Glou. All happiness unto my Lord the King! Pardon, my Liege, that I have ftaid fo long.
Suf. Nay, Glo'fter, know that thou art come too foon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art;
I do arreft thee of high treafon here.
Glou. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me blush, Nor change my countenance for this arrest: A heart unfpotted is not easily daunted. The pureft fpring is not fo free from mud, As I am clear from treafon to my Sovereign. Who can accufe me? wherein am I guilty?
York. 'Tis thought, my Lord, that you took bribes of And being Protector, ftaid the foldiers
By means where of his Highness hath loft France.
Glou. Is it but thought fo? what are they that think it?
I never robb'd the foldiers of their pay,
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,
Ay, night by night, in ftudying good for England.
That doit that e'er I wrested from the King,
Or any groat I hoarded to my ufe,
Be brought against me at my tryal day!
No; many a pound of my own proper ftore,
Because I would not tax the needy commons,
Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
And never ask'd for reftitution.
Car. It ferves you well, my Lord, to fay fo much.
Glou. I fay no more than truth, fo help me God!
York. In your Protectorfhip you did devife
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of,
That England was defam'd by tyranny.
Glou. Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was Protector Pity was all the fault that was in me:
For I fhould melt at an offender's tears,
And lowly words were ranfom for their fault:
Unless it were a bloody murtherer,
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor paffengers,
I never gave them condign punishment.
Murther indeed, that bloody fin, I tortur'd
Above the Felon, or what trepafs elfe.
Suf. My Lord, these faults are cafie, quickly anfwer'd:
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
Whereof you cannot eafily purge your felf.
I do arreft you in his Highness' name,
And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal
To keep, until your further time of tryal.
K. Henry. My Lord of Glo'fter, 'tis my fpecial hope
That you will clear your felf from all fufpicion;
My confcience tells me you are innocent.
Glou. Ah, gracious Lord! thefe days are dangerous: Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition,
And charity chac'd hence by rancour's hand;
Foul fubornation is predominant,
And equity exil'd your Highnefs' land.
I know, their complot is to have my life:
And if my death might make this island happy,
And prove the period of their tyranny,
I would expend it with all willingness.
But mine is made the prologue to their play:
For thousands more, that yet fufpect no peril,
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
Beaufort's red fparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue
The envious load that lyes upon his heart:
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whofe over-weening arm I have pluck'd back,
By falfe accufe doth level at my life.
And you, my fovereign Lady, with the rest,
Caufelefs have laid disgraces on my head,
And with your best endeavours have stirr'd
My liefeft Liege to be mine enemy:
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together,
(My felf had notice of your conventicles)
And all to make away my guiltless life.
I fhall not want falfe witnefs to condemn me,
Nor ftore of treasons to augment my guilt:
The antient proverb will be well effected,
Aftaff is quickly found to beat a dog.
Car. My Liege, his railing is, intolerable.
If those that care to keep your Royal perfon
From treafon's fecret knife, and traitor's rage,
Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
And the offender granted fcope of fpeech,
'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace.
Suf. Hath he not twit our fovereign Lady here
With ignominious words, though clarkly coucht?
As if he had fuborned fome to fwear
Falfe allegations, to o'er-throw his state.
2. Mar. But I can give the lofer leave to chide.
Glou. Far truer spoke than meant; I lofe indeed;
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false;
And well fuch lofers may have leave to speak.
Buck. He'll wreft the sense, and hold us here all day. Lord Cardinal, he is your prifoner.
Car. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him fure.
Glou. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch
Before his legs be firm to bear his body;
Thus is the fhepherd beaten from thy fide,
gnaw
And wolves are gnarling who fhall thee first.
Ah that my fear were falfe, ah that it were!
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.
K. Henry. My Lords, what to your wisdom feemeth best, Do or undo, as if our felf were here.
Q.Mar. What, will your Highness leave the Parliament ? K. Henry. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief, Whose flood begins to flow within my eyes:
My body round engirt with misery:
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,
That e'er I prov'd thee falfe, or fear'd thy faith;
What low'ring ftar now envies thy eftate,"
That thefe great Lords, and Margaret our Queen,
Do feck fubverfion of thy harmless life,
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 'ftrives,
Bearing it to the bloody flaughter-house;
Even fo remorfelefs have they born 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 my felf bewail good Glo'fter's cafe
With fad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'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.
Q. Mar. See, Lords, cold fnow melts with the funs hot
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 flow'ry bank,
With shining 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 still to fave his life;
The Commons haply rise to save his life;
And yet we have but trivial argument,
More than mistrust, that fhews him worthy death.
York. So that by this, you would not have him die.
Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I.
York. 'Tis York that hath more reafon for his death.
But, my Lord Cardinal, and my Lord of Suffolk,
Say as you think, and fpeak it from your fouls:
Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set
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. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness then
To make the fox furveyor of the fold?
Who being accus'd a crafty murtherer,
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's prov'd by reafons to my Liege;
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
Be it by ginns, by fnares, by fubtilty,
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first, that first intends deceit.
Q. Mar. Thrice noble Suffolk, '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,
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