Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and common-weal! Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown sø peremptory? Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ ? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; With such holiness can you do it? Suf. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. Glo. As who, my lord? Suf. Why, as yourself, my lord; An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 30 Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. K. Henry. I prythee, peace, good queen; And whet not on these too too furious peers, For blessed are the peace-makers on earth. Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Against this proud protector, with my sword! Glo. Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to that. Car. Marry, when thou darʼst. Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter, In thine own person answer thy abuse. Car. Ay, where thou darʼst not peep: an if thou dar'st, This evening, on the east side of the grove. Aside. 45 Car. Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We'd had more sport.Come with thy two-hand sword. Glo. True, uncle. [Aside to GLOSTER. 50 [Aside. Are you advis'd?—the east side of the grove? K. Henry. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ? Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord. Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown for this, Or all my fence shall fail. Car. [Aside.] Medice teipsum; Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. [Aside. K. Henry. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords. How irksome is this music to my heart! When such strings jar, what hopes of harmony? 60 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, and 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. Henry. Now, God be prais'd! that to believing souls Gives Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair! 70 Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban's, and his Brethren, bearing SIMPCOX between two in a Chair, SIMPCOX'S : Wife following. Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man. K. Henry. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Though by his sight his sin be multiply'd. Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king, His highness' pleasure is to talk with him, K. Henry. Good fellow, tell us here the circum stance, 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. 80 Glo. Had'st 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 nor night unhallow'd pass, But still remember what the Lord hath done. Queen. Queen. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance, Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? 90 Simp. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times, and oftner, in my sleep By good saint Alban; who said-Saunder, come, Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many a time and oft Myself have heard a voice to call him so. Car. What, art thou lame? Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me! Suf. How cam'st thou so? Simp. A fall off of a tree. Wife. A plum-tree, master. Glo. How long hast thou been blind? Glo. What, and would'st climb a tree? 100 Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. Glo. Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that would'st venture so. Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some damsons, And made me climb, with danger of my life. 110 Glo. A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.— see thine eyes :-wink now-now open them : Let me In my opinion, yet thou see'st not well. Simp. Simp. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and saint Alban. Glo. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of ? Simp. Red, master; red as blood. Glo. Why, that's well said: what colour is my gown of? Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet. K. Henry. Why, then, thou know'st what colour jet is of ? Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never see. 120 Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day, a many. Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life. Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name ? Glo. What's his name? Simp. I know not. Glo. Nor his ? Simp. No, indeed, master. Glo. What's thine own name? Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. 130 Glo. Then Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, Thou might'st as well have known all our names, as thus To name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish colours; but suddenly To nominate them all, it is impossible.-- My |