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That Maine which by main force Warwick did win,

And would have kept so long as breath did last!

Main chance, father, you meant; but I meant Maine,

Which I will win from France, or else be slain.

[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury.]

YORK.

Anjou and Maine are given to the French;

Paris is lost; the state of Normandy

Stands on a tickle point now they are gone.

Suffolk concluded on the articles,

The peers agreed; and Henry was well pleas'd

To changes two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.

I cannot blame them all: what is't to them?

'T is thine they give away, and not their own.

Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage,

And purchase friends, and give to courtesans,

Still revelling like lords till all be gone;

Whileas the silly owner of the goods

Weeps over them and wrings his hapless hands

And shakes his head and trembling stands aloof,

While all is shar'd and all is borne away,

Ready to starve and dare not touch his own.

So York must sit and fret and bite his tongue,

While his own lands are bargain'd for and sold.

Methinks the realms of England, France, and Ireland

Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood

As did the fatal brand Althaea burn'd

Unto the prince's heart of Calydon.

Anjou and Maine both given unto the French!

Cold news for me, for I had hope of France,

Even as I have of fertile England's soil.

A day will come when York shall claim his own;

And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts,

And make a show of love to proud Duke Humphrey,

And when I spy advantage, claim the crown,

For that 's the golden mark I seek to hit.

Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,

Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,

Nor wear the diadem upon his head,

Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.

Then, York, be still awhile till time do serve;

Watch thou and wake when others be asleep,

To pry into the secrets of the state;

Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,

With his new bride and England's dear-bought queen,

And Humphrey with the peers be fallen at jars.

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,

With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd,

And in my standard bear the arms of York,

To grapple with the house of Lancaster;

And, force perforce, I 'll make him yield the crown

Whose bookish rule hath pull'd fair England down.

[Exit.]

SCENE II. The Duke of Gloucester's House.

[Enter DUKE HUMPHREY and his wife ELEANOR]

DUCHESS.

Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,

Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?

Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,

As frowning at the favours of the world?

Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth,

Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?

What see'st thou there? King Henry's diadem,

Enchas'd with all the honours of the world?

If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face,

Until thy head be circled with the same.

Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.

What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine,

And, having both together heav'd it up,

We'll both together lift our heads to heaven,

And never more abase our sight so low

As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

GLOUCESTER.

O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,

Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts;

And may that thought when I imagine ill

Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,

Be my last breathing in this mortal world!

My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.

DUCHESS.

What dream'd my lord? Tell me, and I'll requite it

With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

GLOUCESTER.

Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,

Was broke in twain;—by whom I have forgot,

But, as I think, it was by the cardinal,—

And on the pieces of the broken wand

Were plac'd the heads of Edmund Duke of Somerset

And William de la Pole, first duke of Suffolk.

This was my dream; what it doth bode, God knows.

DUCHESS.

Tut, this was nothing but an argument

That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove

Shall lose his head for his presumption.

But list to me, my Humphrey,