But I will remedy this gear ere long. Or fell my title for a glorious grave. SCENE II. Enter Gloucefler. Glo. All happiness unto my Lord the King! Pardon, my Liege, that I have staid fo long. [Afide. Suf. Nay, Glo'fter, know, that thou art come too Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art. I do arrest thee of high treafon here. [foon, Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me blush, Nor change my countenance for this arrest. A heart unfpotted is not eafily daunted. The pureft fpring is not fo free from mud, As I am clear from treason to my Sovereign. Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty? York. 'Tis thought, my Lord, that you took bribes of France; And, being Protector, ftaid the foldiers' pay; Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. Lit? Ay, night by night, in ftudying good for England! Be brought against me at my trial-day! 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 devise Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of, That England was defam'd by tyranny. Glo Why, 'tis well known, that, whiles I was Pro 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 murtherer, [tector, Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor paffengers, D I never gave them condign punishment. Murther, indeed, that bloody fin, I tortur'd Suf. My Lord, thefe faults are eafy, quickly an But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal K. Henry. My Lord of Glo'ster, 'tis my special hope, Glo. Ah, gracious Lord, thefe days are dangerous. Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition, And Charity chas'd hence by Rancour's hand. And Equity exil'd your Highness' land. I would expend it with all willingness. Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, Ay, all of you have laid your heads together, I fhall not want falfe witness to condemn me, A ftaff is quickly found to beat a dog. Car. My Liege, his railing is intolerable. Falfe allegations, to o'erthrow his ftate? 2. Mar. But I can give the lofer leave to chide. Glo. Far truer fpoke than meant; Ilofe, indeed; Beshrew 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 thepherd beaten from thy fide, For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exit guarded. K. Henry. My Lords, what to your wisdom feemeth Do or undo, as if ourself were here. [beft, 2. Mar. What will your Highness leave the parlia ment ? K. Henry. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with For what's more miferable than difcontent ? [grief, That thefe great Lords, and Margaret our Queen, That never didit them wrong, nor no man wrong? And as the butcher takes away the calf, And binds the wretch, and beats it when it ftrives, His fortunes will weep, and 'twixt each groan [Exit. 2. Mar. Free Lords, cold fnow melts with the fun's Believe me, Lords, were none more wife than I, Car. That he fhould die, is worthy policy; More than miftruft, that fhews him worthy death. Tork. 'Tis York that hath more reafon for his death. 2. Mar. So the poor chicken fhould be fure of death. Suf. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness then Which mates him firft, that first intends deceit. my 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. 2. Mar. And fo fay I. York. And I: And now we three have spoke it, It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. SCENE IV. 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 fword: Send fuccours, Lords, and ftop the rage betime, Before the wound do grow incurable; For being green there is great hope of help. Gar. A breach that craves a quick expedient stop! What counsel give you in this weighty caufe? York. bat Somerset be fent a Regent thither; 'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd; |