« AnteriorContinuar »
By means whereof his Highness hath loft France.
Glo. Is it but thought so? what are they, that think it ?
Car. It serves you well, my Lord, to say so much.
York. In your Protectorship you did devise
Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that, while I was Protectors Pity was all the fault that was in me : For I should melt at an offender's tears ; And lowly words were ransom for their fault: Unlefs it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment. Murder, indeed, that bloody fin, I tortur’d Above the felon, or what trespass else.
Suf. My Lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd : But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily 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 Gloster, 'tis my special hope, That you will clear yourself from all fufpicion ; My conscience tells me, you are innocent.
Glo. Ah, gracious Lord, thele days are dangerous : Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition, And charity chas'd hence by rancor's hand; Foul subornation is predominant,
And equity exild your Highness' land.
the period of their tyranny,
Car. My Liege, his railing is intolerable.
Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign Lady here
Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide.
Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant; I lose, indeed; Belrew the winners, for they play'd me false; And well such losers may have leave to speak.
Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day. Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.
Car. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.
Glo. Ay, thus King Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body; Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy fide; And wolves are gnarling, who fhail 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 wisdom seemeth Do or undo, as if ourself were here.
[beft, Q. Mar. What, will your Highness leave the par
liament? K. Henry. Ay, Margaret, my heart is drown'd with Whose flood begins to how within my eyes;
[grief, My body round engirt with misery: For what's more miserable than discontent? Ah, uncle Humphry! in thy face I see The map of honour, truth and loyalty : And yet, good Humphry, is the hour to come, That e'er I prove thee false, or fear’d thy faith ; What low’ring star now envies thy estate? That these great Lords, and Margaret, our Queen, Do seek subversion of thy harmless life, That never didft them wrong, nor no man wrong. And as the butcher takes
the calf, · And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strives, (9) Bearing it to the bloody Naughter-house:
(9) And as the butcher takes away the calf, And binds the wretch, and beats it when it (trays.] But how can it Aray, when it is bound? The poet certainly intended, when it strives; i. e. when it struggles to get loose. And so he elsewhere employs this word. Love's Labour Loft.
Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar,
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
Desd. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night.
Even fo, remorseless, have they borne him hence,
Car. That he fhould die is worthy policy ;
Suf. But in my mind that were no policy:
York. So that, by this, you would not have him die.
rórk. "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
souls : Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, As place Duke Humpbry for the King's Protector? Mar. So the poor chicken kould be sure of death.
Suf. Madam, 'tis true; and wer't not madness, 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 fock; Before his chaps be ftain'd with crimson blood, As Humphry prov'd by reasons to my Liege ; And do not fiand on quillets how to slay him: Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty, 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, 'tis resolutely spoke.
Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done;
Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,
Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.
York. And I; and now we three have spoke it,
Enter a Pot. Poft. Great Lords, from Ireland am I come amain, To fignify that rebels there are up, And put the Englisomen unto the sword : Send succours, Lords, and stop 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 ?