University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Beaufort. Suffolk.
Beaufort.
Indeed, my Lord, it is a Disappointment.—
I did not think, my Nephew Gloucester could have been
So Meek!—Perhaps,—his Love is in the Wane.

Suff.
Rather suspect, He Stifles his Resentment;
Deferring Vengeance, to make Vengeance Sure.

Beauf.
It is not in his Nature.—A froward Infant,
As soon, may be instructed to dissemble.
And yet,—He thinks himself exceeding Wise!
And, the poor Commons praise him, for a Statesman.

Suff.
I know not, What to hope; nor, What to fear.—
But, I repent, we did, so rashly, shew
Our Enmity:—A fruitless Provocation;
Since, it impairs not his establish'd Power.

Beauf.
Why This to Me?—Can I bespeak Events?—
It was the Queen's Desire:—You know, it was.

Suff.
You turn too quick upon my Thought!—I grant,
It was the Queen's Desire.—But, mostly She demands,
That the Protectour's Power be overthrown.

Beauf.
Not, in an Instant; sure!—My good Lord Suffolk.—
A little Patience;—and it may be done.

Suff.
But; let us still be mindful,—that, to Morrow,—

Beauf.
First, let to Morrow come!—Or,—come This Night!—
In That short Interval, may lie, conceal'd,
An Hour, that shall determine Humfrey's Rule.

Suff.
I grow impatient!—That, the Glass of Time
Had, Now, begun to measure out That Hour!

Beauf.
Suppose him, then exasperated:—Whether,
For Eleanor's Disgrace;—Or, being refus'd
To see the King:—Or, Both.—Ere Night, he may,
With Indignation stung, give up his Office.—
Not, that I build Thereon.—He may, to Morrow,
Be absent from a Parliament, thus summon'd,
Without consulting Him. Or,—at the Worst;—
Let us suppose,—he shou'd appear,—prepar'd;—
With all his Friends, to Noise it on his Side!—

Suff.
Ay, my Lord Cardinal:—That Supposition!—

Beauf.
Yet,—even then, we undertake to triumph!

Suff.

Beauf.

Suff.
My Doubts arise,
Not out of Fear; but, Caution.—Propose
Some Speedy Counsel, for our common Safety.

Beauf.
First,—let his Majesty prepare a Speech;—
A Speech, wherein He thanks the Duke, his Uncle,
For his long, faithful Services:—Then, adds;
That, Now, in Manhood ripe, his Sovereign Dignity
Demands, the Lord Protectour's Office should expire.

Suff.
This will not be displeasing to the King.

Beauf.
Or, if it should;—the Queen must, then, employ
Her powerful Influence.—That Point secur'd;
We must be diligent: Try every Art
To canvass Voices:—Win over some, with Hopes;
And some, with Fears,—And, buy our spendthrift Lords,
And needy Commons.

Suff.

Beauf.
As I could wish!—Let us
Abide his Frowns;—and, sound his Discontents.

SCENE II.

Beaufort. Suffolk. Gloucester.
Gloucest.
Say, Duke of Suffolk; and You, my reverend Uncle;
What is my Crime;—that I am, thus, deny'd
Admittance to the King?—I thought, my Office,
My Right of Blood, and my unwearied Services,
Might, every Hour, intitle me to a Hearing:
Whether to advise; request; or, to remonstrate.

Suff.
Suffolk does not presume to blame the King;
Nor yet, to charge your Highness with a Crime.

Beauf.
Perhaps,—his Majesty is indispos'd:
Perhaps,—it is His Pleasure to be private.
What have the Duke, and I, to do?—The King
Is of full Years to regulate his Conduct;
And, may consult, When, and with Whom, He pleases.

Gloucest.
I understand you Both.—Let the King's Conduct,
Let all his Actions (copying his great Father!)
Tend to the Advancement of his own Renown;
The Nation's Honour; and the People's Welfare:
And, Gloucester is indifferent, Who advises;
Or, Whence proceed such glorious Resolutions.

Beauf.
For those great Ends (no doubt) our Royal Nephew
Means to consult the Council of the Nation:—
And, Heaven direct them!

Suff.
You, my Lord Protectour,
Suspending, for a Time, domestick Cares,
Will not be absent from our Consultations.—
Account it some Relief, that, for Your Sake,
All good Men grieve, the Dutchess should incurr
Such heavy Censure.

Gloucest.

Beauf.
She deserv'd it.

Gloucest.
That is a Slander, ill-becomes thy Priesthood!—

Beauf.
Was she not sentenced by due Course of Law?
Though, sentenced short,—far short, of Her Demerits!

Gloucest.

Beauf.
She cleaves to Wickliff's Heresie!—Declare
That boasted Merit to the Spiritual Court;
And, give her up to Flames:—And, clear thy self
Of all Suspicion.—

Gloucest.
Most degenerate Beaufort!
Thou base-born Offspring of brave Lancaster;
My famous Grandsire:—Doest thou, then, disturb
Thy blessed Father's Rest?—The mighty Patron
Of learned Wickliff, and His Followers.

Beauf.
Dares,
Then, the Protectour of the Realm avow—

Suff.
Lord Cardinal; no farther urge his Highness:
Since, as a Husband, he is much incens'd.

Beauf.
Not so, my Lord.—His Hatred to the Church
He shews;—more, than his conjugal Affection.

Gloucest.

Beauf.
Then, Gloucester,—by That sacred Dignity, henceforward
I set thee at Defiance!—And, in Return
To thy reproachfull Speech; Thou art—a Traitour!
Thou doest abett the Treason of thy Wife;
That darling Sorceress!—Both trafficking with Hell,
To waste the King, and to usurp his Crown.

Gloucest.
Wert thou the Sovereign Pontiff, triply crown'd,
That Calumny is the Forfeit of thy Life!—
Suffolk; let goe;—

Suff.
I must arrest your Fury.—
Let his Age, his holy Function, stay your Arm.

Beauf.
No, Suffolk:—Let him execute his Purpose.
Let him imbrue his Hands in the innocent Blood
Of his old, feeble, and defenceless, Uncle.

Gloucest.
Curse on the Kindred!—Be doubly curs'd the Law,
Whereby thy casual Birth became Legitimate:
Else, had'st thou liv'd Obscure;—and, much less Guilty.

Beauf.
I know my Crime; the Source of all thy Rage.
I must not live to curb thy headstrong Power;
That Thou may'st lord it, free from all Controll.

Gloucest.

Suff.
To Morrow, Gloucester, speak—

Beauf.
Make no Reply.—
Your Grace perceives, He is not in a Temper
To reason with his Friends.—He must have time
To cool.—

SCENE III.

Gloucester.
Away!—I would not learn from Thee!—
Thou temperate Villain; in Unforgiveness cool:
Who puttest a Gloss of Sanctity on Malice;
And seem'st to weep, and seem'st to pray, for those,
Thou would'st destroy.—

SCENE IV.

Gloucester. Warwick. York.
Gloucest.
Why droops the noble York,—
And Warwick;—ever wont to cheer his Friends?—
Or, does the Discomposure in My Looks,
Where Signs of inward Grief and Indignation
Appear confus'd, transform you to My Likeness?

York.
What generous Breast, but saddens, with your Highness!

Warw.
What pitying Eye, seeing what We beheld,
But wept;—as Gloucester's crimeless Consort pass'd,
In Penance rude, along the flinty Streets!—

York.
And ever, when some rugged Pebble wounds
Her tender-feeling Feet, the abject Rabble
Scoff, as she starts with Anguish of the Pain;
And, bid her be advised, how she treads:—

Warw.
While pale, and red, by Turns, with guiltless Shame,
To Earth she bends,—sometimes to Heaven she lifts,
Her ruefull Eyes,—profuse of gushing Tears.—

Gloucest.
No more; my Friends.—Distraction to my Soul!—
I apprehend you, well: And, you have rouz'd
My couching Rage.—Reproach me, then: And say;
Yet, Gloucester lives?—Yet, Gloucester is a Prince!—
Yet, Gloucester is Protectour!—But, I do renounce
My ignominious Patience:—Yes; I will retrieve
My past Neglect; and vindicate my Love.

Warw.
But;—She is gone: A mournfull, widow'd Exile!

Gloucest.
They shall recall her:—E're I sleep, dispatch
Their Orders.—I will go my self; will bring
Her back, in Triumph!—Will demand such Vengeance,
That Beaufort, and the Queen, shall rue my Wrath:
Shall curse their Malice; their Success: And feel,
That injur'd Patience, kindled into Rage,
Is fierce;—is fatal, as the long-pent Thunder,
That shoots the destin'd Bolt with double Fury!

York.
Let Gloucester but resolve; We come, determin'd,
To stand the foremost Champions in your Cause.

Warw.
It is the King's,—it is the Nation's, Cause!
Both abus'd, by a restless, base-designing, Faction.—
O, call to Mind, the mighty Host of Friends,
Who Wait but Your Command.—

Gloucest.

Warw.
We, and our Followers, are prepar'd, to forward
Those Measures, the Protectour shall approve.

York.
Must, then, your Vertue suffer?—

Gloucest.

York.
Your Highness will appoint the Hour.

Gloucest.
At Eight.

York.
The Place.

Gloucest.
At Warwick's.

Warw.
Thither, will I assemble
A Band of Patriots;—Men, approv'd by Gloucester.

SCENE V.

York. Warwick.
York.
Thou Father to the King; and, to thy Countrey!
How ill are all thy Services requited?

Warw.
Well, do the People stile Thee Good; Thou, Best
Of Men!—But, what avails thy Goodness? While
Henry is beset with Priests and Sycophants;
And that imperious Margaret wrests the Scepter,
From his weak Hand, employ'd to finger Beads.

York.
Slaves that we were!—Did Suffolk merit Thanks,
For treating this unreputable Match;
By Gloucester, disapprov'd?

Warw.
Those hasty Thanks
We may recall.—But, see;—my Father seeks us.

SCENE VI.

York. Warwick. Salisbury.
Salisb.
What think you, Now?—Were Mine, but vain Surmises?
Or, was the Net spred, only, for the Dutchess?

York.
What farther Mischiefs, Salisbury, do you trace?

Salisb.

Warw.
Then, England, bid Adieu to all thy Hopes!

York.
Before they can divest him of his Office,
They must obtain the Parliament's Concurrence.

Salisb.
Even That may be obtain'd.—But, Where is Gloucester?
Or, lives he, still, supine; wrapt up, in his
Integrity?

Warw.
This Evening, at My House,
We are to meet him.

York.
But, with his wonted Goodness,
He gives up his Resentments to the State;
And does intreat, His Wrongs may not be mention'd.

Warw.
Even the fond Husband to the Patriot yields!

Salisb.
That honest Men should be so blinded by
Their Vertue!—So devoid of Jealousy!

York.
My Heart is troubled for the banish'd Dutchess.

Salisb.
Know, then; I have prevail'd with Sir John Stanley,
To keep his Prisoner here, a Day, at least.—
But, of This, the Duke is not to be inform'd.
Let Him believe her, gone;—

Warw.
Or, He would visit her,
This Night.—

York.
That must not be.—

Salisb.

York.
And, how remove them from his Person?

Salisb.
By Attainder.—
Their Crimes will furnish out a Charge, to crush
The Mignion of the Queen, her new-made Duke,
And that old Serpent, Beaufort.

Warw.
These remov'd;
Deluded Buckingham has no Support.

Salisb.

York.