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The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
Tork. Upon thine Honour, is he Prisoner?
Buck. Upon mine Honour he is Prisoner.
York. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my Powers. .
Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse your felves;
Meer me to morrow in St. George's Field,
You shall have Pay, and every thing you wisi.
And let my Sovereign, virtuous Henry,
As pledges of my Fealty and Love,
I'll send them all as willing as I live;
Lands, Goods, Horse, Armour, any thing I have
Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
Buck. York, I commend this kind Submillion,
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 fubmillion and humility,
York doth present himself unto your Highness.
K. Henry. Then what intend these Forces thou dost bring?
York. To have the Traitor Somerset from hence,
And fight against that monstrous Rebel Cade,
Whom fince I heard to be discomfited.
Enter Iden with Cade's Head.
Iden. If one fo rude, and of ro mean Condition
May pass into the presence of a King;
Lo, I present your Grace a Traitor's Head,
The Head of Cade, whom I in Combat New.
K. Henry. The Head of Cade? great God! how just art thou?
O let me view his Visage being dead,
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
Tell me, my Friend, art thou the Man that New him?
Iden. I was, an't like your Majesty.
K. Henry. How art thou callid? And what is thy Degree?
Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my Name,
A poor Esquire of Kent, that loves the King.
Buck. So please it you, my Lord, 'cwere not amiss
He were created Knight for his good Service.
K.Henry. Iden, kneel down, rise up a Knight :
We give thee for Reward a thousand Marks,
And will, that thou henceforth attend on us.
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, Somerset 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 stand and front him to his Face.
York. How now? Is Somerset at liberty?
Then, York, unloose thy long imprisoned Thoughts,
And let thy Tongue be equal with thy Heart.
Shall I endure the fight of Somerset?
False King, why hast chou broken Faith with
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 canst not rule a Traitor.
Thar 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 must round engirt these 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 same to act controlling Laws:
Give place; by Heaven thou shalt Rule no more
O'er him, whom Heaven created for thy Ruler:
Som. O monstrous Traitor ! I arrest thee, York,
Of Capital Treason 'gainst the King and Crown;
Obey, audacious Traitor, kneel for Grace.
Trok. Would'It have me kneel? First, let me ask of thee, If they can brook, I bow a Knee to Man! Sirrah, call in my Sons to be my Bail: I know, e'er they will let me go to Ward, They'll pawn their Swords for
Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford, bid him come amain,
To lay, if that the Bastard Boys of York
Shall be the Surety for their Traitor Father.
York. O Blood bespotted Neapolitan,
Out-cast of Naples, England's bloody Scourge;
The Sons of York, thy Betters in their Birth,
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,
Q. Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their Bail.
Clif. Health and all Happiness 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 so, we pardon thee.
Cliff. 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 oppose himself against his King.
Clif. He is a Traitor, let him to the Tower, And crop away that factious Pate of his.
Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey:
His Sons, he says, shall give their Words for him.
York. Will you not, Sons?
E. Plan. Ay, Noble Father, if our Words will serve.
R. Plan. And if Words will not, then our Weapons shall,
Clif. Why, what a brood of Traitors have we here?
York. Look in a Glass, and call thy Image fo.
I am the King, and thou a false-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 bair 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 seen a hot o'er-weening Cur
Run back and bite, because he was with-held,
Who being suffer'd with the Bear's fell Paw,
Hath clapt his Tail betwixt his Legs ard cry'd :
And such a piece of Service will you do,
If you suppose your selves to match Lord Warwick.
Clif. Hence, heap of Wrath, foul indigested Lump,
As crooked in thy Manners, as thy Shape.
York. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
Clif. Take heed left by your leat you
K. Henry. Why, Warwick, hath thy Knee forgot to bow?
Old Salisbury, shame to thy filver Hair,
Thou mad miss-leader of thy Brain-fick Son,
What, wilt thou on thy Death-bed play the Ruffian?
And seek 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 shame thine honourable Age with Blood?
Why art thou old, and want'st Experience ?
Or wherefore doft abuse it, if thou haft it?
For shame, in duty bend thy Knee to me,
That bows unto the Grave with milky Age.
Sal. My Lord, I have considered with my felf,
The Title of this most renowned Duke,
And in my Conscience do repute his Grace,
The rightful Heir to England's Royal Seat.
K. Henry. Hast thou not sworn Allegiance unto me?
Sal. I have.
K. Henry. Canst thou dispense with Heaven for such an
Sal. It is great Sin to swear unto a Sin; [Oath?
But greater Sin to keep a finful Oath:
Who can be bound by any folemn Vow
To do a murd'rous Deed, to rob a Man,
To force a spotless Virgin's Chastity,
To reave the Orphan of his Patrimony,
To wring the Widow from her custom'd Right,
And have no other reason for his wrong,
But that he was bound by a folemn Oath?
L. Mar. A subtle Traitor needs no Sophister.
K. Henry. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself.
York. Call Buckingham, and all the Friends thou haft,
I am refoly'd for Death or Dignity,
Clif. The first, I warrant thee; if Dreams prove true.
War. You were best go to Bed, and dream again,
To keep thee from the Tempest of the Field.
Old Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater Storm,
Than any thou canst Conjure up to day:
And that I'll write úpon thy Burgonet,
Might I but know thee by thy House's Badge.
War. Now by my Father's Badge, old Nevil's Crest,
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 spight of any storm, ,
Even so affright thee with the view thereof.
Old Clif. And from thy Burgonet, I'll rend thy Bear,
Aod tread it under foot with all contempt,
Despight the Bearard, that prote&s the Bear.
r. Clif. And so to Arms, victorious noble Father, To quel the Rebels, and cheir Complices.
R. Plan. Fie, Charity for Mame, speak not in spight, For you shall sup with Jesu Christ to night.
r. Clif. Foul Stigmatick, that's more than thou canst tell. R. Plan. If not in Heav'n, you'll surely sup in Hell.
War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'cis Warwick calls;
And if thou doft not hide thee from the Bear,
Now when the angry Trumpet sounds Alarum,
And dy'ng Mens cries do fill the empty Air,
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me,
Proud Northern Lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to Arms.
War. How now, my noble Lord? what all a-foot?