Shakespeare's First Folio Part 384

And now like Aiax Telamonius, On Sheepe or Oxen could I spend my furie.

I am farre better borne then is the king: More like a King, more Kingly in my thoughts.

But I must make faire weather yet a while, Till Henry be more weake, and I more strong.

Buckingham, I prethee pardon me, That I haue giuen no answer all this while: My minde was troubled with deepe Melancholly.

The cause why I haue brought this Armie hither, Is to remoue proud Somerset from the King, Seditious to his Grace, and to the State

Buc. That is too much presumption on thy part: But if thy Armes be to no other end, The King hath yeelded vnto thy demand: The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower

Yorke. Vpon thine Honor is he Prisoner?

Buck. Vpon mine Honor he is Prisoner

Yorke. Then Buckingham I do dismisse my Powres.

Souldiers, I thanke you all: disperse your selues: Meet me to morrow in S[aint]. Georges Field, You shall haue pay, and euery thing you wish.

And let my Soueraigne, vertuous Henry, Command my eldest sonne, nay all my sonnes, As pledges of my Fealtie and Loue, Ile send them all as willing as I liue: Lands, Goods, Horse, Armor, any thing I haue Is his to vse, so Somerset may die

Buc. Yorke, I commend this kinde submission, We twaine will go into his Highnesse Tent.

Enter King and Attendants.

King. Buckingham, doth Yorke intend no harme to vs That thus he marcheth with thee arme in arme?

Yorke. In all submission and humility, Yorke doth present himselfe vnto your Highnesse

K. Then what intends these Forces thou dost bring?

Yor. To heaue the Traitor Somerset from hence, And fight against that monstrous Rebell Cade, Who since I heard to be discomfited.

Enter Iden with Cades head.

Iden. If one so rude, and of so meane condition May pa.s.se into the presence of a King: Loe, I present your Grace a Traitors head, The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew

King. The head of Cade? Great G.o.d, how iust art thou?

Oh let me view his Visage being dead, That liuing wrought me such exceeding trouble.

Tell me my Friend, art thou the man that slew him?

Iden. I was, an't like your Maiesty

King. How art thou call'd? And what is thy degree?

Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name, A poore Esquire of Kent, that loues his King

Buc. So please it you my Lord, 'twere not amisse He were created Knight for his good seruice

King. Iden, kneele downe, rise vp a Knight: We giue thee for reward a thousand Markes, And will, that thou henceforth attend on vs

Iden. May Iden liue to merit such a bountie, And neuer liue but true vnto his Liege.

Enter Queene and Somerset.

K. See Buckingham, Somerset comes with th' Queene, Go bid her hide him quickly from the Duke

Qu. For thousand Yorkes he shall not hide his head, But boldly stand, and front him to his face

Yor. How now? is Somerset at libertie?

Then Yorke vnloose thy long imprisoned thoughts, And let thy tongue be equall with thy heart.

Shall I endure the sight of Somerset?

False King, why hast thou broken faith with me, Knowing how hardly I can brooke abuse?

King did I call thee? No: thou art not King: Not fit to gouerne and rule mult.i.tudes, Which dar'st not, no nor canst not rule a Traitor.

That Head of thine doth not become a Crowne: Thy Hand is made to graspe a Palmers staffe, And not to grace an awefull Princely Scepter.

That Gold, must round engirt these browes of mine, Whose Smile and Frowne, like to Achilles Speare Is able with the change, to kill and cure.

Heere is hand to hold a Scepter vp, And with the same to acte controlling Lawes: Giue place: by heauen thou shalt rule no more O're him, whom heauen created for thy Ruler

Som. O monstrous Traitor! I arrest thee Yorke Of Capitall Treason 'gainst the King and Crowne: Obey audacious Traitor, kneele for Grace

York. Wold'st haue me kneele? First let me ask of thee, If they can brooke I bow a knee to man: Sirrah, call in my sonne to be my bale: I know ere they will haue me go to Ward, They'l p.a.w.ne their swords of my infranchis.e.m.e.nt

Qu. Call hither Clifford, bid him come amaine, To say, if that the b.a.s.t.a.r.d boyes of Yorke Shall be the Surety for their Traitor Father

Yorke. O blood-bespotted Neopolitan, Out-cast of Naples, Englands b.l.o.o.d.y Scourge, The sonnes of Yorke, thy betters in their birth, Shall be their Fathers baile, and bane to those That for my Surety will refuse the Boyes.

Enter Edward and Richard.

See where they come, Ile warrant they'l make it good.

Enter Clifford.

Qu. And here comes Clifford to deny their baile

Clif. Health, and all happinesse to my Lord the King

Yor. I thanke thee Clifford: Say, what newes with thee?

Nay, do not fright vs with an angry looke: We are thy Soueraigne Clifford, kneele againe; For thy mistaking so, We pardon thee

Clif. This is my King Yorke, I do not mistake, But thou mistakes me much to thinke I do, To Bedlem with him, is the man growne mad

King. I Clifford, a Bedlem and ambitious humor Makes him oppose himselfe against his King

Clif. He is a Traitor, let him to the Tower, And chop away that factious pate of his

Qu. He is arrested, but will not obey: His sonnes (he sayes) shall giue their words for him

Yor. Will you not Sonnes?

Edw. I n.o.ble Father, if our words will serue

Rich. And if words will not, then our Weapons shal

Clif. Why what a brood of Traitors haue we heere?

Yorke. Looke in a Gla.s.se, and call thy Image so.

I am thy King, and thou a false-heart Traitor: Call hither to the stake my two braue Beares, That with the very shaking of their Chaines, They may astonish these fell-lurking Curres, Bid Salsbury and Warwicke come to me.

Enter the Earles of Warwicke, and Salisbury.

Clif. Are these thy Beares? Wee'l bate thy Bears to death, And manacle the Berard in their Chaines, If thou dar'st bring them to the bayting place

Rich. Oft haue I seene a hot ore-weening Curre, Run backe and bite, because he was with-held, Who being suffer'd with the Beares fell paw, Hath clapt his taile, betweene his legges and cride, And such a peece of seruice will you do, If you oppose your selues to match Lord Warwicke

Clif. Hence heape of wrath, foule indigested lumpe, As crooked in thy manners, as thy shape

Yor. Nay we shall heate you thorowly anon