Be round impaled with a glorious Crown,
And yet I know not how to get the Crown,
For many Lives ftand between me and home:
And I, like one loft in a thorny Wood,

That rents the Thorns, and is rent with the Thorns,
Seeking a way, and ftraying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open Air,
But toiling defperately to find it out,
Torment my felf to catch the English Crown;
And from that torment I will free my felf,
Or hew my way out with a bloody Ax.
Why I can fmile, and murther whiles I fmile,
And cry, Content, to that which grieves my Heart,
And wet my Cheeks with artificial Tears,
And frame my Face to all Occafions.

I'll drown more Sailors than the Mermaid fhall,
I'll flay more Gazers than the Bafilisk,
I'll play the Orator as well as Neftor,
Deceive more flily than Ulyffes could,
And like a Sinon, take another Troy.
I can add Colours to the Camelion,
Change shapes with Proteus for Advantages,
And fet the murtherous Matchevil to School.
Can I do this, and cannot get a Crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

[Exit.

Flourish. Enter King Lewis, Bona, Bourbon, Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis fits, and rifeth up again.

K. Lew. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret,
Sit down with us; it ill befits thy State,

And Birth, that thou should'st stand, whiles Lewis fits,
Queen. No, mighty King of France; now Margaret
Muft ftrike her Sail, and learn a while to serve,
Where Kings command. I was, I muft confefs,
Great Albion's Queen, in former golden Days:
But now mifchance hath trod my Title down,
And with dishonour laid me on the Gronud,

Where

Where I must take like feat unto my Fortune,
And to my humble feat confirm my felf.

K. Lew. Why fay, fair Queen, whence fprings this deep despair?

Queen. From fuch a caufe as fills mine Eyes with Tears, And ftops my Tongue, while Heart is drown'd in Cares. K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou ftill like thy felf, And fit thee by our fide, [Seats her by him.

Yield not thy Neck to Fortune's yoak,

But let thy dauntless Mind still ride in triumph
Over all mifchance.

Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy Grief,

It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.

Queen. Those gracious Wordsrevivemy drooping Thoughts, And give my Tongue-ty'd Sorrows leave to speak.

Now therefore be it known to Noble Lewis,

That Henry, fole poffeffor of my Love,

Is, of a King, become a banish'd Man,
And forc'd to live in Scotland a Forlorn;
While proud ambitious Edward, Duke of York,
Ufurps the Regal Title, and the Seat
Of England's true anointed lawful King.
This is the Caufe that I, poor Margaret,
With this my Son Prince Edward, "Henry's Heir,
Am come to crave thy just and lawful Aid:
And if thou fail us, all our hope is done,
Scotland hath Will to help, but cannot help:
Our People, and our Peers, are both mif-led,
Our Treasure feiz'd, our Soldiers put to flight,
And, as thou feeft, our Selves in heavy plight.

K. Lew. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the Storm, While we bethink a means to break it off.

Queen. The more we ftay, the ftronger grows our Foc. K. Lew. The more I ftay, the more I'll fuccour thee. Queen. O, but impatience waiteth on true Sorrow. And fee where comes the breeder of my Sorrow.

Enter Warwick.

K. Lew. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence? Queen. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest Friend. K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick, what brings thee to France? [He defcends. She arifeth. Queen.

Queen. Ay, now begins a fecond Storm to rife,
For this is he that moves both Wind and Tide.

War. From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
My Lord and Sovereign, and thy vowed Friend,
I come (in Kindness and unfeigned Love)
Firft to do greetings to thy Royal Perfon,
And then to crave a League of Amity;
And lastly, to confirm that Amity

With Nuptial Knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That vertuous Lady Bona, thy fair Sister,
To England's King in lawful Marriage.

Queen. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.
War. And gracious Madam,

In our King's behalf,

[Speaking to Bora.

I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
Humbly to kifs your Hand, and with my Tongue
To tell the paffion of my Sovereign's Heart;
Where Fame, late entring at his heedful Ears,
Hath plac'd thy Beauty's Image, and thy Virtue.

Queen. King Lewis, and Lady Bona, hear me fpeak,
Before you answer Warwick. His demand

Springs not from Edward's well-meant honeft Love,
But from Deceit, bred by Neceffity:
For how can Tyrants fafely govern home,
Unless Abroad they purchace great Alliance?
To prove him Tyrant, this reafon may fuffice,
That Henry liveth ftill; but were he dead,

Yet here Prince Edward ftands, King Henry's Son.
Look therefore Lewis, that by this League and Mariage
Thou draw not on thy Danger and Dishonour:

For though Ufurpers (way the Rule a while,

Yet Heavens are juft, and Time fuppreffeth Wrongs.
War. Injurious Margaret.

Prince. And why not Queen.

War. Because thy Father Henry did ufurp,
And thou no more art Prince than the is Queen.
Oxf. Then Warwick difannuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did fubdue the greateft part
of Spain;
And after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
Wofe Wifdom was a Mirror to the wifeft;
And after that wife Prince, Henry the Fifth,

Who

Who by his Prowels conquered all France:

From these our Henry lineally defcends.

War. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth Difcourfe,
You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath loft
All that, which Henry the Fifth had gotten;
Methinks thefe Peers of France fhould fmile at that.
But for the reft; you tell a Pedigree

Of three score and two Years, a filly time
To make prescription for a Kingdom's worth.

Oxf. Why Warwick, canft thou speak against my Liege
Whom thou obey'dft thirty and fix Years,
And not bewray thy Treafon with a blush?

War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, Now buckler falfhood with a Pedigree?

For fhame leave Henry, and call Edward King.

Oxf. Call him my King, by whofe injurious doom
My elder Brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere

Was done to Death? and more than fo, my Father,
Even in the downfal of his mellow'd Years,
When Nature brought him to the door of Death?
No Warwick, no; while Life upholds this Arm,
This Arm upholds the Houfe of Lancaster.
War. And I the House of York.

K. Lew. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford Vouchsafe at our request, to ftand afide,

While I ufe farther Conference with Warwick.

[They stand aloof. Queen. Heavens grant that Warwick's Words bewitch him

not.

K. Lew. Now Warwick, tell me even upon thy Confcience, Is Edward your true King? for I were loth

To link with him that were not lawful chofen.

War. Thereon I pawn my Credit, and mire Honour. K. Lew. But is he gracious in the People's Eyes? War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. K. Lew. Then further; all diffembling fet afide, Tell me for truth, the measure of his love Unto our Sifter Bona.

War. Such it seems,

As may befeem a Monarch like himself:
My felf have often heard him fay and fwear,

That

That this his Love was an external Plant,
Whereof the Root was fix'd in Virtue's ground,
The Leaves and Fruit maintain'd with Beauty's Sun,
Exempt from Envy, but not from Disdain,
Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain.

K. Lew. Now Sifter, let us hear your firm refolve.
Bona. Your grant, or your denial, fhall be mine.
Yet I confefs, that often e'er this Day, Speaks to Warwick.
When I have heard your King's defert recounted,
Mine Ear hath tempted Judgment to defire.

K. Lew. Then Warwick, this:

Our Sifter fhall be Edward's.

And now forthwith fhall Articles be drawn,
Touching the Jointure that your King must make,
Which with her Dowry fhall be counterpois'd,
Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witnefs,
That Bona fhall be Wife to th' English King.
Prince. To Edward, but not to the English King.
Queen. Deceitful Warwick, it was thy device,
By this Alliance to make void my Suit;
Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's Friend.
K. Lew. And ftill is Friend to him and Margaret;
But if
your Title to the Crown be weak,

As may appear by Edward's good Succefs;
Then 'tis but reason that I be releas'd
From giving Aid, which late I promifed.
Yet fhall you have all kindness at my Hand,
That your Eftate requires, and mine can yield.
War. Henry now lives in Scotland at his cafe,
Where having nothing, nothing can he lose.
And as for you your felf, our quondam Queen,
You have a Father able to maintain you,

And better it were you troubled him, than France.
Queen. Peace impudent and fhameless Warwick, peace,
Proud fetter up, and puller down of Kings,
I will not hence, 'till with my Talk and Tears
(Both full of Truth) I make King Lewis behold
Thy fly Conveyance, and thy Lord's falfe Love.

[Poft blowing a Horn within.

For both of you are Birds of felf fame Feather.

K. Lew.