Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this fheet,

And go we to attire you for our journey.
Elean. My fhame will not be shifted with
No, it will hang upon my richest robes,
And fhew itfelf, attire me how I can.

my

fheet:

Go, lead the way, 1 long to fee my prifon. [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

At BURY,

Enter King Henry, Queen, Cardinal, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, Salisbury and Warwick, to the Parlia

ment.

I Mule,

K. HENRY.

my lord of Glofter is not come :

'Tis not his wont to be the hindmoft man,

Whate'er occafion keeps him from us now.

Q. Mar. Can you not fee? or will you not obferve The ftrangenefs of his alter'd countenance? With what a majefty he bears himself,

How infolent of late he is become,

How peremptory and unlike himself!

We know the time, fince he was mild and affable; And if we did but glance a far-off look,

Immediately he was upon his knce;

That all the court admir'd him for fubmiffion.
But meet him now, and be it in the morn,
When ev'ry one will give the time of day,
He knits his brow and fhews an angry eye;
And paffeth by with fliff unbowed knee,
Difdaining duty that to us belongs.
Small curs are not regarded, when they grin;
But great men tremble, when the lion roars;
And Humphry is no little man in England.
First note, that he is near you in descent;

And

And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
Me feemeth then, it is no policy,

(Respecting what a ranc'rous mind he bears,
And his advantage following your deccafe)
That he should come about your royal perfon,
Or be admitted to your Highness' council.
By flatt'ry hath he won the common hearts:
And when he'll please to make commotion,
'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him.
Now 'tis the fpring, and weeds are fhallow-rooted,
Suffer them now, and they'll o'er-grow the garden;
And choak the herbs for want of husbandry.
The reverent care, I bear unto my lord,
Made me collect these dangers in the Duke.
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear:
Which fear, if better reafons can fupplant,
I will fubfcribe, and fay, I wrong'd the Duke.
My Lords of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York;
Reprove my allegation, if you can;

Or elfe conclude my words effe&ual.

Suf. Well hath your Highnefs feen into this Duke.
And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think, I fhould have told your Grace's tale.
The Dutchefs, by this fubornation,

Upon my life, began her devilish practices:
Or if he were not privy to those faults,
Yet, by reputing of his high defcent,
As next the King he was fucceffive heir,
And fuch high vaunts of his nobility,
Did inftigate the bedlam brain-fick Dutchess
By wicked means to frame our fov'reign's fall.
Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep;
And in his simple shew he harbours treason.
The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb.
No, no, my fovereign; Glofter is a man
Unfounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law,
Devife ftrange deaths for fmall offences done?

York.

York. And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great fums of money through the realm For foldiers' pay in France, and never fent it? By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. Buck. Tut, thefe are petty faults to faults unknown; Which time will bring to light in fmooth Duke Humphry.

K. Henry. My Lords, at once; the care you have of us.

To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
Is worthy praife; but fhall I fpeak my confcience?
Our kinfman Glo'fter is as innocent

From meaning treafon to our royal perfon,
As is the fucking lamb or harmless dove:
The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given
To dream on evil, or to work my downfal.

Q. Mar. Ah! what's more dang'rous than this fond affiance?

Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd;
For he's difpofed as the hateful Raven.

Is he a lamb? his skin is, furely, lent him;
For he's inclin'd as is the revenous wolf.
Who cannot fteal a shape, that means deceit ?
Take heed, my Lord; the welfare of us all
Hangs on the cutting fhort that fraudful man,
Enter Somerset.

Som. All health unto my gracious Sovereign!
K. Henry. Welcome, Lord Somerfet; what news
from France?

Som. That all your int'reft in thofe territories Is utterly bereft you; all is loft.

K. Henry. Cold news, Lord Somerset; but God's will be done!

York. Cold news for me: for I had hope of France, As firmly as I hope for fertile England.

Thus are my bloffoms blafted in the bud,

And caterpillars eat my leaves away.

But

But I will remedy this gear ere long,
Or fell my title for a glorious grave.

Glo.

A

SCENE II.

Enter Gloucester.

[Afide.

LL happiness unto my Lord the King! Pardon, my Liege, that I have ftaid fo long. Suf. Nay, Glofter, know, that thou art come too foon,

Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art;

I do arreft thec of high treafon here.

Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me blush, Nor change my countenance for this Arreft: A heart unfpotted is not eafily daunted. The pureft fpring is not fo free from mud, As I am clear from treafon to my Sovereign. Who can accufe me? wherein am I guilty? York. 'Tis thought, my Lord, that you took bribes of France;

pay;

And, being protector, ftaid the foldiers'
By means whereof his Highnefs hath loft France.
Glo. Is it but thought fo? 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 trial day!
No; many a pound of my own proper ftore,
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 say so much. Glo. I fay no more than truth, fo help me God! York. In your protectorship you did devife

Strange

Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of;
That England was defam'd by tyranny.

Glo. Why, 'tis well known that, whiles I was protector,

Pity was all the fault that was in me:

For I fhould melt at an offender's tears;

And lowly words were ransom for their fault:
Unless 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 trefpafs elfe.

[fwer'd: Suf. My Lord, these faults are cafy, quickly anBut 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 trial.

K. Henry. My Lord of Glofter, 'tis my fpecial hope, That you will clear yourfelf from all fufpicion; My confcience tells me, you are innocent.

Glo. Ah, gracious Lord, these 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 stormed hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue
The envious load that lies upon his heart:
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,

Whose