Confirm'd confpiracy with fearful France:
And by their hands, this grace of Kings must die,
If hell and treafon hold their promises,

Ere He take fhip for France; and in Southampton.
Linger your patience on, and well digeft
Th' abuse of diftance, while we force a play.
The fum is paid, the traitors are agreed,
The King is fet from London, and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton:
There is the play-house now, there mult you
fit:
And thence to France fhall we convey you safe,
And bring you back; charming the narrow feas,
To give you gentle pafs: for if we may,
We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
But, till the King come forth, and not till then,
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.

[Exit.

Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Weftmorland. Bed. ORE God, his Grace is bold to trust these

'FOR traitors.

Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. Weft. How fmooth and even they do bear themselves, As if allegiance in their bofoms fat,

Crowned with faith and constant loyalty!

Bed. The King hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of.

Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath lull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours; That he should for a foreign purse so fell

His Sovereign's life to death and treachery!

[Trumpets found.

Enter the King, Scroop, Cambridge, Grey, and Atten

dants.

K. Henry. Now fits the wind fair, and we will aboard.

My lord of Cambridge, and my lord of Masham,
And you, my gentle Knight, give me your thoughts:
Think you not, that the Pow'rs, we bear with us,
Will cut their paffage through the force of France;
Doing the execution and the act

* For which we have in aid affembled them?

Scroop. No doubt, my Liege; if each man do his best. K. Henry. I doubt not that; fince we are well perfuaded,

We

carry not a heart with us from hence, That grows not in a fair confent with ours: Nor, leave not one behind, that doth not wish Succefs and conqueft to attend on us.

Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd, and lov'd, Than is your Majefty; there's not a subject,

That fits in heart-grief and uneafiness

Under the fweet fhade of

your government.

Grey. True; thofe, that were your father's enemies Have fteept their gauls in honey, and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal.

K. Henry. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness ;

And fhall forget the office of our hand,
Sooner than quittance of defert and merit,
According to the weight and worthinefs.

Scroop. So fervice fhall with fteeled finews toil;
And labour fhall refresh itself with hope,
To do your Grace inceffant fervices.

K. Henry. We judge no lefs. Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday,

That rail'd against our perfon: we confider,
It was excefs of wine that fet him on,

And on his more advice we pardon him.

For which we have in head affembled them?] This is not an English Phrafeology. I am perfuaded Shakespear wrote,

For which we have in Aid affembled them?

alluding to the Tenures of thofe Times.

Mr. Warburton.

Scroop.

Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security: Let him be punish'd, Sovereign, left example Breed (by his fuff'rance) more of fuch a kind. K. Henry. O, let us yet be merciful.

Cam. So may your Highnefs, and yet punifh too. Grey. You fhew great mercy, if you give him life, After the tafte of much correction.

K. Henry. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orifons 'gainst this poor wretch. If little faults, proceeding on diftemper,

Shall not be wink'd at, how fhall we ftretch our eye, When capital crimes, chew'd, fwallow'd and digefted, Appear before us? we'll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care And tender prefervation of our perfon,

Would have him punifh'd. Now to our French causes; Who are the late commiffioners?

Cam. I one, my lord.

Your Highness bad me ask for it to day.
Scroop. So did you me, my Liege.

Grey. And I, my Sovereign.

K. Henry. Then Richard, Earl of Cambridge, there is yours:

There yours, lord Scroop of Mafham; and Sir Knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this fame is yours;

Read them, and know, I know your worthiness.
My lord of Westmorland and uncle Exeter,

We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentlemen?
What fee you in thefe papers, that you lofe
So much complexion? look ye how they change!
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there,
That hath fo cowarded, and chas'd your blood
Out of appearance?

Cam. I confess my fault,

1

And do submit me to your Highness' mercy.
Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal.

K. Henry. The mercy, that was quick in us but late, By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:

L 6

You

See you, my

༔

You must not dare for fhame to talk of mercy;
For your own reafons turn into your bofoms,
As dogs upon their mafters, worrying you.
Princes and my noble Peers,
Thefe English monfters! my lord Cambridge here,
You know, how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appertinents
Belonging to his Honour; and this man
Hath for a few light crowns lightly confpir'd,
And fworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton. To the which,
This Knight, no lefs for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, hath likewife fworn. But O!
What shall I fay to thee, lord Scroop, thou cruel,
Ingrateful, favage, and inhuman creature!
Thou, that didft bear the key of all my counfels,
That knew'ft the very bottom of my foul,
That almost might'ft have coin'd me into gold,
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use:
May it be poffible, that foreign hire

Could out of thee extract one spark of evil,
That might annoy my finger? 'tis fo ftrange
That though the truth of it ftand off as grofs
As black and white, my eye will scarcely fee it.
Treafon and murder ever kept together,
As two yoke-devils fworn to either's purpose:
Working fo grofly in a natural caufe,

That admiration did not whoop at them.
But thou, 'gainft all proportion, didst bring in
Wonder to wait on treason, and on murder:
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was,
That wrought upon these fo prepoft'rously,
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence:
And other devils, that fuggeft by-treasons,
Do botch and bungle up damnation,

With patches, colours, and with forms being fetcht
From glift'ring femblances of piety:

But he, that temper'd thee, bad thee ftand up;

Gave thee no inftance why thou fhouldft do treafon,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that fame Dæmon, that hath gull'd thee thus,
Should with his Lion-gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar back,
And tell the legions, I can never win
A foul so easy as that Englishman's.

Oh, how haft thou with jealousy infected

The sweetness of affiance! Shew men dutiful?
Why fo didft thou: or feem they grave and learned?
Why fo didft thou: come they of noble family?
Why fo didft thou: feem they religious?
Why fo didft thou: or are they fpare in diet,
Free from grofs paffion, or of mirth, or anger,
Conftant in fpirit, not fwerving with the blood,
Garnish'd and deck'd in modeft compliment,
Not working with the ear, but with the eye,
And but in purged judgment trufting neither?
Such, and fo finely boulted didft thou seem.
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,
To mark the full-fraught man, the best endu’d,
With fome fufpicion. I will weep for thee.
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
Another fall of man-

-Their faults are open;

Arreft them to the answer of the law,

And God acquit them of their practices !

Exe. I arreft thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.

I arreft thee of high treafon, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Mafham.

I arreft thee of high treafon, by the name of Thomas Grey, Knight of Northumberland.

Scroop. Our purposes God juftly hath discover'd, And I repent my fault, more than my death; Which I beseech your Highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it.

Camb. For me, the gold of France did not feduce, Although I did admit it as a motive

The