War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land, And common profit of his country!
York. And so says York, for he hath greatest caufe. [Afide. Sal. Then let's make haste, and look unto the main. War. Unto the main? Oh father, Maine is lost; That Maine, which by main force Warwick did win, And would have kept, so long as breath did laft : Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slain.
[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury.
York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French;
Paris is loft, the state of Normandy
Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone.
Suffolk concluded on the articles,
The peers agreed, and Henry was well pleas'd
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
I cannot blame them all, what is't to them?
'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
Pirates may make cheap penn'worths of their pillage,
And purchase friends, and give to courtezans,
Still revelling, like Lords, till all be gone,
While as the filly owner of the goods
Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands,
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof,
While all is shared, and all is borne away,
Ready to starve, and dares not touch his own.
So York must fit, and fret, and bite his tongue,
While his own lands are bargain'd for, and fold.
Methinks, the realms of England, France and Ireland,
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood,
As did the fatal brand Althea burnt,
Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.
Anjou and Maine, both giv'n unto the French!
Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,
Ev'n as I have of fertile England's foil.
A day will come, when York shall claim his own;
And therefore I will take the Nevills' parts,
And make a shew of love to proud Duke Humphry,
And, when I spy advantage, claim the Crown,
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit.
Nor shall proud Lancaster ufurp my right,
Nor hold the scepter in his childish fitt,
Nor wear the diadem upon his head,
Whose church-like humour fits not for a Crown,
Then, York, be still a while, till time do serve;
Watch thou, and wake when others be asleep,
To pry into the fecrets of the State;
Till Henry, furfeiting in joys of love,
With his new bride, and England's dear-bought Queen,
And Humphry with the Peers be fall'n at jars.
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white Rose,
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd;
And in my standard bear the Arms of York,
To grapple with the house of Lancaster;
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the Crown,
Whose bookish Rule hath pull'd fair England down.
[Exit York,
Changes to the Duke of Gloucester's House.
Enter Duke Humphry, and bis Wife Eleanor.
HY droops my Lord, like over-ripen'd
Hanging the head with Ceres' plenteous load? Why doth the great Duke Humphry knit his brows,
As frowning at the favours of the world?
Why are thine eyes fixt to the fullen earth,
Gazing at that which seems to dim thy fight?
What seest thou there? King Henry's Diadem,
Inchas'd with all the honours of the world?
If so, gaze on, and grovel on the face,
Until thy head be circled with the fame,
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious Gold.-
What! is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine.
And having both together heav'd it up,
We'll both together lift our heads to heaven;
And never more abase our fight so low,
As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.
Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy Lord,
Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts;
And may that thought, when I imagine III
Against my King and nephew, virtuous Henry,
Be my laft Breathing in this mortal world!
-My troublous dreams this night do make me fad.
Elean. What dream'd my Lord; tell me, and I'll
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.
Glo. Methought, this Staff, mine office-badge in
Was broke in twain; by whom I have forgot;
But, as I think, it was by th' Cardinal;
And, on the pieces of the broken wand,
Were plac'd the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset,
And William de la Pole &rst Duke of Suffolk.
This was the dream; what it doth bode, God knows.
Elean. Tut, this was nothing but an argument,
That he, that breaks a stick of Glo'ster's grove,
Shall lose his head for his Presumption.
But lift to me, my Humphry, my sweet Duke;
Methought, I fat in feat of Majesty,
In the Cathedral church of Westminster,
And in that chair where Kings and Queens were crown'd,
Where Henry and Marg'ret kneel'd to me,
And on my head did set the Diadem.
Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright.
Presumptuous Dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor, Art thou not fecond woman in the Realm, And the Protector's wife, belov'd of him? Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, Above the reach or compafs of thy thought? And wilt thou still be hammering treachery, To tumble down thy husband, and thyself, From top of honour to disgrace's feet ? Away from me, and let me hear no more. Elean. What, what, my Lord! are you so cholerick With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself, And not be check'd.
Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again.
Mes. My Lord Protector, 'tis his Highness' pleasure,
You do prepare to ride unto St. Albans,
Whereas the King and Queen do mean to hawk.
Glo. I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us?
Elean. Yes, my good Lord, I'll follow presently.
[Exit Gloucester,
Follow I must, I cannot go before,
While Glo'ster bears this base and humble mind,
Were I a man, a Duke, and next of blood,
I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks;
And smooth my way upon their headless necks.
And being a woman, I will not be slack
To play my part in Fortune's pageant.
-Where are you there, Sir John? Nay, fear not, man,
We are alone; here's none but thee and I.
Hume. Jesus preserve your Royal Majesty!
Elean. What say'st thou? Majesty? I am but Grace.
Hume. But by the grace of God, and Hume's advice,
Your Grace's title shall be multiply'd.
Elean. What say'st thou, man? haft thou as yet
With Margery Jordan, the cunning witch;
And Roger Bolingbrook the conjurer,
And will they undertake to do me good?
Hume. This they have promised, to shew your
A Spirit rais'd from depth of under-ground,
That shall make answer to fuch questions,
As by your Grace shall be propounded him.
Elean. It is enough, I'll think upon the questions.
When from St. Albans we do make return,
We'll fee those things effected to the full.
Here, Hume, take this reward. Make merry, man,
With thy confederates in this weighty cause.
Hum. Hume must make merry with the Dutchess'
gold;
Marry, and shall. But how now, Sir John Hume ?
Seal up your lips, and give no words, but mum !
The business afketh filent secrecy.
Dame Eleanor gives gold to bring the witch,
Gold cannot come amifs, were she a devil.
Yet have I gold, flies from another coaft,
I dare not say from the rich Cardinal,
And from the great and new-made Duke of Suffolk;
Yet I do find it fo: for to be plain,
They, knowing Dame Eleanor's aspiring humour,
Have hired me to undermine the Dutchess;
And buz these conjurations in her brain.
They say, a crafty knave does need no broker;
Yet am I Suffolk's, and the Cardinal's, broker.
-Hume, If you take not heed, you shall go near
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
-Well, so it stands; and thus I fear at last,
Hume's knavery will be the dutchess' wreck,
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