KING. And when came you to court?

COBHAM. Last night, my Lord.

KING. By this it seems, he is not guilty of it, And you have done him wrong t'accuse him so.

BISHOP. But it was done, my lord, by his appointment, Or else his man durst ne'er have been so bold.

KING. Or else you durst be bold to interrupt, And fill our ears with frivolous complaints. Is this the duty you do bear to us? Was't not sufficient we did pass our word To send for him, but you, misdoubting it, Or--which is worse--intending to forestall Our regal power, must likewise summon him? This savors of Ambition, not of zeal, And rather proves you malice his estate, Than any way that he offends the law. Go to, we like it not; and he your officer, That was employed so much amiss herein, Had his desert for being insolent.

[Enter Huntington.]

So, Cobham, when you please you may depart.

COBHAM. I humbly bid farewell unto my liege.

[Exit.]

KING. Farewell.--What's the news by Huntington?

HUNTINGTON. Sir Roger Acton and a crew, my Lord, Of bold seditious rebels are in Arms, Intending reformation of Religion. And with their Army they intend to pitch In Ficket field, unless they be repulsed.

KING. So near our presence? Dare they be so bold? And will proud war, and eager thirst of blood, Whom we had thought to entertain far off, Press forth upon us in our native bounds? Must we be forced to hansell our sharp blades In England here, which we prepared for France? Well, a God's name be it! What's their number, say, Or who's the chief commander of this rout?

HUNTINGTON. Their number is not known, as yet, my Lord, But tis reported Sir John Old-castle Is the chief man on whom they do depend.

KING. How, the Lord Cobham?

HUNTINGTON. Yes, my gracious Lord.

BISHOP. I could have told your majesty as much Before he went, but that I saw your Grace Was too much blinded by his flattery.

SUFFOLK. Send post, my Lord, to fetch him back again.

BUTLER. Traitor unto his country, how he smoothed, And seemed as innocent as Truth it self!

KING. I cannot think it yet he would be false; But if he be, no matter; let him go. We'll meet both him and them unto their woe.

[Exeunt all but Bishop.]

BISHOP. This falls out well, and at the last I hope To see this heretic die in a rope.

ACT III. SCENE I. An avenue leading to lord Cobham's house in Kent.

[Enter Earl of Cambridge, Lord Scroop, Gray, and Chartres the French factor.]

SCROOP. Once more, my Lord of Cambridge, make rehearsal, How you do stand entitled to the Crown. The deeper shall we print it in our minds, And every man the better be resolved, When he perceives his quarrel to be just.

CAMBRIDGE. Then thus, Lord Scroop, sir Thomas Gray, & you, Monsieur de Chartres, agent for the French:-- This Lionel, Duke of Clarence, as I said, Third son of Edward (England's King) the third, Had issue Phillip, his sole daughter and heir; Which Phillip afterward was given in marriage To Edmund Mortimer, the Earl of March, And by him had a son called Roger Mortimer; Which Roger, likewise, had of his descent Edmund, Roger, Anne, and Eleanor-- Two daughters and two sons--but those three Died without issue. Anne, that did survive, And now was left her father's only heir, My fortune was to marry, being too By my grandfather of Kind Edward's line: So of his sirname, I am called, you know, Richard Plantagenet. My father was Edward, the Duke of York, and son and heir To Edmund Langley, Edward the third's fifth son.

SCROOP. So that it seems your claim comes by your wife, As lawful heir to Roger Mortimer, The son of Edmund, which did marry Phillip, Daughter and heir to Lionel, Duke of Clarence.

CAMBRIDGE. True, for this Harry and his father both, Harry the first, as plainly doth appear, Are false intruders and usurp the Crown. For when young Richard was at Pomfret slain, In him the title of prince Edward died, That was the eldest of king Edward's sons: William, of Hatfield, and their second brother, Death in his nonage had before bereft: So that my wife, derived from Lionel, Third son unto king Edward, ought proceed, And take possession of the Diadem Before this Harry, or his father king, Who fetched their title but from Lancaster, Forth of that royal line.

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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