Qu. Nay then, this sparke will proue a raging fire, If Wind and Fuell be brought, to feed it with: No more, good Yorke; sweet Somerset be still. Thy fortune, Yorke, hadst thou beene Regent there, Might happily haue prou'd farre worse then his
Yorke. What, worse then naught? nay, then a shame take all
Somerset. And in the number, thee, that wishest shame
Card. My Lord of Yorke, trie what your fortune is: Th' vnciuill Kernes of Ireland are in Armes, And temper Clay with blood of Englishmen. To Ireland will you leade a Band of men, Collected choycely, from each Countie some, And trie your hap against the Irishmen? Yorke. I will, my Lord, so please his Maiestie
Suff. Why, our Authoritie is his consent, And what we doe establish, he confirmes: Then, Noble Yorke, take thou this Taske in hand
Yorke. I am content: Prouide me Souldiers, Lords, Whiles I take order for mine owne affaires
Suff. A charge, Lord Yorke, that I will see perform'd. But now returne we to the false Duke Humfrey
Card. No more of him: for I will deale with him, That henceforth he shall trouble vs no more: And so breake off, the day is almost spent, Lord Suffolke, you and I must talke of that euent
Yorke. My Lord of Suffolke, within foureteene dayes At Bristow I expect my Souldiers, For there Ile shippe them all for Ireland
Suff. Ile see it truly done, my Lord of Yorke.
Yorke. Now Yorke, or neuer, steele thy fearfull thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution; Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art; Resigne to death, it is not worth th' enioying: Let pale-fac't feare keepe with the meane-borne man, And finde no harbor in a Royall heart. Faster the[n] Spring-time showres, comes thoght on thoght, And not a thought, but thinkes on Dignitie. My Brayne, more busie then the laboring Spider, Weaues tedious Snares to trap mine Enemies. Well Nobles, well: 'tis politikely done, To send me packing with an Hoast of men: I feare me, you but warme the starued Snake, Who cherisht in your breasts, will sting your hearts. 'Twas men I lackt, and you will giue them me; I take it kindly: yet be well assur'd, You put sharpe Weapons in a mad-mans hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mightie Band, I will stirre vp in England some black Storme, Shall blowe ten thousand Soules to Heauen, or Hell: And this fell Tempest shall not cease to rage, Vntill the Golden Circuit on my Head, Like to the glorious Sunnes transparant Beames, Doe calme the furie of this mad-bred Flawe. And for a minister of my intent, I haue seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman, Iohn Cade of Ashford, To make Commotion, as full well he can, Vnder the title of Iohn Mortimer. In Ireland haue I seene this stubborne Cade Oppose himselfe against a Troupe of Kernes, And fought so long, till that his thighes with Darts Were almost like a sharpe-quill'd Porpentine: And in the end being rescued, I haue seene Him capre vpright, like a wilde Morisco, Shaking the bloody Darts, as he his Bells. Full often, like a shag-hayr'd craftie Kerne, Hath he conuersed with the Enemie, And vndiscouer'd, come to me againe, And giuen me notice of their Villanies. This Deuill here shall be my substitute; For that Iohn Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gate, in speech he doth resemble. By this, I shall perceiue the Commons minde, How they affect the House and Clayme of Yorke. Say he be taken, rackt, and tortured; I know, no paine they can inflict vpon him, Will make him say, I mou'd him to those Armes. Say that he thriue, as 'tis great like he will, Why then from Ireland come I with my strength, And reape the Haruest which that Rascall sow'd. For Humfrey; being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put apart: the next for me. Enter.