A noyse within, Downe with the Tawny-Coats.
King. What tumult's this? Warw. An Vprore, I dare warrant, Begun through malice of the Bishops men.
A noyse againe, Stones, Stones.
Maior. Oh my good Lords, and vertuous Henry, Pitty the Citie of London, pitty vs: The Bishop, and the Duke of Glosters men, Forbidden late to carry any Weapon, Haue fill'd their Pockets full of peeble stones; And banding themselues in contrary parts, Doe pelt so fast at one anothers Pate, That many haue their giddy braynes knockt out: Our Windowes are broke downe in euery Street, And we, for feare, compell'd to shut our Shops. Enter in skirmish with bloody Pates.
King. We charge you, on allegeance to our selfe, To hold your slaughtring hands, and keepe the Peace: Pray' Vnckle Gloster mittigate this strife
1.Seruing. Nay, if we be forbidden Stones, wee'le fall to it with our Teeth
2.Seruing. Doe what ye dare, we are as resolute.
Glost. You of my household, leaue this peeuish broyle, And set this vnaccustom'd fight aside
3.Seru. My Lord, we know your Grace to be a man Iust, and vpright; and for your Royall Birth, Inferior to none, but to his Maiestie: And ere that we will suffer such a Prince, So kinde a Father of the Common-weale, To be disgraced by an Inke-horne Mate, Wee and our Wiues and Children all will fight, And haue our bodyes slaughtred by thy foes
1.Seru. I, and the very parings of our Nayles Shall pitch a Field when we are dead.
Glost. Stay, stay, I say: And if you loue me, as you say you doe, Let me perswade you to forbeare a while
King. Oh, how this discord doth afflict my Soule. Can you, my Lord of Winchester, behold My sighes and teares, and will not once relent? Who should be pittifull, if you be not? Or who should study to preferre a Peace, If holy Church-men take delight in broyles? Warw. Yeeld my Lord Protector, yeeld Winchester, Except you meane with obstinate repulse To slay your Soueraigne, and destroy the Realme. You see what Mischiefe, and what Murther too, Hath beene enacted through your enmitie: Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood
Winch. He shall submit, or I will neuer yeeld
Glost. Compassion on the King commands me stoupe, Or I would see his heart out, ere the Priest Should euer get that priuiledge of me
Warw. Behold my Lord of Winchester, the Duke Hath banisht moodie discontented fury, As by his smoothed Browes it doth appeare: Why looke you still so sterne, and tragicall? Glost. Here Winchester, I offer thee my Hand
King. Fie Vnckle Beauford, I haue heard you preach, That Mallice was a great and grieuous sinne: And will not you maintaine the thing you teach? But proue a chiefe offendor in the same
Warw. Sweet King: the Bishop hath a kindly gyrd: For shame my Lord of Winchester relent; What, shall a Child instruct you what to doe? Winch. Well, Duke of Gloster, I will yeeld to thee Loue for thy Loue, and Hand for Hand I giue
Glost. I, but I feare me with a hollow Heart. See here my Friends and louing Countreymen, This token serueth for a Flagge of Truce, Betwixt our selues, and all our followers: So helpe me God, as I dissemble not
Winch. So helpe me God, as I intend it not
King. Oh louing Vnckle, kinde Duke of Gloster, How ioyfull am I made by this Contract. Away my Masters, trouble vs no more, But ioyne in friendship, as your Lords haue done