[Rochester calls within.]
BISHOP. Help, help, help! Master Lieutenant, help!
LIEUTENANT. Who's that within? some treason in the Tower Upon my life. Look in; who's that which calls?
[Enter Rochester bound.]
LIEUTENANT. Without your cloak, my lord of Rochester?
HARPOOLE. There, now it works, then let me speed, for now Is the fittest time for me to scape away.
[Exit.]
LIEUTENANT. Why do you look so ghastly and affrighted?
BISHOP. Old-castle, that traitor, and his man, When you had left me to confer with him, Took, bound, and stript me, as you see, And left me lying in his inner chamber, And so departed, and I--
LIEUTENANT. And you? ne'er say that the Lord Cobham's man Did here set upon you like to murther you.
FIRST SERVANT. And so he did.
BISHOP. It was upon his master then he did, That in the brawl the traitor might escape.
LIEUTENANT. Where is this Harpoole?
SECOND SERVANT. Here he was even now.
LIEUTENANT. Where? can you tell?
SECOND SERVANT. They are both escaped.
LIEUTENANT. Since it so happens that he is escaped, I am glad you are a witness of the same, It might have else been laid unto my charge, That I had been consenting to the fact.
BISHOP. Come, search shall be made for him with expedition, The havens laid that he shall not escape, And hue and cry continue through England, To find this damned, dangerous heretic.
[Exeunt.]
ACT V. SCENE I. A room in lord Cobham's house in Kent.
[Enter Cambridge, Scroop, and Gray, as in a chamber, and set down at a table, consulting about their treason: King Harry and Suffolk listening at the door.]
CAMBRIDGE. In mine opinion, Scroop hath well advised, Poison will be the only aptest mean, And fittest for our purpose to dispatch him.
GRAY. But yet there may be doubt in their delivery. Harry is wise; therefore, Earl of Cambridge, I judge that way not so convenient.
SCROOP. What think ye then of this? I am his bedfellow, And unsuspected nightly sleep with him. What if I venture in those silent hours, When sleep hath sealed up all mortal eyes, To murder him in bed? how like ye that?
CAMBRIDGE. Herein consists no safety for your self, And, you disclosed, what shall become of us? But this day (as ye know) he will aboard-- The winds so fair--and set away for France. If, as he goes, or entering in the ship, It might be done, then it were excellent.
GRAY. Why any of these, or, if you will, I'll cause A present sitting of the Counsel, wherein I will pretend some matter of such weight As needs must have his royal company, And so dispatch him in the Counsel chamber.
CAMBRIDGE. Tush, yet I hear not any thing to purpose. I wonder that lord Cobham stays so long; His counsel in this case would much avail us.
[They rise from the table, and the King steps in to them, with his Lords.]
SCROOP. What, shall we rise thus, and determine nothing?
KING. That were a shame indeed; no, sit again, And you shall have my counsel in this case. If you can find no way to kill this King, Then you shall see how I can further ye: Scroop's way of poison was indifferent, But yet, being bed-fellow unto the King, And unsuspected sleeping in his bosom, In mine opinion, that's the likelier way, For such false friends are able to do much, And silent night is Treason's fittest friend. Now, Cambridge, in his setting hence for France, Or by the way, or as he goes abroad, To do the deed, what was indifferent too, Yet somewhat doubtful, might I speak my mind. For many reasons needless now to urge. Mary, Lord Gray came something near the point: To have the King at counsel, and there murder him, As Caesar was, amongst his dearest friends: None like to that, if all were of his mind. Tell me, oh tell me, you, bright honor's stains, For which of all my kindnesses to you, Are ye become thus traitors to your king, And France must have the spoil of harry's life?
ALL. Oh pardon us, dread lord.
[All kneeling.]
KING. How, pardon ye? that were a sin indeed. Drag them to death, which justly they deserve,
[They lead them away.]
And France shall dearly buy this villainy, So soon as we set footing on her breast. God have the praise for our deliverance; And next, our thanks, Lord Cobham, is to thee, True perfect mirror of nobility.