K. Henry. My Lord of Glo' fter, 'tis my special 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 Rancour's hand;
Foul fubornation is predominant,

And equity exil'd your Highnefs' Land.
I know, their complot is to have my life :
And, if my death might make this ifland 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 sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his formed 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 beft endeavours 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 store of treafons to augment my guilt:
The antient proverb will be well effected,
A ftaff is quickly found to beat a dog.

Car. My Liege, his railing is intolerable.
If thofe, that care to keep your royal perfon
From treason's fecret knife and traitor's rage,
Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
And the offender granted fcope of speech,
"Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace.

Suf. Hath he not twit our fovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clarkly coucht? As if he had fuborned fome to swear

Falfe allegations, to o'erthrow his ftate.

Q. Mar. But I can give the lofer leave to chide. Glo. Far truer fpoke, than meant; I lose, 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. Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body;

Thus is the hepherd beaten from thy fide;

And wolves are gnarling, who fhall gnaw thee firft.
Ah, that my fear were falfe! ah, that it were!
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exit guarded.
K.Henry. My Lords, what to your wifdom feemeth beft,
Do or undo, as if ourself were here.

Q.Ma.What, will your Highness leave the Parliament?
K. Hen. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
Whofe flood begins to flow within my eyes;
My body round engirt with mifery:

For what's more miferable than difcontent?
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 prov'd 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 did ft them wrong, nor no man wrong.
And as the butcher takes away the calf,

And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strives, (7)

(7) And as the Butcher takes away the calf,

And binds the wretch, and beats it when it ftrays.] But how can it firay, when it is bound ? The Poet certainly intended, when it frives; i. e. when it struggles to get loofe. And fo he elfewhere employs this Word.

Dr. Thirlby.

Bearing

Bearing it to the bloody flaughter-house :
Even fo, remorflefs, have they borne him hence.
And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
Looking the way her harmlefs young one went,
And can do nought but wail her darling 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 fortune's I will weep, and 'twixt each groan
Say, who's a traitor? Glo'fter he is none.

[Exit. 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 flowry 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 should 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 mistrust, 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 reafon for his death.
But, my Lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,
Say as you think, and speak it from your fouls:
Wer'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.

Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should 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 murderer,
His guilt hould 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 stain'd with crimson blood,
As Humphry prov'd by reasons to my Liege;
And do not stand 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 spoke.
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 Sovereign from his foe,
Say but the word, and I will be his prict.

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.

Enter a Poft.

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,

Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient stop ! What counfel give you in this weighty caufe? Fork. That Somerset be sent a regent thither: 'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd: Witnefs the fortune he hath had in France. Som. If York, with all his far-fetch'd policy, Had been the regent there inftead of me, He never would have staid in France fo long. York. No, not to lofe it all, as thou haft done: I rather would have loft my life betimes, Than bring a burden of dishonour home, By staying there fo long, till all were loft. Shew me one fcar, character'd on thy skin : Men's flesh preferv'd fo whole, do seldom 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, worse 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 againft the Irishmen?

York. I will, my Lord, fo pleafe his Majefty.
Suf. Why, our Authority is his confent;
And what we do eftablish, 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 falfe 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 muft talk of that event. VOL. V.