Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth. Spir. Adsum. M. Jourd. Asmath, By the eternal God, whose name and power Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. [As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the an swer. Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand. Have done, for more I hardly can endure. Boling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake: False fiend, avoid! [Thunder and Lightning. Spirit descends. Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM, hastily, with their York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash. Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch. What, madam, are you there? the king and common weal Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains; My lord protector will, I doubt it not, See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you this? Away with them; let them be clapp'd up close, [Exit Duchess from above. We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming; All.-Away! [Exeunt Guards, with SOUTH. BOLING. &c. York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her well: A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. What have we here? [Reads. The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death. Why, this is just, Aio te, Eacida, Romanos vincere posse. Tell me, what fate awaits the duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the duke of Somerset? Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains, Come, come, my lords; These oracles are hardily attain'd, The king is now in progress toward Saint Albans, Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them; A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. York. At your pleasure, my good lord.-Who's within there, ho! Enter a Servant. Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I.-Saint Albans. Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARET, GLOSTER, Car dinal, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers hollaing. Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, I saw not better sport these seven years' day : Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made, Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty, Car. I thought as much; he'd be above the clouds. Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal; How think you by that? Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven? K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy! Car. Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasures of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown perémptory? Tantæne animis cælestibus iræ ? Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice; Suf. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes Glo. As who, my lord? Suf. Why, as you, my lord; An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. K. Hen. I pr'ythee, peace, Good queen; and whet not on these furious peers, Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make, Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. [Aside. Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter, In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside. Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar❜st, This evening on the east side of the grove. [Aside. K. Hen. How now, my lords? Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, We had had more sport.-Come with thy two-hand sword. Glo. True, uncle. [Aside to GLO. |