Enter the Duchefs in a white sheet, and a taper burning in her hand, with Sir John Stanley, a Sheriff and : Officers. Serv. So pleafe your Grace, we'll take her from the Sheriff. Glo. No, ftir not for your lives, let her pafs by. Elean. Come you, my Lord, to fee my open fhame? And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! Ah! Humphry, can I bear this fhameful yoke? But be thou mild, and blush not at my fhame, And York, and impious Beaufort, that falfe priest, Have all lim'd bufhes to betray thy wings: Glo Ah, Nell, forbear; thou aimeft all awry. And had I twenty times fo many foes, And each of them had twenty times their power, Her. I fummon your Grace to his Majefty's parlia ment holden at Bury, the firft of this next month. Glo. And my confent ne'er afk'd herein before? This is clofe dealing. Well, I will be there. [Exit Herald. My Nell, I take my leave; and, Master Sheriff, To take her with him to the ifle of Man. [stays: Gl. Muft you, Sir John, protect my Lady here? Stan. So am I giv'n in charge, may't pleafe your Grace. Glo. Intreat her not the worfe, in that I pray You use her well; the world may laugh again; And I may live to do you kindness, if You do it her: and fo, Sir John, farewell. Elean What gone, my Lord, and bid me not farewell? Glo. Witnefs my tears, I cannot stay to speak. [Exit Gloucefter. Elean. Art thou gone too? all comfort go with thee! For none abides with me; my joy is death; Death, at whofe name I oft have been afraid, Stanley, I pr'ythee, go and take me hence, I care not whither, for I beg no favour; Elean. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: And fhall I then be us'd reproachfully? Stan. No; like a Duchefs, and Duke Humphry's According to that state you fhall be us'd. [lady, Elean, Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare ; Although thou hast been conduct of my fhame. Sher. It is my office; Madam, pardon me. Elean. Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharg'd. Come, Stanley, fhall we go? Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this And go we to attire you for our journey [sheet, Elean. My fhame will not be fhifted with my fheet :: No, it will hang upon my richest robes, Go, lead the way, I long to fee my prifon. Excunts ACT III. SCENE N. At Bury. Enter King Henry, Queen, Cardinal, Suffolk, York, Buckingham, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the parlia. ment. K. Henry. Mufe my Lord of Glo'fter is not cone: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate'er occafion keeps him from us now. 2. Mar. Can you not fee? or will you not obferve The strangeness of his alter'd countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself, How infolent of late he is become, How peremptory and unlike himself! We know the time fince he was mild and affable; And if we did but glance a far off look, Immediately he was upon his knee; That all the court admir'd him for fubmiffion. But meet him now, and be it in the morn, When ev'ry one will give the time of day, Small curs are not regarded when they grin; (Refpecting what a ranc'rous mind he bears, Or else conclude my words effectual. Suf. Well hath your Highness feen into this Duke. And had I first been put to fpeak my mind, I think I fhould have told your Grace's tale. Upon my life, began her devilith practices; No, no, my Sovereign; Glo'fter is a man Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law, Buck. Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown, Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphry. K. Henry. My Lords, at once; the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, From meaning treafon to our royal perfon, The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given 2 Mar. Ah! what's more dang'rous than this fond affiance? Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow'd; Is he a lamb? his fkin is furely lent him; Enter Somerset. Som. All health unto my gracious Sovereign! K. Henry. Welcome, Lord Somerfet; what news from France? Som. That all your int'reft in thofe territories Is utterly bereft you; all is loft. K. Henry. Cold news, Lord Somerfet; but God's will be done! York. Cold news for me: for I had hope of France, As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my bloffoms blafted in the bud, And caterpillars eat my leaves away. |