Buc. Why should he then protect our Soueraigne? He being of age to gouerne of himselfe. Cosin of Somerset, ioyne you with me, And altogether with the Duke of Suffolke, Wee'l quickly hoyse Duke Humfrey from his seat
Car. This weighty businesse will not brooke delay, Ile to the Duke of Suffolke presently.
Som. Cosin of Buckingham, though Humfries pride And greatnesse of his place be greefe to vs, Yet let vs watch the haughtie Cardinall, His insolence is more intollerable Then all the Princes in the Land beside, If Gloster be displac'd, hee'l be Protector
Buc. Or thou, or I Somerset will be Protectors, Despite Duke Humfrey, or the Cardinall.
Exit Buckingham, and Somerset.
Sal. Pride went before, Ambition followes him. While these do labour for their owne preferment, Behooues it vs to labor for the Realme. I neuer saw but Humfrey Duke of Gloster, Did beare him like a Noble Gentleman: Oft haue I seene the haughty Cardinall, More like a Souldier then a man o'th' Church, As stout and proud as he were Lord of all, Sweare like a Ruffian, and demeane himselfe Vnlike the Ruler of a Common-weale. Warwicke my sonne, the comfort of my age, Thy deeds, thy plainnesse, and thy house-keeping, Hath wonne the greatest fauour of the Commons, Excepting none but good Duke Humfrey. And Brother Yorke, thy Acts in Ireland, In bringing them to ciuill Discipline: Thy late exploits done in the heart of France, When thou wert Regent for our Soueraigne, Haue made thee fear'd and honor'd of the people, Ioyne we together for the publike good, In what we can, to bridle and suppresse The pride of Suffolke, and the Cardinall, With Somersets and Buckinghams Ambition, And as we may, cherish Duke Humfries deeds, While they do tend the profit of the Land
War. So God helpe Warwicke, as he loues the Land, And common profit of his Countrey
Yor. And so sayes Yorke, For he hath greatest cause
Salisbury. Then lets make hast away, And looke vnto the maine
Warwicke. Vnto the maine? Oh Father, Maine is lost, That Maine, which by maine force Warwicke did winne, And would haue kept, so long as breath did last: Main-chance father you meant, but I meant Maine, Which I will win from France, or else be slaine.
Exit Warwicke, and Salisbury. Manet Yorke.
Yorke. Aniou and Maine are giuen to the French, Paris is lost, the state of Normandie Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone: Suffolke concluded on the Articles, The Peeres agreed, and Henry was well pleas'd, To change two Dukedomes for a Dukes faire daughter. I cannot blame them all, what is't to them? 'Tis thine they giue away, and not their owne. Pirates may make cheape penyworths of their pillage, And purchase Friends, and giue to Curtezans, Still reuelling like Lords till all be gone, While as the silly Owner of the goods Weepes ouer them, and wrings his haplesse hands, And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloofe, While all is shar'd, and all is borne away, Ready to sterue, and dare not touch his owne. So Yorke must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, While his owne Lands are bargain'd for, and sold: Me thinkes the Realmes of England, France, & Ireland, Beare that proportion to my flesh and blood, As did the fatall brand Althaea burnt, Vnto the Princes heart of Calidon: Aniou and Maine both giuen vnto the French? Cold newes for me: for I had hope of France, Euen as I haue of fertile Englands soile. A day will come, when Yorke shall claime his owne, And therefore I will take the Neuils parts, And make a shew of loue to proud Duke Humfrey, And when I spy aduantage, claime the Crowne, For that's the Golden marke I seeke to hit: Nor shall proud Lancaster vsurpe my right, Nor hold the Scepter in his childish Fist, Nor weare the Diadem vpon his head, Whose Church-like humors fits not for a Crowne. Then Yorke be still a-while, till time do serue: Watch thou, and wake when others be asleepe, To prie into the secrets of the State, Till Henrie surfetting in ioyes of loue, With his new Bride, & Englands deere bought Queen, And Humfrey with the Peeres be falne at iarres: Then will I raise aloft the Milke-white-Rose, With whose sweet smell the Ayre shall be perfum'd, And in my Standard beare the Armes of Yorke, To grapple with the house of Lancaster, And force perforce Ile make him yeeld the Crowne, Whose bookish Rule, hath pull'd faire England downe.