Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne:
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this
Was, for that, young King Richard thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body,-

I was the next by birth and parentage;
For by my mother I derived am

From Lionel Duke of Clarence, the third son
To King Edward the Third; whereas he
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree,
Being but fourth of that heroic line.

But mark: as in this haughty great attempt
They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the Fifth,
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, did reign,
Thy father, Earl of Cambridge, then deriv'd
From famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York,
Marrying my sister, that thy mother was,
Again, in pity of my hard distress,
Levied an army, weening to redeem
And have install'd me in the diadem:
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl,
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.

Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.
Mor. True; and thou seest that I no issue have,
And that my fainting words do warrant death:
Thou art my heir; the rest I wish thee gather:
But yet be wary in thy studious care.

Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
But yet methinks my father's execution

Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.

Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politic;
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd.
But now thy uncle is removing hence;

As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd

With long continuance in a settled place.

Plan. O uncle, would some part of my young years

Might but redeem the passage of your age!

Mor. Thou dost then wrong me,-as the slaughterer doth

Which giveth many wounds when one will kill.

Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good;

Only, give order for my funeral:

And so, farewell; and fair be all thy hopes,
And prosperous be thy life in peace and war!

[Dies.

Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul!
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage,
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days.-
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 see his burial better than his life.-

[Exeunt Keepers, bearing out the body of MOR.

Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort:--
And for those wrongs, those bitter injuries,
Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,
I doubt not but with honour to redress;
And therefore haste I to the Parliament,
Either to be restored to my blood,

Or make my ill the advantage of my good.

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I.-LONDON. The Parliament House.

Flourish. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, GLOSTER, WARWICK, SOMERSET, and SUFFOLK; the BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, RICHARD PLANTAGENET, and others. GLOSTER offers to put up a bill; WINCHESTER snatches it, and tears it.

Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd,
Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse,
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention, suddenly:

As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.

Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience,

Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forg'd, or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen:
No, prelate; such is thy audacious wickedness,
Thy lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
As very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer;

Froward by nature, enemy to peace;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession and degree;
And for thy treachery, what's more manifest,
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life,
As well at London bridge as at the Tower?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
The king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of thy swelling heart.

Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.-Lords, vouchsafe To give me hearing what I shall reply. If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, As he will have me, how am I so poor? Or how haps it I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? And for dissension, 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 that hath incens'd the duke: It is because no one should sway but he; No one but he should be about the king; And that engenders thunder in his breast, And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know I am as good

As good!

Glo.
Thou bastard of my grandfather!—

Win. Ay, lordly sir; for what are you, I pray, But one imperious in another's throne?

Glo. Am I not protector, saucy priest?

Win. And am not I a prelate of the church?
Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,

And useth it to patronage his theft.

Win. Unreverent Gloster!

Glo.

Thou art reverent

Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
Win. Rome shall remedy this.

Roam thither then.

War.
Som. My Lord, it were your duty to forbear.
War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
Som. Methinks my lord should be religious,
And know the office that belongs to such.

War. Methinks his lordship should be humbler; It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.

Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near. War. State holy or unhallow'd, what of that? Is not his grace protector to the king?

Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue,
Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should;
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords?
Else would I have a fling at Winchester.

K. Hen. Uncles of Gloster 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.
O, what a scandal is it to our crown
That two such noble peers as ye should jar!
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell
Civil dissension is a viperous worm

That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth.

[A side.

[A noise within, "Down with the tawny coats." What tumult's this?

War.

An uproar, I dare warrant,

Begun through malice of the bishop's men!

[A noise again, "Stones! Stones!"

Enter the Mayor of London, attended.

May. O, my good lords,—and virtuous Henry,—
Pity the city of London, pity us!

The bishop and the Duke of Gloster's men,
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,

Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble stones,
And, banding themselves in contrary parts,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate,

That many have their giddy brains knock'd out:
Our windows are broke down in every street,
And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops.

Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of GLOSTER and WINCHES-
TER, with bloody pates.

K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace.-
Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife.

1 Serv. Nay, if we be

Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth.

2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.

[Skirmish again.

Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil,
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.

3 Serv. My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright; and for your royal birth
Inferior to none but to his majesty:
And ere that we will suffer such a prince,

So kind a father of the commonweal,
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
We, and our wives and children, all will fight,
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.
1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field when we are dead.

[Skirmish again. Glo. Stay, stay, I say! And if you love me, as you say you do, Let me persuade you to forbear awhile.

K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul!—
Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold

My sighs and tears, and will not once relent?
Who should be pitiful if you be not?

Or why should study to prefer a peace,

If holy churchmen take delight in broils?

War. Yield, my lord protector;--yield, Winchester;— Except you mean, with obstinate repulse,

To slay your sovereign and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief, and what murder too,
Hath been enacted through your enmity;
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.

Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield.
Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop;
Or I would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.

War. Behold, my Lord of Winchester, the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear:

Why look you still so stern and tragical?

Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.

K. Hen. Fie, uncle Beaufort! I have heard you preach That malice was a great and grievous sin;

And will not you maintain the thing you teach,

But prove a chief offender in the same?

War. Sweet king!-the bishop hath a kindly gird.-—

For shame, my Lord of Winchester, relent!

What, shall a child instruct you what to do?

Win. Well, Duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee;

Love for thy love and hand for hand I give.
Glo. Ay, but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.-
See here, my friends and loving countrymen;
This token serveth for a flag of truce
Betwixt ourselves and all our followers:
So help me God, as I dissemble not!

Win. So help me God, as I intend it not!
K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind Duke of Gloster,

[Aside.