Shakespeare's First Folio Part 373

Queene. Can you not see? or will ye not obserue The strangenesse of his alter'd Countenance?

With what a Maiestie he beares himselfe, How insolent of late he is become, How prowd, how peremptorie, and vnlike himselfe.

We know the time since he was milde and affable, And if we did but glance a farre-off Looke, Immediately he was vpon his Knee, That all the Court admir'd him for submission.

But meet him now, and be it in the Morne, When euery one will giue the time of day, He knits his Brow, and shewes an angry Eye, And pa.s.seth by with stiffe vnbowed Knee, Disdaining dutie that to vs belongs.

Small Curres are not regarded when they grynne, But great men tremble when the Lyon rores, And Humfrey is no little Man in England.

First note, that he is neere you in discent, And should you fall, he is the next will mount.

Me seemeth then, it is no Pollicie, Respecting what a rancorous minde he beares, And his aduantage following your decease, That he should come about your Royall Person, Or be admitted to your Highnesse Councell.

By flatterie hath he wonne the Commons hearts: And when he please to make Commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.

Now 'tis the Spring, and Weeds are shallow-rooted, Suffer them now, and they'le o're-grow the Garden, And choake the Herbes for want of Husbandry.

The reuerent care I beare vnto my Lord, Made me collect these dangers in the Duke.

If it be fond, call it a Womans feare: Which feare, if better Reasons can supplant, I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the Duke.

My Lord of Suffolke, Buckingham, and Yorke, Reproue my allegation, if you can, Or else conclude my words effectuall

Suff. Well hath your Highnesse seene into this Duke: And had I first beene put to speake my minde, I thinke I should haue told your Graces Tale.

The d.u.c.h.esse, by his subornation, Vpon my Life began her diuellish practises: Or if he were not priuie to those Faults, Yet by reputing of his high discent, As next the King, he was successiue Heire, And such high vaunts of his n.o.bilitie, Did instigate the Bedlam braine-sick d.u.c.h.esse, By wicked meanes to frame our Soueraignes fall.

Smooth runnes the Water, where the Brooke is deepe, And in his simple shew he harbours Treason.

The Fox barkes not, when he would steale the Lambe.

No, no, my Soueraigne, Glouster is a man Vnsounded yet, and full of deepe deceit

Card. Did he not, contrary to forme of Law, Deuise strange deaths, for small offences done?

Yorke. And did he not, in his Protectorship, Leuie great summes of Money through the Realme, For Souldiers pay in France, and neuer sent it?

By meanes whereof, the Townes each day reuolted

Buck. Tut, these are petty faults to faults vnknowne, Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humfrey

King. My Lords at once: the care you haue of vs, To mowe downe Thornes that would annoy our Foot, Is worthy prayse: but shall I speake my conscience, Our Kinsman Gloster is as innocent, From meaning Treason to our Royall Person, As is the sucking Lambe, or harmelesse Doue: The Duke is vertuous, milde, and too well giuen, To dreame on euill, or to worke my downefall

Qu. Ah what's more dangerous, then this fond affiance?

Seemes he a Doue? his feathers are but borrow'd, For hee's disposed as the hatefull Rauen.

Is he a Lambe? his Skinne is surely lent him, For hee's enclin'd as is the rauenous Wolues.

Who cannot steale a shape, that meanes deceit?

Take heed, my Lord, the welfare of vs all, Hangs on the cutting short that fraudfull man.

Enter Somerset

Som. All health vnto my gracious Soueraigne

King. Welcome Lord Somerset: What Newes from France?

Som. That all your Interest in those Territories, Is vtterly bereft you: all is lost

King. Cold Newes, Lord Somerset: but G.o.ds will be done

Yorke. Cold Newes for me: for I had hope of France, As firmely as I hope for fertile England.

Thus are my Blossomes blasted in the Bud, And Caterpillers eate my Leaues away: But I will remedie this geare ere long, Or sell my t.i.tle for a glorious Graue.

Enter Gloucester.

Glost. All happinesse vnto my Lord the King: Pardon, my Liege, that I haue stay'd so long

Suff. Nay Gloster, know that thou art come too soone, Vnlesse thou wert more loyall then thou art: I doe arrest thee of High Treason here

Glost. Well Suffolke, thou shalt not see me blush, Nor change my Countenance for this Arrest: A Heart vnspotted, is not easily daunted.

The purest Spring is not so free from mudde, As I am cleare from Treason to my Soueraigne.

Who can accuse me? wherein am I guiltie?

Yorke. 'Tis thought, my Lord, That you tooke Bribes of France, And being Protector, stay'd the Souldiers pay, By meanes whereof, his Highnesse hath lost France

Glost. Is it but thought so?

What are they that thinke it?

I neuer rob'd the Souldiers of their pay, Nor euer had one penny Bribe from France.

So helpe me G.o.d, as I haue watcht the Night, I, Night by Night, in studying good for England.

That Doyt that ere I wrested from the King, Or any Groat I hoorded to my vse, Be brought against me at my Tryall day.

No: many a Pound of mine owne proper store, Because I would not taxe the needie Commons, Haue I dis-pursed to the Garrisons, And neuer ask'd for rest.i.tution

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

Glost. I say no more then truth, so helpe me G.o.d

Yorke. In your Protectorship, you did deuise Strange Tortures for Offendors, neuer heard of, That England was defam'd by Tyrannie

Glost. Why 'tis well known, that whiles I was Protector, Pittie was all the fault that was in me: For I should melt at an Offendors teares, And lowly words were Ransome for their fault: Vnlesse it were a b.l.o.o.d.y Murtherer, Or foule felonious Theefe, that fleec'd poore pa.s.sengers, I neuer gaue them condigne punishment.

Murther indeede, that bloodie sinne, I tortur'd Aboue the Felon, or what Trespas else

Suff. My Lord, these faults are easie, quickly answer'd: But mightier Crimes are lay'd vnto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge your selfe.

I doe arrest you in his Highnesse Name, And here commit you to my Lord Cardinall To keepe, vntill your further time of Tryall

King. My Lord of Gloster, 'tis my speciall hope, That you will cleare your selfe from all suspence, My Conscience tells me you are innocent

Glost. Ah gracious Lord, these dayes are dangerous: Vertue is choakt with foule Ambition, And Charitie chas'd hence by Rancours hand; Foule Subornation is predominant, And Equitie exil'd your Highnesse Land.

I know, their Complot is to haue my Life: And if my death might make this Iland happy, And proue the Period of their Tyrannie, I would expend it with all willingnesse.

But mine is made the Prologue to their Play: For thousands more, that yet suspect no perill, Will not conclude their plotted Tragedie.

Beaufords red sparkling eyes blab his hearts mallice, And Suffolks cloudie Brow his stormie hate; Sharpe Buckingham vnburthens with his tongue, The enuious Load that lyes vpon his heart: And dogged Yorke, that reaches at the Moone, Whose ouer-weening Arme I haue pluckt back, By false accuse doth leuell at my Life.

And you, my Soueraigne Lady, with the rest, Causelesse haue lay'd disgraces on my head, And with your best endeuour haue stirr'd vp My liefest Liege to be mine Enemie: I, all of you haue lay'd your heads together, My selfe had notice of your Conuenticles, And all to make away my guiltlesse Life.

I shall not want false Witnesse, to condemne me, Nor store of Treasons, to augment my guilt: The ancient Prouerbe will be well effected, A Staffe is quickly found to beat a Dogge

Card. My Liege, his rayling is intollerable.

If those that care to keepe your Royall Person From Treasons secret Knife, and Traytors Rage, Be thus vpbrayded, chid, and rated at, And the Offendor graunted scope of speech, 'Twill make them coole in zeale vnto your Grace

Suff. Hath he not twit our Soueraigne Lady here With ignominious words, though Clarkely coucht?

As if she had suborned some to sweare False allegations, to o'rethrow his state

Qu. But I can giue the loser leaue to chide

Glost. Farre truer spoke then meant: I lose indeede, Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false, And well such losers may haue leaue to speake

Buck. Hee'le wrest the sence, and hold vs here all day.

Lord Cardinall, he is your Prisoner

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

Glost. Ah, thus King Henry throwes away his Crutch, Before his Legges be firme to beare his Body.

Thus is the Shepheard beaten from thy side, And Wolues are gnarling, who shall gnaw thee first.

Ah that my feare were false, ah that it were; For good King Henry, thy decay I feare.