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 were'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 pofted 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's 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 first, that firft intends deceit.
Q. Mar. Thrice noble Suffolk, refolutely spoke.
Suf. Not refolute, except fo much were done;
For things are often fpoke, 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 say I.

York. And I, and now we three have spoken it,
It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.

SCENE IV. Enter a Poft.

Poft. Great Lords, from Ireland am I come amain, To fignifie that rebels there are up,

And put the Englishmen unto the fword:

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 ftop!
What counfel give you in this weighty cause?
York. That Somerset 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 inftead of me,
He never would have ftaid in France fo long.
York. No, not to lose it all, as thou haft done:
Irather would have loft my life betimes,
Than bring a burthen of dishonour home,
By ftaying there fo long, 'till all were loft.
Shew me one fear character'd on thy skin :
Mens flesh preferv'd fo whole, doth 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 against the Irishmen?

York. I will, my Lord, fo please 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 must talk of that event. York. My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days

At

At Brifol I expect my foldiers;

For there I'll fhip them all for Ireland.

Suf. I'll fee it truly done, my Lord of York.

SCENE V. Manet York.

[Exeunt

York. Now, York, or never, fteel thy fearful thoughts, And change mifdoubt to refolution;

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!

Fafter than fpring-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 ftorm,
Shall blow ten thousand fouls to heav'n or hell,
And this fell tempeft fhall not ceafe 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 minifter of my intent,

I have feduc'd a headstrong Kentish man,
John Cade of Afford,

To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.

In Ireland have I feen this ftubborn Cade
Oppofe himself against a troop of kerns,
And fight 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

ht,

Fall 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 villainies.
This devil here fhall be my fubftitute;
For that John Mortimer which is now 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,
reap the harveft which that rascal fow'd:
For Humphry being dead, as he fhall be,
And Henry put a-part, the next for me.

And

[Exit.

SCENE VI. The Palace. Enter two or three running over the flage, from the murther of Duke Humphry.

1. Run 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? Didst ever hear a man fo penitent ?

Enter Suffolk.

1. Here comes my Lord.

Suf. Now, Sirs, have you dispatch'd

This thing?

1. Ay, my good Lord, 'tis done, 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.

[Exeunt Murtherers.

Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal, Somerset,

with Attendants.

K. Henry. Go call our Uncle to our prefence ftrait :

Say we intend to try his Grace to-day,

If

If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble Lord.

[Exit. 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 should prevail,
That faultlefs may condemn a Nobleman!

Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

K. Henry. I thank thee: well, these words content me much.

Enter Suffolk.

How now? why look'ft thou pale? why trembleft thou?
Where is our Uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

Suf. Dead in his bed, my Lord, Glo'fter is dead.
Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend!

Car. God's fecret judgment: I did dream to-night,
The Duke was dumb, and could not speak a word.

[King fwoons. Q. Mar. How fares my Lord ? help, Lords, the King

is dead.

Som. Rear up his body, wring him by the nose.

Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help! oh Henry, ope thine eyes.
Suf. He doth revive again; Madam, be patient.
K. Henry. O heav'nly God!

Q. Mar. How fares my gracious Lord?

Suf. Comfort, my Sovereign, gracious Henry, comfort!
K. Henry. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to fing a raven's note,
Whofe difmal tune bereft my vital pow'rs;
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chate away the firft-conceived found?
Hide not thy poifon with fuch fugar'd words,
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me as a ferpent's fting.
Thou baleful meffenger, out of my fight!
Upon thy eye-halls murd'rous tyranny
Sits in grim majefty to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding;

Yet