By means whereof his Highnefs hath loft France.
Glo. Is it but thought for 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 wrefted from the King,
Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
Be brought against me at my tryal day.
No; many a pound of my own proper store,
Because I would not tax the needy commons,
Have I dif-purfed to the garrifons,
And never afk'd for reftitution.
Car. It ferves you well, my Lord, to fay fo much. Glo. I fay no more than truth, fo help me God! York. In your Protectorship you did devife Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of;
That England was defam'd by tyranny.
Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that, while I was Protectors
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 murderer,
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor paffengers,
I never gave them condign punishment.
Murder, indeed, that bloody fin, I tortur'd
Above the felon, or what trefpafs else.
Suf. My Lord, these faults are eafy, quickly anfwer'da But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot eafily purge yourself.
I do arrest 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 yourself from all fufpicion ;.
My confcience tells me, you are innocent.
Glo. Ah, gracious Lord, thefe days are dangerous: Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition,
And charity chas'd hence by rancor's hand;
Foul fubornation is predominant,
And equity exil'd your Highness' 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.
Beauford's red fparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his ftormed hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue
The envious load, that lies 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 reft,
Caufelefs have laid difgraces on my head ;
And with your best endeavour have stirr'd up
My liefeft Liege to be mine enemy:
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together;
(Myfelf 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 treafons to augment my guilt:
The ancient proverb will be well effected,
Aftaff is quickly found to beat a dog.
Car. My Liege, his railing is intolerable.
If thofe, 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 darkly coucht?
As if he had fuborned fome to swear
Falfe allegations, to o'erthrow his state.
Q. Mar. But I can give the lofer leave to chide. Glo. Far truer fpoke, than meant; I lofe, indeed; Befhrew the winners, for they play'd me false; And well fuch lofers may have leave to speak.
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. Ay, thus King Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body;
Thus is the fhepherd beaten from thy fide;
And wolves are gnarling, who fhall gnaw thee first.
Ah, that my fear were false! 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.
[best,
Q. Mar. What, will your Highnefs leave the par-
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 discontent ?
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 prove thee falfe, or fear'd thy faith;
What low'ring ftar now envies thy estate?
That these great Lords, and Margaret, our Queen,
Do feek 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, (9)
Bearing it to the bloody flaughter-house:
(9) And as the butcher takes away the calf,
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it trays.] But how can it fray, when it is bound? The poet certainly intended, when it strives; i. e. when it ftruggles to get loofe. And fo he elsewhere 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 ftrive, poor foul, what art thou then?
Food for his rage, repafture for his den.
So in Othello, where he is ftrangling his wife;
Defd. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night.
Oth. Nay, if you frive ;-
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.
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 flow'ry 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 Glo'fter 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 courfe of law.
Suf. But in my mind that were no policy:
The King will labour still to fave his life,
The commons haply rife to fave his life,
And yet we have but trivial argument,
More than miftruit, 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 speak it from 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. 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 purpose 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 quillets 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 first, that firft intends deceit.
Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis refolutely spoke.
Suf. Not refolute, except fo much were done;
For things are often spoke, and seldom 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 confent, 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 fay I.
York. And I; and now we three have spoke it,
It skills not greatly, who impugns our doom.
Poft. Great Lords, from Ireland am I come amain,
To fignify that rebels there are up,
And put the Englishmen unto the sword:
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 stop! What counsel give you in this weighty cause?
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