Until it wither with me to my grave,

Or flourish to the height of my degree.

Suf. Go forward, and be choked with thy ambition :

And so farewell, until I meet thee next.
Som.
Have with thee, Poole.

[Exit.

Farewell, ambitious

Richard.

[Exit.

Plan. How I am brav'd and must perforce endure it !
War. This blot, that they object against your house

Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,

Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster.

Meantime in signal of my love for thee,
Against proud Somerset and William Poole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose :
And here I prophesy, This brawl to-day,
Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden,
Shall send, between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. - The Parliament House.

Enter BEDFORD, EXETER, GLOSTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. GLOSTER offers to put up а bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it.

W'in.
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd,
Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse,
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention suddenly;

Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,

As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my

patience,

Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of them :
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,

Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer;
Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession and degree ;
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest ?
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower ?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

Win. Gloster, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
Were I ambitious, covetous, or perverse,
As he will have me, how am I so poor?
Or how haps it I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissension, who preferreth peace
More than I do, except I be provok'd?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends ;
It is not that that hath incens'd the duke :
It is, because no one should sway but he ;
No one but he should be about the king;
And that engenders thunder in his breast,
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know, I am as good-
Glo.

Thou bastard of my grandfather !

As good?

Win. Ay, lordly sir: For what are you, I pray,

But one imperious in another's throne ?

Glo. Am I not lord protector, saucy priest ?

Win. And am I not a prelate of the church ?

Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,

And useth it to patronise his theft.

Win. Unreverent Gloster!

Glo.

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.

Thou art reverent,

Roam thither then.

Win. This, Rome shall remedy.
War.

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.

War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious,

And know the office that belongs to such.

War. Methinks his lordship should be humbler ;

It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

Som.

Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.
State holy, or unhallowed, what of that?

War.

Is not his grace protector to the king ?

Bed. Ye special watchmen of our English weal,

I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,

To join your hearts in love and amity.

O, what a scandal is it to the crown,

That two such noble peers as ye should jar !

Civil dissension is a viperous worm

That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

[A noise within.

What tumult's this?

War.

[A noise again.

An uproar, I dare warrant,

Begun through malice of the bishop's men.

Enter the Mayor of London, attended.

May. O my good lords, —

Pity the city of London, pity us!

The Bishop and the Duke of Gloster's men,

Forbidden late to carry any weapon,

Have filled their pockets full of pebble-stones;
And banding themselves in contrary parts,

Do pelt so fast at one another's pates,
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out
Our windows are broke down in every street,
And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops.

Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of GLOSTER and

WINCHESTER.

Bed. We charge you, on allegiance to the king To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace.

[Skirmish again.

Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,

And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
And, if you love me, as you say you do,
Let me persuade you to forbear a while.

Bed. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!

Will you, my Lord of Winchester, relent?
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War. My lord protector, yield ;-yield, Winchester ;-
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse,
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief, and what murder too,
Hath been enacted through your enmity;
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield.
Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
Win. Well, Duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee;

Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give.

Glo. Ay; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen ;
This token serveth for a flag of truce
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers.

Bed. How joyful am I made by this contract !
Away, my masters! trouble us no more;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.

I Serv. Content: I'll to the surgeon's.

2 Serv.

So will I.

3 Serv. And I'll see what physic the tavern affords.

[Exeunt Servants, Mayor, etc.

Bed. Now will it best avail his majesty,

To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France:

The presence of a king engenders love

Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends;

As it disanimates his enemies.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all!

Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,

Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture :

Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans, are all quite lost.

Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was us'd?
Mess.
No treachery; but want of men and money.

Amongst the soldiers this is muttered, -
That here you maintain several factions;

And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals.

One would have ling'ring wars, with little cost;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings;
A third man thinks, without expense at all,
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility !

Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot :
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.

Enter another Messenger.

Mess. My gracious lords, to add to your laments,

I must inform you of a dismal fight

Betwixt the stout Lord Talbot and the French.

Bed. What! wherein Talbot overcame? is't so ?
Mess. O, no; wherein Lord Talbot was o'erthrown :

The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord,
Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
Having scarce full six thousand in his troop,
By three-and-twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon :
No leisure had he to enrank his men ;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers;
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges,
They pitched in the ground confusedly,
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued ;
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance.
Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him ;
Here, there, and everywhere, enrag'd he flew :
The French exclaim'd, The devil was in arms;
All the whole army stood agaz'd on him:
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,