University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Enter King, Queen, Cardinal, Suffolk, York, Buckingham.
King.
I admire my Lord of Glocester is not come,
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost Man,
What e're occasion keeps him from us now.

Queen.
Do you not see his alter'd Countenance?
With what a Majesty he bears himself?
How proud, how peremptory, how unlike himself?
We know the time when he was mild and affable,
And if we did but glance a far-off look,
Immediately he was upon his Knee,
That all the Court admir'd his great humility.
But now he frowns, and passes stifly by,
Scorning to shew us any regard at all.

Suff.
Madam, most true, Has not the King observ'd
This carriage in him?

Qu.
He will see no ill in him.
Come, Sir, he is a Man exceeding dangerous,
He is no inconsiderable Person.
First, he is next the Crown, if you shou'd fall
He is the next that Mounts, that 'tis ill policy
To trust him with your Royal Person and Councels,
Whose rancorous mind is now prepar'd for mischief,
And whose advantage is the King's destruction,
Who else will gain by it? We shall be sad loosers;
But he will compass all his heart can wish,
Your Kingdoms, and revenge upon his Enemies.

Card.
The two great Idols of a proud mans heart.

Suff.
Oh! his Soul swell's with rancour as 'twere poyson'd,
He foams with Gall, and his Eyes flash with fury.
I saw him th'other day pass by the King,
And Queen, as they were walking in the Garden.
He measur'd oft the King from Head to Foot
With a disdainful eye, as who shou'd say,
Henry, Thou art too little for thy Throne,
Then wou'd he cast a down-look on the King,
And press him with his eye to the Earth, and look on him
As if he lay under his Feet already,
Nay, under th'Earth; and then he stampt, and pointed
Towards Paul's, where his Wife lately did Penance,
As who shou'd say, Oh! Henry, very shortly
My Wife shall tread on thy cold Monument
With as much pride, as thou hast made her tread
With her bare feet, yon cutting Flints with shame.
In short, all his demeanour is of late
So raging, haughty, frantique and intolerable,
That I believe the Devil which his Wife
Conjur'd from Hell, is gotten into his Breast.

Card.
He was a great frequenter of the Chappel,
No Man so constant, no Man so devout,
The lowest bower to the Altar there,
The highest lifter up of eyes to Heaven,
The humblest kneeler on the Marble Floor.
But now, as if he had gain'd all the Heaven,
He aim'd at by devotion, the Kingdom;
His Knees no more lick up the Chappel Dust
To blind the People's eyes, they are blind enough
He takes no more the Chappel in his way,
He thinks he is at his journeys end, the Throne.

Qu.
That's the next thing, Sir, makes him dangerous:
He has, by his Hypocrisie and Flattery,
So gull'd the credulous Commons of their hearts,
They'l venture Hanging at any time to Crown him,
And think it Martyrdom to die for him.

King.
These things are very bad, if they be true.

Suff.
True Sir? His Wive's crime prove e'm; what do you think
Did instigate that Bedlam brainsick Woman
To her foul fault. but his foul subornation?
Or if he were not privy to her wickedness,
At least high vaunts of his Succession.
And letting fall some words to please her pride,
To shew what high designs he had near Birth,
Made the proud frantique Woman run immediately
To fetch a cursed Midwife out of Hell.

King.
Indeed, that was a very wicked Fact.

Suff.
Oh! Sir, the Duke of Glocester is a Man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

Card.
Sir, he appears to you to be a Man
Of great Humanity, Mildness, and Gentleness,
There's not a greater Tyrant upon Earth.
If any small Offences had at any time
Tript up the heels of any of his Enemies,
And thrown e'm in his power, he tortur'd e'm
Beyond all bounds either of Law or Manhood.
He has torn their Bodies so by horrid Deaths,
As if to put affronts upon that peaceful
Christianity which forbids all Revenge,
He'd put a cheat upon the Resurrection,
And tear that Article out of our Creed.

King.
Can this be true? How chance I never heard of it?

Card.
Who ever durst acquaint you this before?

Suff.
Who ever had your Ear but he till now?

King.
The meanest poorest Subject in my Kingdom
Had it, and shall, as much as he or any Man.

Card.
Ay! you like Heaven, Sir, gave access to all,
But he was that eternal Persecution,
All suffer'd that devoutly wou'd approach you.

King.
If this this be true, what a vile thing is Man?

Yo.
Sir, his insatiable Avarice
Makes two great Crowns sit loosely on your Head.
He squeez'd the English Purses till Blood followed,
Upon pretence to pay your Troops in France,
So almost tore this Kingdom from its Loyalty,
Then by not sending any of that Money;
He starv'd your Troops, and almost lost you France.

Buck.
Oh! there are horrid Crimes lie hid in smooth
Duke Humphrey, which the time will bring to light.

King.
My Lords, you seem to take great care of me
If it be real, it deserves great praise;
But shall I speak my Conscience freely to you?
No Man, I'me sure, no Monarch shou'd dissemble,
I do not, cannot think the Duke of Glocester
That horrid thing you represent him to me.

Card.
Then what are we, Sir?

King.
My Lord Cardinal,
I'le tell you what my Father said you were,
His Reason was as piercing as his Sword;
And he from depth of Knowledg, not from Prophesie,
Said, That if e're you were a Cardinal.
You'd make your Cap vye with your Prince's Crown.
As for these Lords, I wo'ld entreat of them
To think that I have Eyes as well as they.
If my Lord Duke of Glocester had such Sores
Break out of him as these, I shou'd ha' seen e'm
Some time or other, sure, as well as they.
If he had plaid such Proteus tricks as these,
Some time or other, sure, I shou'd have catch'd him.
But if he be the Monster they have painted him,
Then what a horrid villanous thing is Man?
Who wou'd not rather live with Wolves than Men?
For a Wolf shews his nature, but a Man
Appears a Lamb, when he is most a Wolf.
If so, then I must fly from all of you;
For now when you seem Lambs, you may be Tygers.

Qu.
Sir, on my knees I humbly fall before you.
(Kneels.)
And beg with Tears, do not give up your self
And all of us to Death by incredulity.
I am a poor weak Woman, and a Stranger,
And of a Nation for whom your Subjects
By Nature, have an inbred scorn and hate,
Which great successes, greatly have improv'd.
And, Sir, my banish't Enemy the Duchess,
Will in the Rocks of her poor barren Island,
Sit brooding Vengeance, and when you are dead,
The Eagles she has hatcht shall tear my Soul out,
And who in England can or will protect me?

Suff.
And all of us are in the same condition.

All kneel.
Qu.
Then if you think these Lords, Sir, have no Loyalty,
Nor I the consort of your Youth no love,
Yet think we have some kindness for our selves,
And in your preservation seek our own.

King.
Rise my dear Love; rise all of you my Lords;
If I have injur'd you by my suspitions,
I pray forgive me, you perhaps have seen
More in the Duke of Glocester, than I have.
I must confess I'me of a temper fram'd
Wakeful to holy thinks, drowzy to earthly;
I'me as unfit for Earth, as some for Heaven.
Yet knowing I'me the Shepherd of my Flock,
I rouse my self to attend upon my Duty,
But oft I charm my self asleep again
With the Cælestial Musick of Religion,
And then a Wolf may steal upon my sleep
And I not see him, which perhaps you may.
That, Sirs, I thank you all for your kind care.

Card.
Sir, we have faithfully discharg'd our Consciences.

King.
You have done well, I thank you all; but pray
Give me good proofs of what you have alledged.
'Tis not enough to say, in such a Bush
There lies a Thief, in such a Cave a Beast,
But you must shew him to me e're I shoot,
Else I may kill one of my stragling Sheep,
I'me fond of no mans Person but his Vertue.
Prove that the Duke and Loyalty are strangers.
And he and I will be as far asunder
As Life and Death, the Grave shall be betwixt us.

Suff.
Oh! Sir, we shall not want sufficient proofs.

Enter the Duke of Glocester, they all start as soon as he comes in.
Card.
See! see! the Duke is here.

King.
Ha! they all start
At the first sight of him, I like not that.—

(Aside.)
Gl.
All happiness attend my Lord the King.
Pardon, Royal Sir, that I have stayed so long.

Suff.
My Lord of Glocester, you are come too soon,
Unless you were more Loyal than you are.
My Lord, I here Arrest you of high Treason.

Gl.
My Lord of Suffolk, you shall not see me blush,
Nor change my Countenance at this Arrest.

King.
As they to see him did; he twits e'm well.—

(Aside.
Gl.
Innocence is not very easily daunted.
Who can accuse me? Wherein am I guilty?

Yo.
'Tis thought, my Lord, that you took Bribes from France,
And being Protector, staid the Souldiers Pay,
By means whereof all France is almost lost.

Gl.
Is it but thought so? What are they that think so?

King.
Ha! Is it come but to a thought already?

(Aside.)
Gl.
I never rob'd the Souldiers of their Pay.
Nor ever had one penny Bribe from France.
But I have rob'd my self both day and night
Of all my rest, to study good for England.
The Farthing that e're I wrested from the King,
Or hoarded up for my own private use,
I wish may canker all, I can call mine;
But I have wrested from my own Revenues
Many a Pound, and given among the Garrisons,
Because I wou'd not Tax the needy Commons,
And never ask'd for Restitution.

Card.
It serves you well, my Lord, to say so much.

Gl.
I say no more than truth, so help me Heaven.

Yo.
In your Protectorship, you did invent
Strange and unheard of Tortures for Offenders,
That England was defam'd by Tyranny.

Gl.
It is well known, Pity was all my fault;
For I shou'd melt at an Offenders tears,
And humble words were Ransom oft for Faults.
I never gave condign Punishment,
Unless the Offender were a bloody Murtherer,
Or ravenous Thief, that fleec'd poor Passengers.

Suff.
My Lord, these Faults are easie, quickly answer'd:
But mightier Crimes shall be laid to your Charge,
From which you cannot easily purge your self.
I then Arrest you in his Majestie's Name,
And here Commit you to my Lord Cardinal,
To keep you safely till your time of Trial.

King.
So, they scarce know what to accuse him of
(Aside.)
And yet Arrest him, now I find e'm out.
My Lord of Glocester, 'tis my special hope,
That you will clear your self from all Suspition;
My Conscience tells me you are Innocent.

Gl.
Ah! Gracious Prince, these Days are dangerous:
Vertue ne're saw good Times, but one wou'd think
If ever it shou'd find e'm 'twou'd be now,
Under the Reign of such a Saintlike King.
But now the Devil rages more than ever,
'Cause from the Angel-vertues of the King,
He almost fears the downfal of his Kingdom.
Under the Reigns of wicked Kings he sleeps,
Because he knows they do his Business for him;
But now he let's out all his fiercest Fiends,
And bids them do his worst, or all is lost.
Rancour, Ambition, and foul Subornation,
Are all at work to take away my Life,
The Devil will not be content without it.
If I by Death cou'd serve my King and Country,
I'de freelier give my Life, than these Lords take it.

King.
My Lord, my Lord I do believe you.

Gl.
Sir, I humbly thank you for your Royal Charity,
All these Lords know what you believe, my innocence.
Sad were my case, if there were proofs as strong
Of their foul Charge, as their foul Hate and rancour.
Their very looks are witnesses against e'm.
Beauford's red sparkling eyes tell his hearts malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate.
Sharp Buckingham unburden's with his Tongue,
The envious load that lies upon his heart.
And dogged York that reaches at the Moon,
Because I have pluck'd back his roaming Arm,
Endeavours to pull Vengeance on my Head,
Nay, my Queen has with the rest conspir'd,
And with her best endeavour has stirr'd up
My Gracious King to be my Enemy:
Ay, all of you have laid your Heads together,
I had notice of your Plots and Conventicles,
And all to take away my guiltless Life.
I shall not want false Witness to condemn me,
Nor store of Treason to augment my Guilt.

Card.
His railing, Sir, is most intolerable.
If those that watch to keep your Royal Person
From Treason's secret Knife, and Traytor's rage,
Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at,
And the Offender granted scope of speech,
'Twill cool Men's zeal to serve your Majesty.

Suff.
Has he not twit our Sovereign Lady here
With ignominious words, though subtilly coucht?
As if she had suborned Villains to swear
False Allegations, to destroy his Life?

Qu.
But I can give the looser leave to rail.
Beshrew the Winners, for they play me false,
And well such Loosers may have leave to speak.

Buck.
He'l wrest the sence, and hold us here all day.
Pray, my Lord Cardinal, look to your Prisoner.

Card.
Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.

Gl.
Ah! thus King Henry throws away his Crutch
Before his Legs be firm to bear his Body.
Farewel most gracious Sovereign, Heaven protect you,
You ne're stood more in need of his Protection,
For I'me afraid if Heaven does not save you,
Man will not; Oh! that all my fears were groundless.

King.
Stay Uncle, let me embrace you e're I go!
I wish, (I speak it here before their faces)
I wish my Enemies had but thy innocence.
I in thy face behold, what I ne're saw,
Or in their looks, or any of their actions,
A map of Honour, Truth, and Loyalty.

Card.
Oh! Sir! and do you thus—?—

King.
Nay, Sirs, permit me,
You from my Bosom tear my best of Friends,
My wisest Councellor, my faithful'st Servant,
And the great torment forces me to speak.
Ah! yet, good Uncle, is the hour yet to come
That e're I found you false, or fear'd your Faith.
But there are louring Stars envy your state.
For these great Lords, and Margaret your Queen,
Do seek subversion of your harmless life,
And I your King want power to save you from e'm.

Gl.
Ah, gracious Sovereign, send me quickly hence,
What ever innocence I had before,
I'me growing a great Criminal, my stay
Does make me guilty of your Royal Sorrows.

King.
Thou need'st not beg to be sent hence, thy Enemies
Will quickly send thee hence in spite of me.

Gl.
Oh! what a World is this, when such a King
Has little Power, because he has too much Goodness.

Card.
The Duke sure bears about him some Enchantment,
Wherewith he does bewitch the King!—Away with him.

Gl.
I will away; and from the World and you
Cou'd part, with greater joy than e're man left
A howling Desert full of Savage Beasts,
Did I not leave my Sovereign behind.
But, Oh! the joy of my escape is dash'd,
When I remember I have left him there
Bewildred, and no one to be his guid,
Begirt by Wolves, and none to be his guard.

Card.
What, are we Wolves? He does improve in railing.

Gl.
Prove your selves otherwise, I shall be glad;
Let all your wickedness end at my death,
And I'le forgive you that with all my heart.
I will thank Heaven for my destiny,
If as the Roman Curtius, stop'd the Plague
By leaping down into the gaping Earth;
So I by being thrown into the Grave,
Cou'd stop the plague of your Ambition.
But I'me afraid I shall do no such miracle.

Suff.
This is intolerable! My Lord Cardinal,
Why do you stand so tamely, and permit him
To wound both yours, and all our Honours thus?

Card.
I will endure no more, away with him.

King.
Farewel, good Man.

Gl.
Farewel, oh! best of Kings.

(Exit with a Guard.)
King.
So the inhumane Souldier from the panting
Breasts of his trembling Mother tears an Infant,
And carries it away before her face
Upon his bloody Spear; whilst she looks on
And swoons, and falls, and dares not call for help.
Even so remorseless ha' they born him hence,
Whilst I with as unhelpless tears bewail
The good Man's injuries, and with dim'd eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good,
So mighty are his vowed Enemies;
Whom he I'me sure ne're wrong'd, he ne're wrong'd any Man.

Exit.
Qu.
Do you see, my Lords, in what a case we are?
The King will hear nothing against the Duke.
The King is cold, full of foolish pity,
And Glocester's shew beguiles his easie mind,
Just as a Snake roul'd in a flowry Bank,
Which shining checker'd flough does sting a Child,
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
Believe me, Lords, were none more wise than I,
And I believe my self not dull in this,
This Glocester shou'd be quickly rid of the World,
To free the King from danger, us from fear.

Card.
That he shou'd die, is worthy Policy;
But yet we want some Colour for his death,
And it is meet he die by course of Law.

Suff.
That were a worthy policy indeed,
To bring him to the Bar, and there for want
Of good substantial Arguments against him,
Shall openly arreign our selves of Malice;
And so instead of bringing him to death,
Expose our selves to all the People's fury.
True, we have Jealousie back'd with strong Reasons,
But Reason cannot enter into their minds;
Mud Walls, you know, resist all Battery,
And then from those Mud Walls, the People's fury
Will salley out, and make slaughter on us.

Yo.
I'me o' your mind, it is distraction
To sail with him into his own safe Harbour
The People's rage, and not be well coyl'd round
With proofs, that will resist small shot at least.

Qu.
What shall we do then? Must we let him live?
If so, let's find some way our selves to die;
For I had rather perish once for all,
Than die each hour a lingring death of fear.

Suff.
No, Madam, no, the imperious Duke shall die,
We will not to his pride and rage expose
The King, the Kingdom, and our selves, and do
Substantial wrong to all, because we cannot
Do against him a formal piece of Justice.
Must Justice starve, because we want a Lawyers
Forked distinctions to feed her neatly with;
And bright keen proofs to carve him up withal?
No, let us examine into her hungry Stomach
The morsel any way, no matter how.
Nor will the Duke have any injury,
It is an honest, and a good deceit
To deceive him who first intends deceit.

Qu.
Most gallant Suffolk, resolutely spoke.

Suff.
Not resolute except so much were done,
For things are often spoke, and never meant.
To shew my Heart and Tongue fully agree,
Say but the word, I'le be the Executioner;
And think I do a meritorious deed.
I know the Duke means Treason to the King,
Why shou'd I stay for proofs of what I know?
Does any one refuse to kill a Wolf,
Till he has stain'd his Chops, with Crimson Blood?
No, 'tis enough he knows him for a Wolf,
His nature's Crime enough to deserve death.
He then does best, that does dispatch him soonest.
What do you say Lord Cardinal? Speak your mind,
You see how free we are, why are you close?
Is it a meritorious deed, or no?

Card.
My Lords, I only staid to feel your Pulses.
That I might know the temper of your minds,
How vigorous their constitutions were.
Religion has a body and a spirit,
The body is like Water, weak and tasteless,
And that we fling among the Common People;
The extracted Spirit is intoxicating,
And that we drink our selves, and give our Friends.
And as wise Men do always in their pleasures
Select Companions of their own Humour,
Those that are rude and quarrelsome in Drink,
They shun with care; those that are kind and pleasant,
Witty and good natur'd, gladly they Consort withal,
So we ne're drink the spirit of Religion,
With any Men but those of our own minds,
Or Men of melting maudling piety,
Who when they are drunk with it, will kiss our feet,
And weep, and do whatever we command e'm.

Suff.
And pray, what is this Spirit? let us taste it.

Card.
This! Did some ask me if this deed were lawful,
I wou'd say no, it is a horrid Murder.
If any Man offend's against the Publick,
He to the Publick must give satisfaction;
That private Man that kills him is a Murderer,
And a bold Robber of the publick Right.
But now to you I say, cut the Duke's Throat,
'Tis lawful, necessary, meritorious.
And so 'twere in another, but perhaps
If I shou'd say so he wou'd not believe it,
So he might wound the Church with its own Weapons:
I'd pronounce all such damn'd, should kill the Duke,
But I'le pronounce you damn'd if you refuse it,
Because you are capable of these great mysteries.

Suff.
Most excellent! this deed which I before
Only thought needful, now I find Religious.

Card.
A most religious, meritorious deed.
You know the Churches Power is call'd the Keys;
The Keys are given us, not one single Key,
As if there were only one Door to Heaven.
Oh! there are many entrances! There's one
Great common Gate of common Honesty,
At that we let in common understandings;
Then there are private Wickets, but the Stairs
That lead up to e'm, are most steep and dangerous,
And none dare venture up but bold brave Spirits;
But these back Stairs lead up to Heaven's best Rooms.
This Murder then is one of Heaven's back Stairs.
Kill him, his Blood will oyl the Churches Keys,
That you shall choose what Room in Heaven you please.

Yo.
I ne're heard anything that pleas'd me better.

Card.
My Lords, my Lords, Reason and Law allow
You Layicks to carry Swords for your defence,
Religion suffers us to carry none.
Is it because Priests Altars and Religion
Does not deserve defence as well as you?
Yes, but we Priests have always Weapons ready,
A kind of two-edge Knives, call'd Subtilties,
That are most keenly whetted at the Altars,
And nothing cuts so as one of them.
In short then, kill the Duke, kill him to night,
Before he hurt the King, the Church, or you.

Suff.
Here is my hand, my Lord, I'le see it done.

Qu.
I give consent.

Yo.
I'le joyn; and now we four
Agree in it, who dares oppose a Censure?

Suff.
We must get fitting People to assist us.

Card.
I'le find you such, I'le mould e'm for the purpose.
When we have kill'd the Duke, we will give out
He kill'd himself to prevent publick shame,
Or his heart broke because he was discovered.

Suff.
But will not those be Lyes?

Card.
Most sacred truths.
Do not his actions bring his death upon him?

Qu.
True.

Card.
Then 'tis true, I hope he kills himself.

Suff.
Right.

Card.
Or suppose we report the discovery
Of his soul treacherous actions broke his heart:
I pray, is that false, when the discovery
Of his soul actions make us break his Neck?

Suff.
No, certainly, for that will break his heart.

Card.
Then every way you see, we spread no falshoods.
My Lords, the Church has several kind of Garments,
Course home-spun Clothes for Fools, fine Robes for Wits.
Now though a Fool may be let into Heaven
With his course Coat on, they will ne're admit him
To Rooms of State, among the Saints of quality.

Enter a Gentleman.
Gent.
My Lords, I am sent Post to you from Ireland.
The Irish Rebels are all up in Arms,
And put the English to the Sword, send Succours
With all the speed you can, and stop the rage
Betimes, or else the Wound may grow incurable.

Card.
A Breach that craves a very speedy stop.
What counsel give you in this weighty Business?

Suff.
That speedy Force be rais'd. My Lord of York,
Pray do you Head e'm, and go try your Fortune.

Yo.
I will, my Lord, so please his Majesty.

Suff.
Why, our Authority is his consent,
And what we do establish he confirms.
Then pray, my Lord, take you this task in hand.

Yo.
Content, my Lords, do you provide me Souldiers,
Whilst I take orders for my own Affairs.

Suff.
To raise you men, my Lord, shall be my business.
And now return we to the false Duke Humphry.

Card.
Let us about the work immediately.
Things of great weight must not be carried long
For fear we shou'd tire under e'm; and now
The gaudy blabbing, and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the Sea,
And in the room more fitting for our purpose,
The silent pitiless stern-night is risen,
And beckens us methinks with her black hand,
To do that gallant work under her Wings,
Will make her fam'd in the Records of Time,
Who else will like a drop fall in the Sea
Of black Oblivion, and be lost for ever.

Suff.
Come then, I flame with fury to be at it,
That I shall need no Flambeau but my self.

Card.
We two, my Lord, will be the chief performers,
But yet we must have some trusty assistants,
And I will go and fashion some immediately;
I always have store of soft Clay prepar'd,
Which I can mould into what shape I please.

Suff.
Madam, please you to go to your Repose,
And dream of Crowns and Scepters, the high Wall
That kept you from e'm, shall fall down to Night;
And your way open'd to the Royal Seat.

Qu.
And thou shalt happy be when I am great.

(Aside to him.
Yo.
So Lords, I thank you, you have done my business,
(Ex. S. Q. C.
I wanted men and you will give e'm me;
I wanted Glocester's death, you give me that too.
Now lies the King as open to destruction,
As a poor Ship tost on the open Sea,
With Masts all broken, and the Sailers mad.
I have seduc'd one Cado, a headstrong Kentishman,
To take on him the name of Mortimer,
And make Commotion. I have seen in Ireland
That Fellow fight, till his thighs full of Darts,
Were almost like two sharp-quill'd Porcupines.
Then have I seen him dance like a Morisco,
Shaking the bloody Darts, as he his Bells.
In Face, and Gate, and Speech, he's like dead Mortimer.
Thus shall I try how men affect our Title.
If he be ta'ne and Rack'd, he'l ne're confess.
And if he thrives, I'le reap the Rascal's harvest.
Then pious Henry to a Covent gone,
And Humphry to his Tomb, I'le climb the Throne.

(Exit.
Enter the Cardinal, Suffolk, and three Murderers.
Suff.
Are you provided, my Lord Cardinal?

Card.
Of three brave Fellows.

Suff.
What? old hardned Villains?

Card.
Of better instruments, of soft Church Tools
Which I have heated with the fire of Zeal,
And I can bow e'm any way I please.
These are the honest men!—Come honest men!
You are design'd to be most glorious men;
Glorious on Earth, and glorious in Heaven.

Suff.
I will provide for e'm on Earth, my Lord,
The other place do you look after, for e'm.

Card.
How? I provide for e'm in Heaven, my Lord?
They I have more share in Heaven than my self.

1. Mur.
Oh! my good Lord!

Card.
Nay, it is true, my Friends.

Suff.
My Lord, you will instruct e'm what to do.

Card.
I have instructed, and encourag'd e'm,
Told e'm their business, and the nature of it,
That 'tis a charity to the whole Church.
I've told e'm, stopping of a Heretick's Windpipe,
Is stopping a wide Leak sprung in the Church,
Where streams of Heresie flow in to drown it;
Which if they will not stop, especially
When I a Pilot in the Church command e'm,
They will not only cast away their own
Poor ruin'd Souls, but many thousands more.

Suff.
Sure, nothing is more plain.

1. Mur.
Nothing, my Lord.

2. Mur.
Oh! may it please your Grace, 'tis very plain.

3. Mur.
Pshaw! pshaw! 'tis no so plain, and I do'nt like it.
'Tis not so plain, I'me sure, as I want Money.

(Aside.
Card.
Well, I need say no more, I'le only give e'm
An Oath of secrecy; come to me presently
About that Business.

1. Mur., 2. Mur.
We'l attend your Grace.

(Ex. Card. Suff.
3. Mur.
I don't know what to think o' this damn'd business.

1. Mur.
What shou'd you think! 'Tis stopping of a Leak.

3. Mur.
Do not talk to me of stopping of a Leak!
It is a cursed Murder.

2. Mur.
How, a Murder!
The Cardinal said it is a work of charity.

3. Mur.
It is so, to my starving Wife and Children,
I shall stop Leaks in their poor empty Bellies,
And that's the thing that satisfies my Conscience.

1. Mur.
That's not enough, you may get Money otherwise.

3. Mur.
I cannot, I take pains, and pray, and fast,
And am so fearful to displease a Saint,
That I keep every day a Holy-day,
And yet I cannot thrive.

2. Mur.
That's very strange.

3. Mur.
I got a little Money the other day,
And went, and gave half of it to a Priest,
To pray for me, and give me a little counsel,
What course I had best take to get some Money.
He gave me a heavenly Prayer, and bid me say it
For thirty days together, and after that
He said I shou'd obtain what e're I ask'd for.
I did, and at the end of thirty days,
I pray'd to Heaven to give me thirty pounds;
Then I watch'd night and day, almost a Week,
To see if any thing wou'd bring the Money;
The devil of any one brought me a farthing.

1. Mur.
That's very strange.

3. Mur.
I went and told the Priest
What luck I had; he bad me go to Canterbury,
And pray devoutly to St. Thomas Becket.
I went and pray'd to St. Thomas, and St. Thomas,
But might as well have pray'd to St. Tom Thumb,
For any thing I got.

2. Mur.
That's very strange.

3. Mur.
I went again, and told the Priest my luck,
And then he gave me a miraculous Prayer,
Said, if that wou'd not do, then nothing wou'd.
He said, the other day in Germany,
A high dutch Lady had her Head cut off,
And yet liv'd after it, two and twenty hours.

2. Mur.
After her Head was off?

3. Mur.
After 'twas off.

1. Mur.
Good-lack, is't possible?

3. Mur.
She cou'd not die
Till she Confest, and had Communicated,
And then her Head and Body agreed to die,
And in her Grave it seems this prayer was found.

2. Mur.
And did you say it?

3. Mur.
Ay, forty times a day,
For forty days.

1. Mur.
And was you e're the richer?

3. Mur.
The devil a farthing.

2. Mur.
Oh! Good-lack! good-lack!

3. Mur.
On this I went and told the Cardinal all.

1. Mur.
And what said he to you?

3. Mur.
He made me kneel,
And thank St. Thomas, and the high dutch Lady,
For they had heard my Prayers, and sent me to him,
To do a work wou'd gain me Heaven and Earth.

2. Mur.
Why look you there now!

1. Mur.
Look you, look you there now.

3. Mur.
But that same work, was this same scurvy business.

2. Mur.
A scurvy business? Do you call a blessing
Sent from St. Thomas, and the high dutch Lady,
A scurvy business?

3. Mur.
Why shou'd I believe
It came from them? for both their Throats were cut;
Why shou'd I think that they love cutting Throats?
They cou'd not find it such a pleasant business.

1. Mur.
They love to cut the throat of a vile Heretick.

3. Mur.
How do I know Duke Humphry is a Heretick?

2. Mur.
The Cardinal says he is one.

3. Mur.
How if the Cardinal
Shou'd be mistaken?

1. Mur.
He will answer for it.

3. Mur.
And so he shall, for I'me an honest Fellow,
And if to kill Duke Humphry be a sin,
I'le either lay it at the Cardinal's door,
Or put it on the high dutch Lady's score.

—Ex. Mur.
Enter Cardinal and three Murderers.
Card.
So, you have all sworn at the holy Altars;
Now have a care, don't let your Consciences
Fool you, to flinch with fear e're it is done,
Or to repent and tell it when 'tis done;
If so you are trebly Damn'd.

1. Mur.
I warrant your Grace.

Card.
Believe your Priests, and not your Consciences,
For Priests are to direct your Consciences;
Your Consciences are silly, false, corrupt.

2. Mur.
Oh! hang my Conscience, Sir, I ne're regarded it.

3. Mur.
May I be bold to ask your Grace one question?

Card.
Ay, prethee do.

3. Mur.
Suppose a Priest, an't please you,
Mistake, and I shou'd sin by his command,
Will he be damn'd for me? and shall I escape?

Card.
A Priest mistake? Sirrah, were you ne're catechis'd,
That you are ignorant of First Principles?

1. Mur.
Why, look you now, you will be asking questions.

Card.
The Church cannot mistake, the Church is infallible.

3. Mur.
Pray Sir, an't please you, how shall I know that?

Card.
How shall you know it, Sirrah? The Church tells you so.

2. Mur.
Prethee give over, don't stand asking questions.

3. Mur.
How shall I know the Church tells true, an't please you?

Card.
The Church, I say, Sirrah, is Infallible.

3. Mur.
How shall I know the Church is so Infallible?

Card.
Why I say, Sirrah, the Church tells you so.

3. Mur.
But how shall I be certain it tells true?

1. Mur.
What a strange man is this? we must dismiss him?

Car.
Be certain, this is a damn'd Rogue!—a Heretick!
Sirrah, don't you believe the Church? I'le burn you.

2. Mur.
So, so, you have brought your self into a fine pickle.

3. Mur.
Oh! yes, Sir, I believe!

1. Mur.
Oh! do you so.

2. Mur.
'Tis time you shou'd.

3. Mur.
I only did make bold to ask some questions,
To know some things, that I was ignorant of

Card.
Why there was your mistake, you are not to know,
You are only to do what a Priest bids you;
Priests only are to know, you are to know nothing
Except your duty, and the reward that follows it.
Your duty now is to destroy a Traytor,
Yes, and a Heretick.

3. Mur.
I'le do't, an't please you.

1. Mur.
Your Grace may trust him, he is an honest Fellow,
Only a little troublesome with scruples.

2. Mur.
Which way, Sir, had we best to kill the Duke?

Card.
Which way it shall please Heaven to inspire you.
Stay, let me see!—Strangling I think were best.
Ay strangling! strangling! 'twill give least suspition,
And make the World believe, Grief broke his heart;
For so we will give out.

1. Mur.
We'l do't an't please you.
I have a Handkerchief fit for the purpose.

Card.
Open the door, go to him, go, go, quickly.

The Scene is drawn, the Duke of Glocester sitting and reading in his Night-Gown.
Card.
Ha! he's awake, and up; you two go hold him
(Softly to the Mur.
And get him down, whilst the other strangles him.

Gl.
Ha! Who is that opens the door?

2. Mur.
The Cardinal's
Servants, an't please your Grace.

Gl.
And what's your business?

1. Mur.
The Cardinal saw your Light burning so late,
And was afraid your Grace was indispos'd;
And sent to know if your Grace wanted any thing,
And gave us strict command to wait upon you.

Gl.
He is grown wondrous kind; I am afraid
He's ill, for this is not his natural temper.
He guesses right of me, I'm ill indeed;
A heaviness like Death oppresses me.
I cannot get my thoughts out of a Grave:
I fear not Death it self, why shou'd a dream
And empty shadow of it then oppress me?

Card.
So, get behind him now whilst he is musing.

Aside.
Gl.
If wicked men be digging now my Grave,
And these cold Terrors be fore-running damps,
Oh! Heaven prepare me for it.

3. Mur.
How he prays!

(Aside.
2. Mur.
What if he does? What are a Hereticks prayers?

(Aside.
Gl.
Let all my sins drop from me in these Tears.

3. Mur.
How penitent he is!—my Soul relents,
The Devil take this cursed want of Money.

(Aside.
Gl.
If e're my Person, Greatness, or Authority,
Did injure any one, forgive the fault,
And in the bosome of the injur'd person,
Pour down a thousand blessings.—Above all things
Preserve the King from all his Enemies.
If I by Wickedness and Falshood perish,
Oh! give my bloody Enemies repentance,
And let my Death be an occasion
Of good to them, but ruine to their wickedness.

3. Mur.
Heark, how he prays for us that are his murderers!

(Aside
1. Mur.
What if he does? he is a Heretick.
His Prayers are Curses, we are the worse for e'm.

(Aside.
Card.
Why don't you do your work?

(Aside.
3. Mur.
We will; we will.

(Aside.
Gl.
So shall I do more good in Death than Life,
And by my innocent Death procure a Blessing
To my good King, my Country, all my Enemies.

They lay bold on the Duke and strangle him.
Card.
So! Is he dead yet?

2. Mur.
Yes! he does not stir.

Enter the Duke of Suffolk.
Suff.
Ho! What's the News?

Card.
The deed is done, my Lord.

Suff.
Have you dispatch'd the thing?

1. Mur.
We have done his business.

Suff.
Thou art a gallant Rogue! there's Gold for thee.
And for you all.

Card.
A Rogue, my Lord, you wrong him;
He is a Saint, and so are they all.

3. Mur.
A Saint:
(Aside.
Devil take such Saints.
I wou'd this deed were to be done again,
My Family shou'd starve e're I wou'd do it.

Card.
I hear a noise without.

3. Mur.
A noise without!
I'me sure I hear a cursed noise within me,
A bawling Conscience.

Card.
Place the Body some way
As may give least suspition, and be gone,
And come another time for your rewards.

They place the Body in a Chair, shut the Scene,—and Ex.
Enter the King and Queen, Attendants.
Qu.
What brings your Majesty abroad so early?
You do not use to finish your Devotion
So soon as this.

King.
Oh! Love, I am not well,
My Uncle is always walking in my mind,
And shakes the melancholy Room with fear;
Methinks he tells me I have not done well,
To give him up to his too cruel Enemies,
To men who are not such as they shou'd be.

Qu.
Why, Sir, have you so great mistrust of e'm?

King.
I wish I had no cause; I've sent Commands to e'm,
To bring my Uncle to me presently.
Enter the Cardinal.
Had you my message, my Lord Cardinal?

Card.
Yes, Royal Sir, the Duke of Suffolk instantly
Will bring the Duke of Glocester; I have lodg'd
My noble Prisoner but in the next Rooms.

King.
Methinks he shou'd not be the man you make him.

Card.
Your Majesty has your eyes always fixt
On shining Heaven, that when you look below,
The World is in a mist and dark to you.

Enter Suffolk.
King.
How now? Why look'st thou pale? why do'st thou shake?
Where is my Uncle? What's the matter? Speak.

Suff.
The Duke is dead.

Card.
How! Dead?

Suff.
Dead in his Chair.

Qu.
Oh! Heaven forbid!

Suff.
'Tis true.

Card.
Heaven's secret Judgments.
I fear'd some dreadful judgment wou'd o'retake him.

The King Swoons.
Qu.
How is my Lord? Help, help, the King is dying.

Suff.
Rear up his Body, fetch some Water quickly.

Qu.
Oh! Help, help, help.

Suff.
See, he revives again.
Madam, be comforted.

Qu.
How does my Lord?

King.
Oh! heavenly God!—

Sighs deeply.
Suff.
Take comfort, Gracious Sir.

King.
Ah! Wo is me for Glocester! wretched man!

Qu.
Is all your comfort shut up in his Tomb?
And can you find no joy in me at all?
Why do you turn away and hide your Face?
I am no loathsome Leaper, look on me.
Ah! wo is me, more wretched than he is.
Did I for this expose my self to Winds,
And Rocks, and Seas, and twice was almost wrack'd,
And twice was driven back, as if the Winds
Forewarn'd me landing on this unkind Shore!
The vaulting Sea danc'd with me to and fro,
As it were loth to bring me to this Coast.
The Rocks cover'd in the Waves, and hid themselves,
As shaming to owe kindred to an Island,
Whose cruel King wou'd thus reward my Love.
Ah! see if he will speak to me, or look on me!
How hateful am I grown! Ah! wretched me!

Card.
I see the King loves this dead Traytor better
Than all his living Friends! Farewel,—I'me sorry Sir,
To see you hate your Friends, and love your Enemies.

Ex.
King.
Where is my dead Friend? I'le see him—lead me to him.

Suff.
In the next Room, Sir: Ho, open these doors.

The Scene is drawn, and the Duke of Glocester is shewn dead in a Chair.
King.
Oh! thou good man! And hast thou thus been us'd?
And is this all of thee that's left to me?
Oh! to how little, and how poor a pittance
Are all my Comforts in this life now brought!

Enter Warwick.
War.
Oh! Sir, Reports are spread among the People,
The good Duke Humphry treacherously is murder'd,
By Suffolk's and the Cardinal Beauford's means.

Suff.
By mine?

War.
By yours.

Suff.
I did expect as much.

War.
The Commons, like a Hive of angry Bees,
That want their Leader, scatter up and down,
And care not whom they sting in their revenge.
I have endeavour'd to allay their rage,
Until they are satisfied about his death.

King.
Ah! my Lord he is dead, 'tis true! too true!
See here:—But how he died, God knows, not I.
I fear foul play was plaid him for his Life.
Oh Heaven! to whom Judgment alone belongs,
Forgive me if I injure any one
With false suspitions.

War.
Sir, as certainly,
As I believe that Heaven was his Maker,
I believe Treachery was his destroyer.

Suff.
Do you know it, that so dreadfully you swear it?

War.
I swear that I believe it.

Suff.
What's your reason?

War.
I see already above a thousand proofs,
That he was basely strangled.

Suff.
Strangled!

War.
Strangled.
His Face is black and swell'd with settled Blood,
Which shews the passage to the Heart was stopt,
Whether the Blood in natural deaths descends,
To aid the labouring Heart in his last conflict;
And failing, freezes with the cold of Death,
And ne're returns, but leaves the face all pale.
His eyes stand gastly from his Head, and almost
Come out to meet us to complain of strangling.
His gaping nostrils are stretch'd out with striving,
His hands are spread abroad, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for Life, but was by strength o're-master'd.
His well proportion'd Beard, is rugged made
Like Summer's Corn, by furious tempest lodg'd.
See a blew Ring encompasses his Neck.
Oh! Murder here has danc'd her fairy round.
If the Duke was not strangled, ne're was man.

Suff.
Why, who shou'd do it, my Lord? none but my self
And Cardinal Beauford, had him in protection.

War.
Who finds the Heifer dead, and bleeding fresh,
And sees a Butcher with his Ax stand by,
May easily suspect who made the Slaughter.

Qu.
The Cardinal, and you, my Lord, are Murderers!
For shame, my Lord of Warwick, rule your arrogance.

War.
Pray, Madam, let me with due reverence tell you,
Each word you speak for him, slaunders your Honour.

Suff.
Blunt-witted Lord, thy evil manners say,
Thy Mother took into her blameful Bed
Some rough untutour'd Churl; and grafted there
On Nevil's noble race a rugged Clown.

War.
Did not my Sovereign's presence check my fury,
I'de make thee kneel for pardon for this speech,
And say, 'twas thy own Mother that thou mean'st,
And after this low homage, I wou'd kill thee,
Thou treacherous murderer of sleeping men.

Suff.
Thou shalt be waking when I shed thy blood;
If er'e I meet thee from this royal presence.

War.
Away, or I will drag thee!—though I scorn thee,
I'le fight with thee, to appease Duke Humphry's Ghost.

King.
Forbear my Lords, for shame! stay, I command you.

A Noise, Enter Salisbury.
Sal.
Great Sir, the Commons humbly implore by me,
The Duke of Suffolk may be put to death,
Or Banish'd instantly; for else they threaten,
They'l tear him hence by violence and Torture him.
Free from bold contradiction to your liking,
But out of Loyalty they drive him from you.
They say, If you desir'd to sleep, and charg'd
No one on pain of Death shou'd dare to wake you;
Yet if they saw a Serpent in your Bosom,
They with the hazard of their lives wou'd wake you,
And drive him from you whether you wou'd or no.
They say the Duke of Suffolk is that Serpent,
By whose envenom'd sting your Uncle perish'd;
A Prince a thousand times of Suffolk's value,
From him they also fear your Majestie's Death.

Suff.
They durst not send this message to their King,
My noble Lord Embassador from Weavers.

King.
My Lord of Salisbury, Tell e'm from me,
I thank e'm for their Loyal care of me;
That I have been awake long e're they rouz'd me,
And seen the dangerous Serpent I have cherish'd
To my great danger, and my Friends destruction.
For oh! the slimy paths the Serpent crawl'd
To sting my Friend to Death, shine in my eyes.

Suff.
Sir, will you judg me e're you know my innocence?

King.
Go tell e'm, By that Heavenly Majesty,
Whose most unworthy Deputy I am,
I vow most solemnly, the English Air
Shall not receive three days infection more
From this most wicked man; for if it does
The fourth shall end his wickedness and him.

Exit Salis.
Suff.
Sir, this is hard, to doom me e're I'me tried.

Qu.
Oh! let me plead, Sir, for this injur'd Lord.

King.
Oh fye, forbear! forbear! your pleading for him
Will add but very little to your Honour,
But to my anger much; 'twill make me pass
Censure on you, and heavier Doom on him.
Had I but said it, nothing shou'd ha chang'd me;
But having sworn it, you may easier
Remove the Kingdom than stay that man in it.
Then let him hear his Sentence once again:
If after three days space he shall be found
On any Ground that I am Ruler of,
The World shall not be Ransom for his Life.

Exit.
Qu.
Oh wretched! wretched me! Oh! I cou'd turn
My Breath and Spirits all, all into Curses,
Curse all thy Enemies, and all the World.
I prethee joyn with me, and let us Curse e'm.

Suff.
A Plague upon e'm! Wherefore shou'd I curse e'm?
Were Curses killing as the groans of Mandrakes.
I'de stay to curse e'm were the Palace burning,
And every word I said were half on't fire,
And I, my Curses ended, shou'd be Ashes.
For what's the difference 'tween being Ashes,
Or Water, as I soon shall be with Sorrow?

Qu.
I must be take my self now to my Tears,
The last poor refuge of a wretched Woman.

Suff.
Must I see this? And can I not revenge it?
Like one of the fallen Spirits banish'd Heaven.
I stand upon the shining Precipice,
And look with grief on all the Joys I'me leaving;
Then down with Terror on my desperate fall,
Then grin with rage because I cannot help my self;
And amidst all these Passions, I'me more tortur'd.
In Heaven, than I shall be when fallen to Hell.

Qu.
My griefs no flesh can bear, no soul can guess.
Oh! that the moment when thou took'st me Prisoner,
Thy Sword had seperated my Soul and Body,
Then had I been at ease; but now thy Banishment
Divides e'm, and I live to feel the torment.

Suff.
I'le stay with you, what ever shall befal me.

Qu.
What shou'd befal but Death to both of us?
The strong convulsions of my griefs have tir'd,
Wasted, and weakned so my vanquish't Spirits,
That I am fainting now into a calm.

Suff.
And in this calm the current of my Sorrows,
Shall bear my drowning Spirits to thy Bosom,
And lay it there as on a Bank of Lillies,
Where I will Die as in a pleasing slumber.

Qu.
This must not be, we must not stay together,
No we must part, or staying thou must Die.
I rather will endure a lingring Death
Of a long parting, than by Death to lose thee.
Whilst we are living we may meet again.

Suff.
We may, we shall, the King is not Immortal,
Or if he were, his Anger is not so.
But both will have an end, so will our Sorrows.
The longest life has still an utmost point:
No Creature is infinite.

Qu.
Except my Love.

Suff.
In hopes then once to meet again,—Farewel!

Qu.
Oh! sad heart-breaking word!—Where e're thou wandrest
Send to me oft.

Suff.
What joy shall I have else?
All Places will be desolate, and I
Shall live no longer than I hear you live.

Qu.
My Fit returns again! unhappy we!
Why are we two so nearly joyn'd in Love,
And yet by Fortune kept so wide asunder,
First by thy Marriage, and now by thy Banishment?
My Love was thrown as soon as it was Born
On cold Dispair, hearing thou hadst a Wife.
Hadst thou had none, and only been a Shepherd,
And known no other wealth than a small Flock,
No other Title than the charming Swain,
(For so wou'd every Shepherdess have call'd thee)
I wou'd have rather been thy humble Wife,
Than Queen to Henry.

Suff.
If I shou'd stay here.
Till I told o're the Wealth I wou'd have given,
For such a happiness, we ne're shou'd part.

Qu.
Oh! must we part! Heaven made us for each other,
And then did set us two, of all the World,
Farthest asunder; a Wife first did part us,
But now whole Kingdoms, and whole Worlds must part us.
These Miseries I might have well expected;
My Love was born under Captivity,
I was thy Prisoner, e're my heart was so:
Chains lay at th'entrance of the gate of Love,
And pail Dispair forbad me entring in;
Yet such sweet Prospects drew my heart along,
It entred in, and now is lost for ever.

Suff.
Say not for ever; Do not cruelly
Put out the eyes of our Prophetick hopes,
Which like so many Angel-guides, will lead
Our Souls to pleasant Prospects of delight,
Where we may gaze till Fate is tir'd with frowning,
And Time with holding two so bent to meet,
Shall loose his hold, and let us flie together.
Till then farewel.

Qu.
Take with thee my poor heart.

Suff.
A Jewel lock'd into the wofull'st Cabinet
That ever did contain so great a Treasure.
Just like a splitted Bark, so sunder we.
This way sink I to ruine.

Qu.
This way I.—

Exeunt several ways.
The SCENE the Cardinals Apartment.
Enter the Cardinal.
Card.
I'me vext! I'me more, I'me wrack'd! By what? who knows?
By a thing within me call'd a Conscience.
A Trick,—a Spring, that catches us, and pinches,
If we but point at an ill Action.
Why is it an ill thing to kill a man?
He is the Plague and Sickness of the World.
'Tis a kind honest thing to kill a man,
You cure the World of one Disease, you free
Thousands from Mischief, and you ease the man.
Yet if one do a man so great a kindness,
The damn'd ungrateful Rogue torments one's Conscience.
Men are ungrateful Rogues, living or dead.
I know not what to do; I must have ease.
Ho there!

Enter a Servant.
Ser.
My Lord.

Card.
Call my Physitian.
Stay there!—What shou'd I do with a Physitian?
No Physick can give me any ease, but Poyson.
The gravel of the Grave is the best scowring
For such fierce Hawks as I am, after feeding.
Go, now I think on't, call my Confessor.
Let him alone!—What shou'd I do with him too?
My Soul is sick, and it can have no ease,
I grow sick.—
Unless it purge (forsooth) in a Priest's ear.
Fetch me a Glass of Wine, run quickly,—run.
I tremble!—a cold sweat comes over me,
All the Air tastes of an infernal damp.

The Ghost of Duke Humphry appears and goes out, the Cardinal falls into a Swoon. Enter the Servant with Wine.
1 Ser.
Help, help, my Lord is fallen! my Lord is dead!

2 Ser.
Oh! Heaven! What's the matter with my Lord?

3 Ser.
He opens now his eyes!

4 Ser.
He foams at the mouth.

1 Ser.
Let's set him in the Chair and give him air.

3 Ser.
I'le run for his Physitians.

Ex.
4 Ser.
I'le give notice
To all the Court.

Ex.
Enter the three Murtherers.
Card.
Stand off, and let the Duke of Glocester speak to me.
Speak, speak, I say! What wou'dst thou have with me?

2 Mur.
He names the Duke of Glocester.

1 Mur.
Oh! Does he so?
Is his Infallibility come to that? A Pox of his Doctrines,
He has damn'd himself and me too.

Card.
Who is the Grave-maker?
He is a Villain, he digs Graves so shallow,
The dead break Prison, and come plague the Living.
Why this is fine, the Living cannot eat
Nor drink, nor sleep in quiet for the Dead;
The Dead that can do none of e'm, must plague us.
Thou envious Ghost, get to thy own abode,
I know not where it is, in Heaven or Hell,
Oh! Hell! Hell! Hell! I am tormented: Oh!

1 Mur.
Oh! gallant, brave Infallibility!

Enter the King, Salisbury, Warwick.
King.
How does the Cardinal?

2 Mur.
Sir, of a sudden
He's fallen into a fit of Infallible Madness.

Card.
Ha! who are these? Stand off, stand off, who are you?

Sal.
This is your King.

Card.
What King? The King of Terrors?
Death! is it he? If thou be'st Death, I'le give thee
Treasure enough to purchase all this Kingdom,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

King.
Ah! What a sign it is of evil life
When Death's approach appears so terrible?

War.
My Lord, my Lord! Do you know your King?

Car.
What King? what King?

War.
King Henry.

Car.
Ha! King Henry!
Sir, bring me to my Trial when you will,
I am prepar'd, died he not in his Bed?
Can I make men live whether they will no?
Oh! do not torture me! I will confess!—Oh!

King.
Poor wretch!

War.
What think you, Sir? Are not these signs
Of horrid Guilt?

King.
Let us not Censure him.

Car.
Alive again, do you say? Ha! shew him me!
I'le give a Thousand Pound to look on him.
Stand by and let me see him,—there he is,
He has no Eyes, the dust has blinded e'm,
Comb down his hair!—look!—look! it stands upright
Like Limetwigs, set to catch my flying Soul.
I prethee do not carry me along with thee,
And I'le do cruel Pennance all my life;
Hunger shall tear my Entrals, Whips my Flesh,
Thorns my bare Feet; my habit shall be Hair cloth,
The Rock my Bed, hard Roots my only food,
Foul Puddle all my drink; if this suffice not,
I'le sell my self a Slave among the Turks:
What dost thou say? wilt thou consent to this?

King.
Oh! thou eternal Mercy, cast an eye
Of pity on this Wretch! Oh! drive away from him
The hungry Fiend, that strives to gripe his Soul.

Card.
Ha! Wilt thou not consent? and must I die?
Oh! let me live, and be a Slave, a Dog!
What must I die? Oh! this is very cruel!

War.
See how he grins, Sir, with the pangs of Death.

Sal.
Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.

King.
Peace to his Soul, if it be Heavens good pleasure.
Lord Cardinal, If you have any hopes of Heaven,
Hold up your hand, and give a joyful signal.

Sal.
He gives us none.

King.
Oh! Heaven have mercy on him.

War.
He gives a dreadful signal of his Guilt.

King.
Forbear to judge him, we are sinners all.
He's dead!—close up his eyes,—and let us all
To sad and devout Meditation.

Exeunt.
The Scene is drawn. The Queen weeping.—A Lady attending.
Qu.
How am I robb'd of all my joys in Youth?
That now my doleful Years will hang on me,
Like a great Family on a poor Bankrupt.
My hope is, Destiny will ne're be able,
With this great weight of Misery upon me,
To drag me to the Prison of old Age,
Where we lie cold and dark as in the Grave,
And have as great a load of Earth upon us;
Where melancholy thoughts about us crawl,
Like Toads in Dungeons about Malefactors:
That Prison, where through gates of Horror wrinkled
Fate feeds us with the Water of our Tears,
But enough to quench the thirst of Sorrow,
For the old Well is then almost dried up.

Lady.
Oh! Madam! you'l bring Age on you in Youth,
If you weep thus.

Qu.
I wou'd if I cou'd, bring on me
The only joy of Age to be near Death.
But I have a long Life to travel through,
Barren and comfortless as any Desert,
And I am spoil'd of all just at the entrance.

Enter another Lady.
2 Lady.
Madam, there's a Gentleman without
Come from aboard a Vessel, where the Duke
Of Suffolk lately was.—

Qu.
Oh! bring him!
Enter a Gentleman.
Oh! saw you lately, Sir, the Duke of Suffolk?

Gent.
Yes, Madam.

Qu.
Oh! How does he?

Gent.
Well, I doubt not;
He is at the end of an unhappy Journey.—

Qu.
In France already?

Gent.
In a better Country.—
Madam, forgive my zeal to my dear Lord.
I had the honour to be once his Servant;
And knowing well your Majesty did bear
A very great respect to his great Merit.
Came to entreat you to revenge his Blood!

Qu.
His Blood!

Gent.
His Blood: See Madam, this was once,
The beauteous manly Visage of my Lord.

Shews the Duke of Suffolk's Head.
1 Lady.
She faints! she dies! Oh! help for Heaven's sake.

2 Lady.
She stirs; she's coming to her self again.

Qu.
Why have you wak'd me from this pleasing slumber,
In which I had forgotten my vast misery?
Where is the bloody Spectacle you shewed me?

1 Lady.
Away with it!

Qu.
Shew it me again, I say.
Oh! barbarous and bloody Spectacle!
Is this the Noble Duke? Is this the man
That was the pride of Nature, England's Ornament,
But now is England's everlasting shame.
Oh! my dear murder'd Duke! Is this the meeting
Which we at parting promised to each other?
Love promis'd more than Destiny cou'd pay.
Who did this cursed deed?

Gent.
A cursed Pyrate,
Who in the Rivers Mouth clapt him aboard,
And took the Duke and all of us his Prisoners.
The Duke they knew not till they spy'd his George,
And then he own'd himself, and for his Ransome,
Offer'd what sums of Gold they wou'd demand;
He chanc'd to be one Walter Whitmore's Prize,
Who lost in Fight his eye.

Qu.
And to revenge it,
He wou'd put out the Sun.

Gent.
Yes, kill the Duke.
And he was stirr'd to greater insolence.
By that damn'd Villain, which they call'd their Captain,
Who said the Duke had murder'd good Duke Humphry,
Begger'd the King, lost France, and ruined England.
Nay, his foul Tongue did not refuse to spit
Dishonour on your Sacred Majesty,
And said the Duke had injur'd the King's Bed.

Qu.
Impudent Villain!

Gent.
For all which foul Crimes,
He said he wou'd revenge the King and Kingdom.

Qu.
Bold bloody Villain.

Gent.
The brave Duke on this,
Calling to mind his Birth was Calculated,
And it was told him he shou'd die by Water,
He thought at first the Fiend had quibbled with him,
And he shou'd die by one who was call'd Water;
But then remembring that he was at Sea,
He found the Devil had two strings to his Bow,
So Saw himself encompast round with Destiny.
Then lifting up his Eyes to Heaven he smil'd,
As if he in his noble thoughts derided
The sport Fate makes with great mens Lives and Fortunes.
Then looking down with scorn on his base Enemies,
He gave a sigh, at which he nam'd Queen Margaret,
And with that grace he acted every thing,
He bowed his Head, and had it stricken off.

Qu.
Oh! execrable Villains! cou'd this face
Which govern'd me, not strike an awe in you?
Who were not worthy once to look up it?
And thou unfortunate gallant man!
Thy Wit, thy Valour, and thy delicate Form,
Were mighty faults, which the World cou'd not bear.
No wonder the vile envy of the base
Pursued thee, when the Noble cou'd not bear thee,
They cursed thee as the Negroes do the Sun,
Because thy shining Glories blackned e'm.
For which, Oh England! thus I pray for thee!
May'st thou ne're breed brave Man, or if thou dost,
Oh! let him be thy Ruine, or thou his.
May all thy Witty men be sadly Vitious,
Let sloth devour their Fortunes, Fools their Fame,
Lewdness their Souls, their Bodies Foul Disease.
May thy Wise Men be Factious, and head Fools,
If they be honest let e'm loose their Heads.
Let thy Brave men against thy self be bravest,
Be Men at foreign, Devils at Civil War.
Let all thy Pious Sons with zeal run mad,
And make Religion thy Reproach and Curse.
May'st thou have all Religions to confound thee,
And none to save thee.—Here a bloody Altar,
Oh! cruel England! hast thou made for me,
Therefore these bloody Prayers I make for thee.

2 Lady.
The King is coming, Madam.

Enter the King.
King.
Oh! my Lord,
I bring thee frightful News, the Kentishmen
Are up in Arms, headed by one Jack Cade,
A Fellow who proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,
Descended from the Duke of Clarence Line.
He is marching towards London, in the head
Of a rude rugged merciless crowd of Peasants;
And all the way he proclaims me Usurper,
And vows to Crown himself at Westminster.
And in this great distress, to comfort me,
The tray'trous Duke of York, with a great Power,
Is marching hither too, and he proclaims
He comes but to remove the Duke of Sommerset,
But most believe he secretly intends
To reap the benefit of Cade's Rebellion.
That I am like a Ship beset with danger,
Threatned with Wracking by the Kentish Storm,
Or to be Boarded by that Pyrate, York.

Qu.
So! so my Curse on England springs already.
(Aside.
Oh! this were Musick to me, were it not
Allay'd by the sad weeping of my Son,
Heir of these Noble Kingdoms; who, methinks,
Sighs in my Ear, Ah, Mother, for my sake
Pity the helpless King my unfortunate Father!
He was Crown'd King when he was nine Months old,
But if you do not aid him, his Misfortune
Will never suffer me to be a King.
For thy sake Princely Boy, I will assist him,
And something for his own, he's a good Man,
Though a weak King; and it was my ambition
Made Suffolk stain his hands in innocent Blood.
Which Crime forgive me Heaven, and let the Duke
Of Suffolk's Blood be all my Punishment.

Enter Sommerset and Buckingham.
Buck.
Oh! fly Sir, fly, the Rebels are in Southwark;
The Citizens through fear forsake their Houses.
The Rascal People all joyn with the Traytors,
Threatning to spoil the City, and your Court.

Som.
Take comfort, Royal Sir, we'll all stand by you.

King.
Pray let as little Blood be shed as possible.
I'le send a holy Bishop to entreat e'm
To spare their Souls and Bodies; I will promise e'm
To mend my Government, for I confess,
England may yet Curse my unfortuate Reign.

Qu.
Come, Sir, take Spirit in you; Men like Buildings
Fall to the Ground, if never Fire burn in e'm
To harden e'm; King's a Royal Building,
That shou'd have no soft. Clay in it at all.
Adversity has always reign'd upon you,
And made you soft; but yield not, Sir, to Rebels.
Royalty like great Beauty, must be chaste,
Rogues will have all, if once they get a taste.

Exeunt.