-Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast;
And what I do imagine, let that rest.
Keepers, convey him hence; and I myself
Will fee his burial better than his life.
'Here dies the dufky torch of Mortimer,
Choak'd with ambition of the meaner fort.
And for those wrongs, thofe bitter injuries,
Which Somerfet hath offer'd to my House,
I doubt not but with honour to redress,
And therefore hafte I to the Parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood,

3 Or make my Ill th' advantage of my Good. [Exit,

ACT III.

SCENE I:

The PARLIAMENT.

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

C

WINCHESTER.

OM'ST thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets ftudiously devis'd,
Humphrey of Glo'fter? If thou can'st accufe,
Or aught intend'it to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention fuddenly;

As I with fudden and extemporal fpeech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Glou. Prefumptuous Prieft, this place commands my patience,

Or thou fhouldft find, thou haft difhonour'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 lewd, 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 profeflion 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,
Mm 3

The

The King thy Sovereign is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy fwelling heart.
Win. Glofter, I do defy thee. Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I fhall reply.
If I were covetous, perverfe, ambitious,
As he will have me, how am I fo poor?
How haps it then, I feek not to advance
Or raise myself, 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 fway but he,
No one, but he, fhould be about the King;
And that engenders thunder in his breast,
And makes him roar thefe accufations forth.
But he shall know, I am as good-

Glou. As good?

Thou baftard of my grandfather!

Win. Ay, lordly Sir; for what are you,

But one imperious in another's throne?

Glou. Am not I then Protector, faucy priest? Win. And am not I a prelate of the Church? Glou. Yes, as an out-law in a castle keeps, And uses it to patronage his theft.

Win. Unrev'rend Glo'fter!

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 Bifhop be not over-borne. 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 ftate is touch'd so near.

War.

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 Winchester.

K. Henry. Uncles of Glo'fter, and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal,
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.

Mayor. Oh, my good Lords, and virtuous Henry,

Pity the city of London, pity us,

The Bishop and the Duke of Glofter's men,

Forbidden late to carry any weapon,

Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble ftones,
And, banding themselves in contrary parts,
Do pelt fo fast 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 shops.

Enter men in Skirmish with bloody pates.

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

1 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 let this unaccustom'd fight aside.

3 Serv. My Lord, we know your Grace to be a man Jult and upright, and for your royal birth Inferior to none but to his Majefty;

And ere that we will fuffer fuch a Prince,

So kind a father of the Common-weal,

4

To be difgraced by an Inkhorn mate,

We, and our wives, and children, all will fight:
And have our bodies flaughter'd by thy foes.

1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead.
Glou. Stay, ftay, I fay;

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 should ftudy to prefer a peace,

If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War. My Lord Protector, yield, yield, Winchester,

Except you mean with obftinate repulfe

To lay your Sovereign, and deftroy the Realm..
You fee, what mifchief, and what murder too,

decent.

Unaccustomed is unfeemly, in

4 An Inkborn mate.] A Book

man.

Hath