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thou art a rare statesman. Nimble, thou hast a

reaching head.

Nimble

I will put treason into any man's head, my lord, let

him answer it as he can. and then, my lord, we have

got a Schoolmaster, that teaches all the country to

sing treason, and like a villain he says:

god bless your lordship.

Tresilian

thou art a most strange discoverer. where are these

traitors?

Nimble

all in prison, my lord. mr ignorance, the Bailey of

dunstable, and i, have taken great pains about them.

besides, here is a note of seven hundred whisperers,

most on them sleepy knaves. we pulled them out of bedfordshire.

Tresilian

let us see the note. seven hundred whispering traitors;

monstrous villains! we must look to these:

of all the sort these are most dangerous,

to stir rebellion against the King and us...

what are they, Crosby? are the rebels wealthy?

Crosby

fat choughs, my lord, all landed men. rich Farmers

Grasiers and such fellows, that having been but a

little pinched with imprisonment, begin already to

offer their lands for liberty.

Tresilian

we will not be nice to take their offers, Crosby,

their lands are better than their lives to us,

and without lands they shall not ransom lives.

go sirs, to terrify the traitors more,

ye shall have warrants straight to hang them all;

then if they proffer lands, and put in bail

to make a just surrender speedily,

let them have lives, and after, liberty.

but those that have not lands nor goods to pay,

let them be whipped, then hanged. make haste away.

Nimble

well, then: I see my whistler must be whipped: he

has but two calves to live on, and has lost them too.

and for my Schoolmaster, I will have him march about the

market place with ten dozen of rods at his girdle the

very day he goes a-feasting, and every one of his

scholars shall have a jerk at him. come, sirs.

Tresilian

away and leave us. here comes sir Edward Bagot.

Enter Bagot. Exeunt Nimble, [Crosby, and the others]

Bagot

right happily met, my lord Tresilian.

Tresilian

you are well returned to court, sir Edward,

to this sad house of sheen, made comfortless

by the sharp sickness of the good Queen Anne.

Bagot

King Richard is come and gone to visit her.

sad for her weak estate, he sits and weeps.

her speech is gone. only at sight of him

she heaved her hands and closed her eyes again,

and whether alive, or dead, is yet uncertain.

Enter Bushy Tresilian

here comes sir william Bushy. what tidings, sir?

Bushy

the King is a widower, sir. fair Anne-a-Beame

hath breathed her last farewell to all the realm.

Tresilian

peace with her soul, she was a virtuous lady.

how takes King Richard this her sudden death?

Bushy

fares like a madman: rends his princely hair,

beats his sad breast, falls grovelling on the earth

all careless of his state, wishing to die

and even in death to keep her company.

but that which makes his soul more desperate,

amidst this heat of passion, weeping comes

his aunt the Duchess, Woodstock's hapless wife,

with tender love and comfort,

at sight of whom his griefs again redoubled,

calling to mind the lady's woeful state,

as yet all ignorant of her own mishap.

he takes her in his arms, weeps on her breast,

and would have there revealed her hubsand's fall

amidst his passions, had not Scroope and Greene

by violence borne him to an inward room;

where still he cries to get a messenger

to send to calais to reprieve his uncle.

Bagot

I do not like those passions.

if he reveal the plot we all shall perish.

where is the Duchess?

Bushy

with much ado we got her leave the presence

with an intent in haste to ride to plashey.

Tresilian

she will find sad comforts there. would all were well.

a thousand dangers round enclose our state.

Bagot

and we will break through, my lord, in spite of fate.

come, come, be merry, good Tresilian.

Enter the King and Scroope

here comes King Richard, all go comfort him.

Scroope

my dearest lord, forsake these sad laments.

no sorrows can suffice to make her live.

King

then let sad sorrow