Buck. He'll wreft the fenfe, and hold us here all day. Lord Cardinal, he is your prifoner.

Car. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him fure. Glo. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body; Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy fide; And wolves are gnarling, who' thall gnaw thee firft. Ah, that my fear were falfe! ah, that it were ! For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exit, guarded. K. Henry. My Lords, what to your wifdom feemeth Do or undo, as if ourself were here.

[beft, Q. Mar. What, will your Highnefs leave the par

1

liament? K. Henry, Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with Whofe flood begins to flow within my eyes; My body round engirt with mifery:

For what's more miferable than difcontent?
Ah, uncle Humphry in thy face I fee
The map of honour, truth, and loyalty:
And yet, good Humphry, is the hour to come,
i
That e'er I prov'd thee falfe, or fear'd thy faith
What low'ring ftar now envies thy ellate ?.
That these great Lords, and Margaret our Queen,
Do feek fubverfion of thy harmless life,

grief,

That never didft them wrong, nor no man wrong.
And as the butcher takes away the calf,

And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strives, (9)
Bearing it to the bloody flaughter-house:

(9) And as the butcher takes away the calf,

And binds the oretch, and beats it when it trays,] But how can it fray, when it is bound? The poet certainly intended, when it firives; i. e. when it ftruggles to get loofe. And fo he elfewhere employs this word. Love's Labour loft.

Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar,

'Gainft thee, thou lamb, that ftandeft as his prey;
Submiffive fall his princely feet before,

And he from forage will incline to play.

But if thou Arive, poor foul, what art thou then?
Food for his age, repafture for his den.

So in Othello, where he is strangling his wife;
Defd. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night.
Otb. Nay, if you ftrive; ·

2

Dr. Thirlby.

Even

Even fo, remorfelefs, have they borne him hence,
And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
Looking the way her harmless young one went,
And can do nought but wail her darling's lofs:
Even fo myself bewail good Glo'fter's cafe
With fad unhelpful tears; and with dim❜d eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good:
So mighty are his vowed enemies.

His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan
Say, who's a traitor? Glo'fter he is none.

[Exit. Q. Mar. Free Lords, cold fnow melts with the fun's

hot beams.

Henry my Lord is cold in great affairs,
Too full of foolish pity: Glo'fter's fhew
Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile
With forrow fnares relenting paffengers:
Or as the fnake, roll'd in a flowry bank,
With fhining checker'd flough, doth fting a child
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.

Believe me, Lords, were none more wife than I,
(And yet herein I judge my own wit good)
This Glofter fhould be quickly rid the world,
To rid us from the fear we have of him.

Car. That he fhould die, is worthy policy;
But yet we want a colour for his death:
'Tis meet, he be condemn'd by course of law.
Suf. But in my mind, that were no policy:
The King will labour ftill to fave his life,
The commons haply rife to fave his life,
And yet we have but trivial argument,

More than miftruft, that fhews him worthy death.
York. So that, by this, you would not have him die.
Suf. Ah, York, no man alive fo fain as I.

York. 'Tis York, that hath more reason for his death. But my Lord Cardinal, and you my Lord of Suffolk, Say as you think, and fpeak it from your fouls: Were't not all one, an empty eagle were fet To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, As place Duke Humphry for the King's Protector?

Q. Mar. So the poor chicken fhould be fure of death.

Suf.

Suf. Madam, 'tis true; and wer't not madnefs, then,
To make the fox furveyor of the fold?
Who being accus'd a crafty murderer,
His guilt fhould be but idly posted over,
Because his purpofe is not executed.
No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock;
Before his chaps be ftain'd with crimson blood,
As Humphry prov'd by reafons to my Liege;
And do not ftand on quiilets how to flay him:
Be it by gins, by fnares, by fubtilty,
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit

Which mates him firft, that firft intends deceit.
Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis refolutely fpoke.
Suf. Not refolute, except fo much were done;
For things are often fpoke, and feldom meant;
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
Seeing the deed is meritorious,

And to preferve my Sovereign from his foe,
Say but the word, and I will be his priest.

Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk, Ere you can take due orders for a priest:

Say you consent, and cenfure well the deed,

And I'll provide his executioner,

I tender fo the fafety of my Liege.

Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

Q. Mar. And fo say I.

York. And I; and now we three have spoke it, It kils not greatly, who impugns our doom.

Enter a Poft.

Poft. Great Lords, from Ireland am I come amain,

To fignify that rebels there a e up,

And put the Englishmen unto the fword:

Send fuccours, Lords, and ftop the rage betime,
Before the wound do grow incurable;

For being green, there is great hope of help.

Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient flop! What counfel give you in this weighty caufe?

York.

York. That Somerset be fent a regent thither: 'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd : Witness the fortune he hath had in France

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 lofe it all, as thou haft 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: Mens flesh preferv'd fo whole, do feldom win. Q. Mar. Nay, then, this fpark will prove a raging fire, If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : No more, good York; fwect Somerfet, be still. Thy fortune, York, hadft thou been regent there, Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

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

Som. And, in the number, thee that wifheft shame!
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 county fome,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?

York. I will, my Lord, fo please his Majefty.
Suf. Why, our authority is his confent;
And what we do establish, he confirms;
Then, noble York, take thou this task 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 almoft spent: Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. York. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days. At Brifol I expect my foldiers;

For

For there I'll fhip them all for Ireland,

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

Manet York.

York. Now, York, or never, fteel thy fearful thoughts, And change mifdoubt to resolution:

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.

[thought,
Fafter than fpring-time fhow'rs, comes thought on
And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more bufy than the lab'ring fpider,
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 fnake,
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, 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 storm,
Shall blow ten thousand fouls to heav'n or hell.
And this fell tempeft fhall not cease 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 minifter of my intent,

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

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

In Ireland have I feen this stubborn Cade

Oppofe 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 seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
VOL. V.

C

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