Q. Kath. My learn'd lord cardinal, K. Hen. Speak on: Deliver all with charity. How grounded he his title to the crown, Upon our fail? to this point hast thou heard him At any time speak aught? Surv. By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins. He was brought to this Sir, a Chartreux friar, K. Hen. What was that Hopkins? Surv. His confessor; who fed him every minute With words of sovereignty. K. Hen. How know'st thou this? Surv. Not long before your highness sped to France, The duke being at the Rose, within the parish Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand What was the speech amongst the Londoners Concerning the French journey: I reply'd, Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious, To the king's danger. Presently the duke Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed; and that he doubted, 'Twould prove the verity of certain words Spoke by a holy monk; that oft, says he, Hath sent to me, wishing me to permit John de la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour To hear from him a matter of some moment : Whom after, under the confession's seal, He solemnly had sworn, that, what he spoke, My chaplain to no creature living, but To me, should utter, with demure confidence This pausingly ensu'd,-Neither the king, nor his heirs, (Tell you the duke) shall prosper: bid him strive To gain the love of the commonalty; the duke Shall govern England. Q. Kath. If I know you well, You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office K. Hen. Go forward. Let him on: On my soul, I'll speak but truth. I told my lord the duke, By the devil's illusions This monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dang'rous for him, To ruminate on this so far, until It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd, That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd, Should have gone off. K. Hen. Ha! what, so rank? Ah, ha! There's mischief in this man: --Canst thou say further? Surv. I can, my liege. K. Hen. Surv. Proceed. Being at Greenwich, After your highness had reprov'd the duke About sir William Blomer, K. Hen. I remember Of such a time:-Being my sworn servant, The duke retain'd him his. --But on; What hence? Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been committed, As, to the Tower, I thought, -I would have play'd The part my father meant to act upon The usurper Richard: who, being at Salisbury, As he made semblance of his duty, would Have put his knife into him. K. Hen. A giant traitor! Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in freedom, And this man out of prison? Q. Kath. God mend all! K. Hen. There's something more would out of thee; What say'st? Surv. After the duke his father, with the knife, He stretch'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes, He did discharge a horrible oath; whose tenour Was,-Were he evil us'd, he would out-go His father, by as much as a performance Does an irresolute purpose. K. Hen. To sheath his knife in us. There's his period, He is attach'd; Call him to present trial: if he may Find mercy in the law, 'tis his; if none, Let him not seek't of us: By day and night, He's traitor to the height. [Excunt. SCENE III. A ROOM IN THE PALACE. Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lord Sands. Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should juggle Men into such strange mysteries? Sands. New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English Have got by the late voyage, is but merely A fit or two o'the face; but they are shrewd ones; For when they hold them, you would swear di rectly, Their very noses had been counsellors Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones; one would take it, That never saw them pace before, the spavin, A springhalt reign'd among them. Cham. Death! my lord, Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, That, sure, they have worn out christendom. How That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. What is't for? Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. Cham. I am glad, 'tis there; now I would pray our monsieurs To think an English courtier may be wise, And never see the Louvre. Lov. They must either (For so run the conditions,) leave these remnants Or pack to their old playfellows: there, I take it, The lag end of their lewdness, and be laugh'd at. Sands. 'Tis time to give them physick, their There will be woe indeed, lords; the sly whoresons Have got a speeding trick to lay down ladies; A French song, and a fiddle, has no fellow. Sands. The devil fiddle them! I am glad, they're going; |