Tork. Then, Buckingham, I do difmifs my Powers.
Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse your selves;
Meet me to morrow in St. George's Field,
You shall have Pay, and every thing you wish.
And let my Sovereign, virtuous Henry,
Command my eldeйt Son, nay all my Sons,
As pledges of my Fealty and Love,
I'll fend them all as willing as I live;

Lands, Goods, Horfe, Armour, any thing I have
Is his to ule, fo Somerfet may die.

Buck. York, I commend this kind Submission,
We twain will go into his Highness Tent.
Enter King Henry and Attendants.

K. Henry. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us,
That thus he marcheth with thee Arm in Arm?
York. In all fubmiffion and humility,

York doth present himself unto your Highness.

K.Henry. Then what intend these Forces thou doft bring? York. To have the Traitor Somerset from hence, And fight against that monftrous Rebel Cade, Whom fince I heard to be discomfited.

Enter Iden with Cade's Head.

Iden. If one fo rude, and of fo mean Condition May pafs into the Prefence of a King;

Le, I prefent your Grace a Traitor's Head,

The Head of Cade, whom I in Combat flew.

K.Henry.The Head of Cade? great God ! how just art thou?

O let me view his Vifage being dead,

That living wrought me fuch exceeding trouble.

Tell me, my Friend, art thou the Man that flew him? Iden. I was, an't like your Majefty.

K. Henry. How art thou call'd? And what is thy Degree? Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my Name,

A poor Efquire of Kent, that loves the King.

Buck. So please it you, my Lord, 'twere not amifs
He were created Knight for his good Service.
K.Henry. Iden, kneel down; rife up a Knight:
We give thee for Reward a thousand Marks,
And will, that thou henceforth attend on us.

Iden

Iden. May Iden live to merit such a Bounty, And never live but true unto his Liege.

Enter Queen Margaret and Somerset.

K. Henry.See Buckingham, Somerfet comes with the Queen Go, bid her hide him quickly from the Duke.

Q.Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his Head,
But boldly ftand and front him to his Face.

York. How now? Is Somerfet at liberty?
Then, York, unloose thy long imprisoned Thoughts,
And let thy Tongue be equal with thy Heart.
Shall I endure the sight of Somerset ?

Falfe King, why haft thou broken Faith with me,
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse?
King did I call thee? No, thou art no King:
Not fit to govern and rule Multitudes,

Which durft not, no nor canft not rule a Traitor,
That Head of thine doth not become a Crown:
Thy Hand is made to grasp a Palmer's Staff,
And not to grace an awful Princely Scepter.
That Gold muft round engirt thefe Brows of mine,
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles Spear,
Is able with the change to kill and cure.
Here is a Hand to hold a Scepter up,
And with the fame to act controlling Laws:
Give place; by Heav'n thou fhalt Rule no more
O'er him, whom Heav'n created for thy Ruler.
Som. O monftrous Traitor! I arreft thee York,
Of Capital Treafon 'gainst the King and Crown;
Obey, audacious Traitor, kneel for Grace.

York. Would't have me kneel? First, let me ask of thee,
If they can brook, I bow a Knce to Man!

Sirrah, call in my Sons to be my Bail:

I know, ere they will let me go to Ward,

They'll pawn their Swords for my Enfranchisement.

2. Mar. Call hither Clifford, bid him come amain, To lay, if that the Baftard Boys of York

Shall be the Surety for their Traitor Father.
York. O Blood befpotted Neapolitan,
Out-caft of Naples, England's bloody Scourge;
The Sons of York, thy Betters in their Birth,

Shal

Shall be their Father's Bail, and bane to those
That for my Surety will refuse the Boys.
Enter Edward and Richard.

See where they come, I'll warrant they'll make it good.
Enter Clifford.

Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their Bail.
Clif Health and all Happipefs to my Lord the King.
York. I thank thee, Clifford, Say, what News with thee?
Nay, do not fright me with an angry Look:
We are thy Sovereign, Clifford kneel again;
For thy mistaking fo, we pardon thee.

Clif. This is my King, York, I do not mistake,
But thou mistak'it me much to think I do;
To Bedlam with him, is the Man grown mad?

K. Henry. Ay, Clifford, a Bedlam and ambitious humour Makes him oppofe himself againft his King.

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

2. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey: His Sons, he fays, fhall give their Words for him. York. Will you not, Sons?

E. Plan. Ay, noble Father, if our Words will ferve. R. Plan. And if Words will not, then our Weapons fhall. Clif. Why, what a brood of Traitors have we here? York. Look in a Glafs, and call thy Image fo. I am the King, and thou a falfe-heart Traitor; Call hither to the Stake my two brave Bears, That with the very shaking of their Chains They may astonish these fell-lurking Curs: Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me.

Enter the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury. Clif Are these thy Bears? We'll bait thy Bears to death, And manacle the Bearard in their Chains,

If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting place.

R. Plan. Oft have I feen a hot o'er-weening Cur
Run back and bite, because he was with-held,
Who being fuffer'd with the Bear's fell Paw,
Hath clapt his Tail betwixt his Legs and cry'd:
And fuch a piece of Service will you do,

If you oppose your felyes to match Lord Warwick.

Clif. Hence, heap of Wrath, foul indigefted Lump, As crooked in thy Manners, as thy Shape.

York. Nay, we fall heat you thoroughly anon.

Clif. Take heed leaft by your heat you burn your felves. K. Henry. Why, Warwick, hath thy Knee forgot to bow? Old Salisbury, fhame to thy Silver Hair,

Thou mad Mifs-leader of thy Brain-fick Son,
What, wilt thou on thy Death-bed play the Ruffian?
And feek for Sorrow with thy Spectacles?
Oh where is Faith? Oh where is Loyalty?
If it be banish'd from the frofty Head,
Where shall it find a harbour in the Earth?
Wilt thou go dig a Grave to find out War,
And fhame thine honourable Age with Blood?
Why art thou old, and want'ft Experience?
Or wherefore doft abuse it, if thou haft it?
For fhame, in duty bend thy Knee to me,
That bows unto the Grave with milky Age.
Sal. My Lord, I have considered with
The Title of this most renowned Duke,
And in my Confcience do repute his Grace,
The rightful Heir to England's Royal Seat.

my

felf,

K. Henry. Haft thou not fworn Allegiance unto me?
Sal. I have.

K. Henry Canft thou dispense with Heaven for fuch an
Sal. It is great Sin to fwear unto a Sin;

But greater Sin to keep a finful Oath:
Who can be bound by any folemn Vow
To do a murderous Deed, to rob a Man,
To force a spotlefs Virgin's Chastity,
To réave the Orphan of his Patrimony,
To wring the Widow from her cuftom'd Right,
And have no other reason for his wrong,
But that he was bound by a folemn Oath?

[Oath?

2. Mar. A fubtle Traitor needs no Sophifter. K. Kenry. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm him?elf. York. Call Buckingham, and all the Friends thou hast, ⠀

I am refolv'd for Death or Dignity.

Old Clif. The firft, I warrant hee, if Dreams prov
War. You were best go to Bed, and dream aca
VOL. IV.

P

To keep thee from the Tempeft of the Field..
Old Clif. I am refolv'd to bear a greater Storm,
Than any
thou canst Conjure up to day:

And that I'll write upon thy Burgonet,

Might I but know thee by thy Houfe's Badge.

War. Now by my Father's Badge, old Nevil's Creft; The rampant Bear chain'd to the ragged Staff, This day I'll wear aloft my Burgonet, As on a Mountain top, the Cedar fhews, That keeps his Leaves in fpight of any Storm, Even to affright thee with the view thereof.

Old Clif. And from thy Burgonet I'll rend thy Bear, And tread it under foot with all contempt, Defpight the Bearard, that protects the Bear.

Y. Clif. And fo to Arms, victorious noble Father, To quel the Rebels and their Complices

R. Plan. Fie, Charity for fhame, fpeak not in spight, For you fhall fup with Jefu Chrift to night.

r. Clif. Foul Stigmatick, that's more than thou can ft tell. R. Plan. If not in Heav'n you'll furely fup in Hell.

Enter Warwick.

War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls; And if thou doft not hide thee from the Bear. Now when the angry Trumpet founds Alarum, And dy'ing Mens cries do fill the empty Air, Clifford, I fay, come forth and fight with me, Proud Northern Lord, Clifford of Cumberland, Warwick is hoarfe with calling thee to Arms. Enter York.

[Exeunt.

War. How now, my noble Lord? what all a-foot?
York. The deadly handed Clifford flew my Steed:

But match to match I have encountred him,
And made a prey for Carrion, Kites and Crows,
Even of the bonny Beaft he lov'd fo well.

Enter Clifford.

War. Of one or both of us the time is come.

York. Hold Warwick: feek thee out fome other Chafe,

For I my felf must hunt this Deer to death.

War. Then nobly York, 'tis for a Crown thou fight'it:

As