What louring star now envies thy estate,

That these great lords, and Margaret our queen,
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?

Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong:
And as the butcher takes away the calf,

And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, (87)
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house;

Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence:
And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
Looking the way her harmless young one went,
And can do naught but wail her darling's loss;
Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case
With sad unhelpful tears; and with dimm'd eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good,—
So mighty are his vowèd enemies.

His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan,
"Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none."

Say,

*(88)

[Exit.

Q. Mar. Fair lords, (89) cold snow melts with the sun's hot

beams.

Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,

Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster's show
Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile.
With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
Or as the snake, roll'd in a flowering(90) bank,
With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child,
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I,—
And yet herein I judge mine own wit good,-
This Gloster should 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 course of law.

Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy:
The king will labour still to save his life;
The commons haply rise to save his life;
And yet we have but trivial argument,

More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

York. So that, by this, you would not have him die.
Suj. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!

York. [aside] 'Tis York that hath more reason for his

death.

But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,

Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,—
Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set

To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,

As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death.
Suf. Madam, 'tis true; and were't not madness, then,
To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
Who being accus'd a crafty murderer,
His guilt should be but idly posted 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 stain'd with crimson blood,
As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. (91)
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

(92)

Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.
Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done;

For things are often spoke, and seldom meant:
But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,-

Seeing the deed is meritorious,

And to preserve 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 consent, and censure well the deed,

And I'll provide his executioner,—

I tender so the safety of my liege.

Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

Q. Mar. And so say I.

York. And I and now we three have spoken (93) it,

It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,

To signify that rebels there are up,

And put the Englishmen unto the sword:

Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,

Before the wound do grow uncurable;

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 cause?

York. That Somerset be sent as 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-fet policy,

Had been the regent there instead of me,

He never would have stay'd in France so long.

York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done :

I rather would have lost my life betimes

Than bring a burden of dishonour home

By staying there so long, till all were lost.

Show me one scar charácter'd on thy skin:
Men's flesh preserv'd so whole do seldom win.

Q. Mar. Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:-
No more, good York;-sweet Somerset, be still:-
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,

Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.

York. What, worse than naught? nay, then, a shame 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 :(95)
To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
Collected choicely, from each county some,
And try your hap against the Irishmen ?

York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
Suf. Why, our authority is his consent;

And what we do establish he confirms:

Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

York. I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

Suf. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd.
But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.
Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him,
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
And so 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 soldiers;

For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

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

[Exeunt all except York.

York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,

And change misdoubt to resolution:

Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art

Resign 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 showers comes thought on thought; And not a thought but thinks on dignity.

My brain, more busy than the labouring spider,

Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,

To send me packing with an host of men:

I fear me you but warm the starvèd snake,

Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.

'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me:

I take it kindly; yet be well assur'd

You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,06)
I will stir up in England some black storm,
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
And for a minister of my intent

I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman,
John. Cade of Ashford,

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

In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,

And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine;
And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
Hath he conversèd with the enemy,
And, undiscover'd, come to me again,
And given me notice of their villanies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say he be taken, rack'd, and torturèd,

I know no pain they can inflict upon him
Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms.(97)
Say that he thrive,-as 'tis great like he will,-
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd;
For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me.

[Exit.

SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state.

Enter certain Murderers, hastily.

First Mur. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know

We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

Sec. Mur. O that it were to do!-What have we done?

Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

First Mur. Here comes my lord.

Enter SUFFOlk.

Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?