The Commons haply rife to fave his life, :!
And yet we have but trivial argument,
More than mistruft, 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 fpeak it from your fouls:
Were't not all one, an empty eagle were fett
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 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 prov'd by reasons to my Liege;
And do not ftand on quillets how to flay 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 firft, that firft intends deceit.
Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis refolutely fpoke.
Suf. Not refolute, except fo much were done;
For things are often spoke, and feldom meant;
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
Seeing the deed is meritorious,
And to preferve my Soveraign 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.
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 fignifie 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 caufe?
York. That Somerfet be fent a 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-fetch'd policy,
Had been the Regent there instead of me,
He never would have ftaid in France fo long.
York. No, not to lose it all, as thou haft done :
I rather would have loft my life betimes,
Than bring a burthen of dishonour home,
By staying there fo long, till all were loft.
Shew me one fcar, character'd on thy skin:
Mens flesh preferv'd fo whole, do feldom win.
Q. Mar. Nay, then, this fpark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:
No more, good York; fweet Somerset, be still.
Thy fortune, York, hadft thou been Regent there,
Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.
York. What, worfe than nought? nay, then a fhame take all!
Som. And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!
Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is;
Th' uncivil Kerns 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 fome,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?
York. I will, my lord, fo please his Majefty.
Suf. Why, our Authority is his confent;
And what we do establish, he confirms;
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.
York. I am content: provide me foldiers, lords,
Whilft I take order for mine own affairs.
Suf. A charge, lord York, that I will fee perform'd : But now return we to the false Duke Humphry.
Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him,
That henceforth he fhall trouble us no more :
And fo 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 foldiers;
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.
Suf. I'll fee it truly done, my lord of York.
York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change mifdoubt to resolution :
Be that thou hop'ft to be, or what thou art
Refign to death, it is not worth th' enjoying :
Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time fhow'rs, comes thought on thought,
And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more bufie than the lab'ring spider,
Weaves tedious fnares to trap mine enemies.
Well, Nobles, well; 'tis politickly done,
To fend me packing with an hoft of men:
I fear me, you but warm the starved Snake,
Who, cherish'd in your breafts, will fting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me ;
I take it kindly yet be well affur'd,
You put fharp weapons in a mad-man's hands.
Whilft I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will ftir up in England fome black storm,
Shall blow ten thousand fouls to heav'n or hell.
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage,
Until the golden circuit on my head,
(Like to the glorious fun's tranfparent beams,)
Do calm the fury of this mad-brain'd flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,
I have feduc'd a headstrong Kentish man,
John Cade of Afhford,
To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I feen this ftubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of Kerns;
And fought fo long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a fharp-quill'd porcupine:
And, in the end being refcu'd, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a fhag-hair'd crafty Kern,
Hath he converfed with the enemy;
And undiscover'd come to me again,
And giv'n me notice of their villanies.
This devil here fhall be my fubstitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gate, in speech he doth resemble.
By this, I fhall perceive the Commons' mind;
How they affect the House and Claim of York.
Say, he be taken, rack'd and tortured;
I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him,
Will make him fay 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 ftrength,
And reap the harveft which that rafcal fow'd:
For Humphry being dead, as he fhall be,
And Henry put a-part, the next for me.
SCENE, an Apartment in the Palace.
Enter two or three, running over the Stage, from the murther of Duke Humphry.
UN to my lord of Suffolk; let him know,
We have dispatch'd the Duke, as he commanded.
2. Oh, that it were to do! what have we done? Didft ever hear a man fo penitent?
1. Here comes my lord.
Suf. Now, Sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing? 1. Ay, my good lord, he's dead.
Suf. Why, that's well faid. Go, get you to my house; I will reward you for this vent'rous 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. Yes, my good lord.
Suf. Away, be gone.
Enter King Henry, the Queen, Cardinal, Somerfet, with
K. Henry. Go, call our Uncle to our presence ftrait: Say, we intend to try his Grace to day,
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.
Suf. I'll call him prefently, my noble lord.
K. Henry. Lords, take your places: and, I pray you all,
Proceed no ftraiter 'gainft our uncle Glo'fter,
Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
He be approv'd in practice culpable.
Q. Mar. God forbid, any malice fhould prevail, That faultlefs may condemn a Nobleman!
Pray God, he may acquit him of fufpicion!
K. Henry. I thank thee: Well, these words content me much. (10)
(10) I thank thee, Nell, thefe Words content me much.] This is K. Henry's Reply to his Wife Margaret. Our Poet, I remember, in his King John, makes Falconbridge the Baftard, upon his first stepping into Honour, fay, that he will ftudy to forget his old Acquaintance;
And if his Name be George, I'll call him Peter;
For new-made Honour doth forget Men's Names.
But, furely, this is wide of King Henry's Cafe; and it can be no Reafon why he should forget his own Wife's Name, and call her Nell initead of Margaret. Perhaps, it may be alledg'd, that the Blunder was original in the Poet; that his Head was full of another Character, which he introduces in this Play, Eleanor Dutchess of Gloucefter, whom her Husband frequently calls Nell: and thence thro' Inadvertence he might flip into this Miftake. Were this to be allowed the Cafe, is not the Mistake therefore
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