By means whereof his Highnefs hath loft France. Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. Be brought against me at my tryal day. And never afk'd for reftitution. Car. It ferves you well, my Lord, to fay fo much. Glo. I fay no more than truth, fo help me God! York. In your Protectorship you did devife Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of; That England was defam'd by tyranny. Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that, while I was Protectors Pity was all the fault that was in me : For I fhould melt at an offender's tears; And lowly words were ranfom for their fault: Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor paffengers, Above the felon, or what trefpafs else. Suf. My Lord, these faults are eafy, quickly anfwer'da But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot eafily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his Highness' name, K. Henry. My Lord of Glo'fter, 'tis my fpecial hope, Glo. Ah, gracious Lord, thefe days are dangerous: Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition, And charity chas'd hence by rancor's hand; Foul fubornation is predominant, And And equity exil'd your Highness' land. I know, their complot is to have my life: I would expend it with all willingness. And you, my fovereign Lady, with the reft, Ay, all of you have laid your heads together; I fhall not want falfe witnefs to condemn me, Car. My Liege, his railing is intolerable. Falfe allegations, to o'erthrow his state. Q. Mar. But I can give the lofer leave to chide. Glo. Far truer fpoke, than meant; I lofe, indeed; Befhrew the winners, for they play'd me false; And well fuch lofers may have leave to speak. Buck. 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. Ay, thus King Henry throws away his crutch, Before his legs be firm to bear his body; Thus is the fhepherd beaten from thy fide; And wolves are gnarling, who fhall gnaw thee first. liament ? K. Henry. Ay, Margaret, my heart is drown'd with Whofe flood begins to flow within my eyes; My body round engirt with mifery: [grief, For what's more miferable than discontent ? That never didft them wrong, nor no man wrong. And binds the wretch, and beats it when it ftrives, (9) (9) And as the butcher takes away the calf, And binds the wretch, and beats it when it trays.] But how can it fray, when it is bound? The poet certainly intended, when it strives; i. e. when it ftruggles to get loofe. And fo he elsewhere employs this word. Love's Labour Loft. Thus doft thou hear the Nemean lion roar, 'Gainft thee, thou lamb, that ftandeft as his prey; And he from forage will incline to play. But if thou ftrive, poor foul, what art thou then? So in Othello, where he is ftrangling his wife; Dr. Thirlby. Even fo, remorfelefs, have they borne him hence, His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan Say, who's a traitor? Glo'fter he is none. [Exit. Q.Mar. Free Lords, cold fnow melts with the fun's hot beams. Henry my Lord is cold in great affairs, Car. That he fhould die is worthy policy; More than miftruit, that fhews him worthy death. York. So that, by this, you would not have him die. Suf. Ah, York, no man alive fo fain as I. your York. "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 fouls: Were't not all one, an empty eagle were fet 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. Suf. Madam, 'tis true; and wer't not madnefs, then, And to preferve my Sovereign from his foe, 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. York. And I; and now we three have spoke it, It skills not greatly, who impugns our doom. 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 sword: Send fuccours, Lords, and ftop the rage betime, 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, |