ACT II.

SCENE, at St. Albans.

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

B

2. MARGAR É T.

ELIEVE me, Lords, for flying at the brook, I faw no better fport thefe feven years' day; Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high, And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

K. Hen. 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 tower 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 base 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 treafury of everlasting joy!

Car. Thy heav'n is on earth, thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart: Pernicious Protector, dangerous Peer,

That smooth'ft it fo with King and common-weal! Glo. What, Card'nal? Is your priesthood grown fọ peremptory? Tantæne animis Cæleftibus ira? 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 yourself, my Lord; An't like your lordly, lord Protectorship.

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

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 comet
to that.

Car. Marry, when thou dar'st.

Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the

matter,

In thine own perfon 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.
K. Henry. How now, my Lords?

Car. Believe me, coufin Glo'fter,

Had not your man put up the fowl fo fuddenly,

We'd had more fport

fword, (4)

Glo. True, Uncle.

Afide.

Come with thy two-hand

[Afide to Glo.

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

K. Henry. Why, how now, uncle Glo'fter?

[Afide.

Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing elfe, my Lord.

Glo. True, Uncle, are ye advis'd? The Eaft-fide of the Grove. Cardinal, I am with you] Thus is the whole Speech placed to Gloucefter, in all the Editions: but furely, with great Inadvertence. It is the Cardinal, who first appoints the Eaft-fide of the Grove for the place of Duel: and how finely does it exprefs the Rancour and Impetuofity of the Cardinal, for fear Gloucefter fhould mistake, to repeat the Appointment, and ask his Antagonist if he takes him right! So I have ventured to regulate the Speeches; as it improves a Beauty, and avoids an Absurdity,

Now,

Now, by God's mother, Prieft, I'll shave your crown

for this,

Or all my fence shall fail.

Car. [Afide.] Medice, teipfum.

Protector, fee to't well, protect yourself.

[Afide.

K. Henry. The winds grow high, fo do your ftomachs, Lords.

How irksome is this mufick to my heart!

When fuch ftrings jar, what hopes of harmony?
I pray, my Lords, let me compound this ftrife.
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,
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 fouls Gives light in darkness, 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 townsmen on proceffion, Before your Highness to prefent 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 Highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

K. Henry. Good fellow, tell us here the circumftance, 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.

Glo. 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 pafs,

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 sleep,

By good Saint Alban; who faid, "Simpcox, come; (5)
Come, offer at my fhrine, and I will help thee.
Wife. Moft true, forfooth; and many a time and oft
Myfelf have heard a voice to call him fo.

Car. What, art thou lame?
Simp. Ay, God almighty help me!
Suf. How cam'ft thou fo?

Sintp. A fall off of a tree.

Wife. A plumb-tree, mafter.

Glo. How long hast thou been blind?
Simp. O, born so, mafler.

Glo. What, and wouldft climb a tree?

Simp. But once in all my life, when I was a youth. Wife. Too true, and bought his climbing very dear. Glo. Mafs, thou lov'dst plumbs well, that wouldft venture fo>

Simp. Alas, good Sir, my wife defir'd fome damfons, And made me climb, with danger of my life.

Glo. A fubtle knave! but yet it shall not serve : Let's fee thine eyes; wink now, now open them; In my opinion, yet, thou fee'ft not well.

(5)

who faid, Simon, come;

Come offer at my Shrine, and I will help thee.] The Editions here are all at odds with the Hiftory.--- -For why, Simon? The Chronicles, that take notice of Glo'fler's detecting this pretended Miracle, tell us, that the Impoftor, who afferted himself to be cured of Blindness, was called Saunder Simpcox.- -Simon was therefore a Corruption through the Negligence of the Copyifts, and continued by the Indolence of the Editors. Nor have we need of going back to Chronicles to fettle this Point, fince our Poet, in the Courfe of this very Scene, gives us the Fellow's Names correfpondent with the Hiftory.

Simp.

Simp. Yes, mafter, clear as day; I thank God and Saint Alban.

Glo. Say'st thou me fo? what colour is this cloak of? Simp. Red, mafter, red as blood.

Glo. Why, that's well faid: what colour is my gown of?
Simp. Black, forfooth, coal-black, as jet.

K, Hen. Why then thou know'ft what colour jet is of?
Suf. And yet, I think, jet did he never fee.
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?
Simp. Alas, mafter, I know not.

Glo. What's his name?

Simp. I know not.

Glo. Nor his?

Simp. No, indeed, mafter.

Glo. What's thine own name?

Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master. Glo. Saunder, fit there, the lying'ft knave in Chriftendom, If thou hadst been born blind,

Thou might'ft as well know all our names, as thus

To name the feveral colours we do wear.

Sight may diftinguish colours:

But fuddenly to nominate them all,

It is impoffible.

My Lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle:
Would ye not think that Cunning to be great,
That could reftore this cripple to his legs?
Simp. O mafter, that you could !

Glo. My mafters of Saint Albans,
Have you not beadles in your town,

And things call'd whips?

Mayor. Yes, my Lord, if it please your Grace.
Glo. Then fend for one presently.

Mayor. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither ftraight.

[Exit Meffenger. Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither. Now, Sirrah, if you mean to fave yourself from whipping, leap me over this ftool, and run away.

B 3

Simp