SCENE, the PARLIAMENT.

Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloucefter, Winchefter, Warwick, Somerfet, Suffolk, and Richard Plantagenet; Gloucester offers to put up a Bill: Winchester fnatches it, and tears it.

C

WINCHESTER.

OM'ST thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets ftudioufly devis'd?
Humphry of Glofter, if thou can't accuse,
Or aught intend❜ft to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention fuddenly;

As I with fudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canft object.

[patience;

Glou. Prefumptuous Prieft, this place commands my
Or thou fhould'ft find, thou haft dishonour'd me.
Think not, altho' in writing I prefer'd
The manner of thy vile outragious crimes,
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen.
No, Prelate, fuch is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy leud, peftif'rous, and diffentious pranks,
The very Infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a moft pernicious ufurer,
Froward by nature, enemy to peace,
Lafcivious, wanton, more than well befeems
A man of thy profeffion and degree.

And for thy treach'ry, what's more manifeft?
In that thou laid'ft a trap to take my life,
As well at London-bridge, as at the Tower.
Befide, I fear me, if thy thoughts were fifted,
The King thy Sovereign is not quite exempt.
From envious malice of thy fwelling heart.
Win. Glofter, I do defie thee. Lords, vouchafe
To give me hearing what I fhall reply.

If

If I were covetous, perverse, ambitious,
As he will have me; how am I fo poor ?
How haps it then, I feek not to advance
Or raise my self? but keep my wonted Calling.
And for diffention, who preferreth peace
More than I do? except I be provok'd.
No, my good lords, it is not That offends
It is not That, which hath incens'd the Duke:
It is, because no one should sway but he;
No one, but he, should be about the King;
And That engenders thunder in his breaft,
And makes him roar thefe accufations forth.
But he fhall know, I am as good

Glou. As good?

Thou baftard of my grandfather!

;

Win. Ay, lordly Sir; for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne?

Glou. Am not I then Protector, fawcy priest?
Win. And am not I a prelate of the Church?
Glou. Yes, as an out-law in a caftle keeps,
And ufes it to patronage his theft.
Win. Unrev'rend Glofter!

Glou. Thou art reverend

Touching thy fpiritual function, not thy life.
Win. This Rome fhall remedy.

War. Roam thither then.

Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. War. Ay, fee, the Bishop be not over-born: Som. Methinks, my lord fhould be religious; And know the office that belongs to fuch.

War. Methinks, his lordship fhould be humbler then, It fitteth not a prelate fo to plead.

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd fo near.
War. State, holy or unhallow'd, what of that?

Is not his Grace Protector to the King?

Rich. Plantagenet, I fee, muft hold his tongue; Left it be faid, Speak, firrah, when you fhould; Muft your bold verdict enter talk with lords? Elfe would I have a fling at Winchefter.

K. Henry. Uncles of Glofter, and of Winchefter, The special watchmen of our English weal;

I

I would prevail, if prayers might prevail,
To join your hearts in love and amity.
Oh, what a fcandal is it to our Crown,
That two fuch noble peers, as ye, fhould jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell,
Civil diffention is a vip'rous worm,

That gnaws the bowels of the Common-wealth.

[A noife within; Down with the tawny coats. K. Henry. What tumult's this?

War. An uproar, I dare warrant,

Begun thro' malice of the Bishop's men.

[A noife again, Stones, Stones,

Enter Mayor.

Mayor. Oh, my good lords, and virtuous Henry,
Pity the city London, pity us;

The Bishop and the Duke of Glo'fter's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,

Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble ftones;
And, banding themfelves in contrary parts,
Do pelt fo faft at one another's pates,

That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
Our windows are broke down in ev'ry street,
And we for fear compell'd to fhut our fhops.

Enter, in Skirmish, with bloody pates.

K. Henry. We charge you on allegiance to our felves, To hold your flaught'ring hands, and keep the peace : Pray, uncle Glofter, mitigate this ftrife.

Serv. Nay, if we be forbidden ftones, we'll fall to it with our teeth.

2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as refolute.

[Skirmish again. Glou. You of my houfhold, leave this peevish broil; And fet this unaccuftom'd fight aside.

3 Serv. My lord, we know your Grace to be a man Juft and upright; and for your royal birth Inferior to none but to his Majesty : And ere that we will fuffer fuch a Prince, So kind a father of the Common-weal, To be difgraced by an Inkhorn mate;

We,

We, and our wives, and children, all will fight:
And have our bodies flaughter'd by thy foes.
Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead.
Glou. Stay, ftay, I say;

And if you love me, as you fay you do,
Let me perfuade you to forbear awhile.

[Begin again.

K. Henry, O, how this difcord doth afflict my foul! Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold

My fighs and tears, and will not once relent?
Who fhould be pitiful, if you be not ?

Or who fhould ftudy to prefer a peace,
If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War. My lord Protector, yield: yield, Winchefter; Except you mean with obftinate repulfe

To flay your Sovereign, and destroy the Realm.
You fee, what mifchief, and what murther too,
Hath been enacted thro' your enmity:
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
Win. He fhall fubmit, or I will never yield.
Glou. Compaffion on the King commands me ftoop
Or I would fee his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.

War. Behold, my lord of Winchefer, the Duke
Hath banish'd moody difcontented fury,

As by his fmoothed brows it doth

appear.

Why look you ftill fo ftern and tragical ?

Glou. Here, Winchefter, I offer thee my hand. K. Hen. Fie, uncle Beauford: I have heard you preach, That malice was a great and grievous fin:

And will not you maintain the thing you teach,

But prove a chief offender in the fame ?

War. Sweet King! the Bishop hath a kindly gird:

For fhame, my lord of Winchefter, relent;
What, fhall a child inftruct you what to do?

Win. Well, Duke of Glofter, I will yield to thee;
Love for thy love, and hand for hand, I give.
Glou. Ay, but I fear me, with a hollow heart.
See here, my friends and loving countrymen,
This token ferveth for a flag of truce
Betwixt our felves, and all our followers:

So help me God, as I diffemble not!

Win. [Afide.] So help me God, as I intend it not!
K. Henry. O loving uncle, gentle Duke of Glo'fter,
How joyful am I made by this contract!

Away, my mafters, trouble us no more;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
1 Serv. Content, I'll to the furgeon's.

2 Serv. So will I.

3 Serv. And I'll fee what phyfick the tavern affords.

[Exeunt. War. Accept this fcrowl, moft gracious Sovereign, Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet We do exhibit to your Majesty.

[Prince, Glou. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick; For, fweet An if your Grace mark ev'ry circumstance,

You have great reafon to do Richard right:
Efpecially, for those occafions

At Eltham-place I told your Majesty.

K. Henry. And thofe occafions, uncle, were of force: Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is,

That Richard be restored to his blood.

War. Let Richard be restored to his blood,
So fhall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.
Win. As will the reft, fo willeth Winchester.
K. Henry. If Richard will be true, not that alone,
But all the whole inheritance I give,

That doth belong unto the house of York;
From whence you spring by lineal Descent.
Rich. Thy humble fervant vows obedience,

And faithful fervice, till the point of death.

[foot.

K. Henry. Stoop, then, and fet your knee against my

And in reguerdon of that duty done,

I gird thee with the valiant Sword of York.
Rife, Richard, like a true Plantagenet,

And rife created Princely Duke of York.

Rich. And fo thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall! And as my duty fprings, fo perish they,

That grudge one thought against your Majesty!

All. Welcome, high Prince, the mighty Duke of York! Som. Perish, bafe Prince, ignoble Duke of York! [Afide. Glou. Now will it best avail your Majesty

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