal, Speak on: How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Suro. He was brought to this By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. Suro. Sir, a Chartreux friar, His confessor; who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. K. Hen. How know'st thou this? Surv. Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensu'd,—Neither the king, nor his heirs, (Tell you the duke) shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love of the commonalty; the duke Shall govern England. If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office K. Hen. Go forward. Suro. Let him on: On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions This monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dang'rous for him, To ruminate on this so far, until It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd, K. Hen. Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha! There's mischief in this man: Canst thou say After your highness had reprov'd the duke About sir William Blomer, K. Hen. I remember Of such a time:-Being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. But on; What hence? Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought,—I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury, Have put his knife into him. K. Hen. A giant traitor! Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, And this man out of prison? Q. Kath. God mend all! K. Hen. There's something more would out of thee; What say'st? Surv. After-the duke his father,—with the knife, He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, K. Hen. To sheath his knife in us. There's his period, He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, Let him not seek't of us: By day and night, He's traitor to the height. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A ROOM IN THE PALACE. Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? Sands. New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. A fit or two o'the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold them, you would swear directly, Their very noses had been counsellors To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so. Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones; one would take it, That never saw them pace before, the spavin, A springhalt reign'd among them. Cham. Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they have worn out christendom. How That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. Cham. What is't for? Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Cham. I am glad, 'tis there; now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, Lov. They must either Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. Sands. 'Tis time to give them physick, their diseases There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow. Sands. The devil fiddle them! I am glad, they're going; |