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Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see

The map of honour, truth, and loyalty;

And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come

That e'er I prov'd thee false or fear'd thy faith.

What lowering star now envies thy estate,

That these great lords and Margaret our queen

Do seek subversion of thy harmless life?

Thou never didst them wrong nor no man wrong;

And as the butcher takes away the calf

And binds the wretch and beats it when it strays,

Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house,

Even so remorseless have they borne him hence;

And as the dam runs lowing up and down,

Looking the way her harmless young one went,

And can do nought but wail her darling's loss,

Even so myself bewails good Gloucester's case

With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm'd eyes

Look after him, and cannot do him good,

So mighty are his vowed enemies.

His fortunes I will weep and 'twixt each groan

Say 'Who's a traitor? Gloucester he is none.'

[Exeunt all but Queen, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk and York; Somerset remains apart.]

QUEEN.

Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.

Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,

Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester's show

Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile

With sorrow snares relenting passengers,

Or as the snake roll'd in a flowering bank,

With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child

That for the beauty thinks it excellent.

Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I—

And yet herein I judge mine own wit good—

This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world,

To rid us from the fear we have of him.

CARDINAL.

That he should die is worthy policy,

But yet we want a colour for his death,

'T is meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

SUFFOLK.

But, in my mind, that were no policy.

The king will labour still to save his life;

The commons haply rise to save his life,

And yet we have but trivial argument,

More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.

YORK.

So that, by this, you would not have him die.

SUFFOLK.

Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!

YORK.

'T is York that hath more reason for his death.—

But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk,

Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,

Were 't not all one an empty eagle were set

To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,

As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector?

QUEEN.

So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

SUFFOLK.

Madam, 't is true; and were 't not madness, then,

To make the fox surveyor of the fold?

Who being accus'd a crafty murtherer,

His guilt should be but idly posted over,

Because his purpose is not executed.

No; let him die, in that he is a fox,

By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,

Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,

As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege.

And do not stand on quillets how to slay him.

Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety,

Sleeping or waking, 't is no matter how,

So he be dead; for that is good deceit

Which mates him first that first intends deceit.

QUEEN.

Thrice-noble Suffolk, 't is resolutely spoke.

SUFFOLK.

Not resolute, except so much were done,

For things are often spoke and seldom meant;

But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,—

Seeing the deed is meritorious,

And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,—

Say but the word, and I will be his priest.

CARDINAL.

But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk,

Ere you can take due orders for a priest.

Say you consent and censure well the deed,

And I'll provide his executioner,

I tender so the safety of my liege.

SUFFOLK.

Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

QUEEN.

And so say I.

YORK.

And I; and now we three have spoke it,

It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.

[Enter a Post.]

POST.

Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,

To signify that rebels there are up

And put the Englishmen unto the sword.

Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,

Before the wound do grow uncurable;

For, being green, there is great hope of help.

CARDINAL.

A breach that craves a quick expedient