London. A Room in the Palace. |
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Enter KING HENRY, reading a Supplication; the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM and LORD SAY with him: at a distance, QUEEN MARGARET, mourning over SUFFOLK'S head. |
Q. Mar. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind, |
And makes it fearful and degenerate; |
Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. |
But who can cease to weep and look on this? |
Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; |
But where's the body that I should embrace? |
Buck. What answer makes your Grace to the rebels' supplication? |
K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat; |
For God forbid so many simple souls |
Should perish by the sword! And I myself, |
Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, |
Will parley with Jack Cade their general. |
But stay, I'll read it over once again. |
Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely face |
Rul'd like a wandering planet over me, |
And could it not enforce them to relent, |
That were unworthy to behold the same? |
K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head. |
Say. Ay, but I hope your highness shall have his. |
K. Hen. How now, madam! |
Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death? |
I fear me, love, if that I had been dead, |
Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. |
Q. Mar. No, my love; I should not mourn, but die for thee. |
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Enter a Messenger. |
K. Hen. How now! what news? why com'st thou in such haste? |
Mess. The rebels are in Southwark; fly, my lord! |
Jack Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, |
Descended from the Duke of Clarence' house, |
And calls your Grace usurper openly, |
And vows to crown himself in Westminster. |
His army is a ragged multitude |
Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless: |
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death |
Hath given them heart and courage to proceed. |
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen, |
They call false caterpillars, and intend their death. |
K. Hen. O graceless men! they know not what they do. |
Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Killingworth, |
Until a power be rais'd to put them down |
Q. Mar. Ah! were the Duke of Suffolk now alive, |
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. |
K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, |
Therefore away with us to Killingworth. |
Say. So might your Grace's person be in danger. |
The sight of me is odious in their eyes; |
And therefore in this city will I stay, |
And live alone as secret as I may. |
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Enter a second Messenger. |
Sec. Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London bridge; |
The citizens fly and forsake their houses; |
The rascal people, thirsting after prey, |
Join with the traitor; and they jointly swear |
To spoil the city and your royal court. |
Buck. Then linger not, my lord; away! take horse. |
K. Hen. Come, Margaret; God, our hope, will succour us. |
Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd. |
K. Hen. [To LORD SAY.] Farewell, my lord: trust not the Kentish rebels. |
Buck. Trust nobody, for fear you be betray'd. |
Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence, |
And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeunt. |
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