• York. That Somerset be sent as 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-fet policy, Had been the regent there instead of me, • He never would have staid in France so long. York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done: I rather would have lost my life betimes, * Than bring a burden of dishonour home, * By staying there so long, till all were lost. * Show me one scar charácter'd on thy skin:

* Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do ́seldom win. * Q. Mar. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging

fire,

* If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with: * No more, good York; - sweet Somerset, be still ; — Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, * Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. York. What, worse than naught? nay, then a shame take all !

'Som. And, in the number, thee, that wishest shame! 'Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. • The uncivil kernes 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 some, And try your hap against the Irishmen ? * York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. Suf. Why, our authority is his consent; *And, what we do establish, he confirms: * Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. * York. I am content: Provide me soldiers, lords,

• Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

6

Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd.

• But now return we to the false duke Humphrey.
'Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him,
That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more.

And so break off; the day is almost spent:

• Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days,

• At Bristol I expect my soldiers;

For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

Suf. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York.

[Exeunt all but YORK.

• York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, 'And change misdoubt to resolution:

* Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art

* Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying:

* Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man, * And find no harbour in a royal heart.

* Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought on thought;

* And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.

My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,
* Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
* Well, nobles, well, 'tis politickly done,

* To send me packing with an host of men:
* I fear me, you
but warm the starved snake,

* Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me:
'I take it kindly; yet, be well assur'd

You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 'Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, * I will stir up in England some black storm, * Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell: And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage * Until the golden circuit on my head, * Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams, * Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.* 'And, for a minister of my intent, 'I have seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman, 'John Cade of Ashford,

'To make commotion, as full well he can,

S

mad-bred flaw.] Flaw is a sudden violent gust of wind.

Under the title of John Mortimer.

* In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade

* Oppose himself against a troop of kernes; * And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts • Were almost like a sharp-quilled porcupine: * And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him Caper upright like a wild Mórisco,1

Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. * Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne, • Hath he conversed with the enemy;

*

And undiscover'd come to me again,
And given me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;

* For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
* In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:

By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, How they affect the house and claim of York. Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortur'd; 'I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him, • Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms.

Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,)

Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,

And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd:

For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me.

SCENE II.

Bury. A Room in the Palace.

Enter certain Murderers, hastily.

[Exit.

1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know, * We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

9-a troop of kernes;] Kernes were light-armed Irish footsoldiers.

1

— a wild Mórisco,] A Moor in a military dance, now called morris, that is, a Moorish dance.

* 2 Mur. O, that it were to do! What have we

done?

Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Enter SUFFOLK.

1 Mur. Here comes my lord.

'Suf.

'Despatch'd this thing?

1 Mur.

Now, sirs, have you

Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my

house;

'I will reward you for this venturous deed.

'The king and all the peers are here at hand:
'Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well,
'According as I gave directions?

1 Mur. "Tis, my good lord.

Suf. Away, be gone!

[Exeunt Murderers.

Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, Cardinal BEAUFORT, SOMERSET, Lords, and Others.

K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight: Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,

If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

'Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit. K. Hen. Lords, take your places; - And, I pray you all,

'Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, Than from true evidence, of good esteem,

'He be approv'd in practice culpable.

* Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman!

Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion!

* K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words con

Re-enter Suffolk.

"How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou? 'Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk? Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead. Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend!

* Car. God's secret judgment: - I did dream to

night,

The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [The King swoons. 'Q. Mar. How fares my lord?— Help, lords! the king is dead.

* Som. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help! — O, Henry, ope

*

thine eyes!

• Suf. He doth revive again;- Madam, be patient. * K. Hen. O heavenly God!

* Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord?

Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now2 to sing a raven's note,

* Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,

By crying comfort from a hollow breast,

• Can chase away the first-conceived sound?

* Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words. Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;

*

* Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!

• Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
'Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
'Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding :
Yet do not go away; - Come, basilisk,

And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight: