Glost. True Vnckle, are ye aduis'd? The East side of the Groue: Cardinall, I am with you

King. Why how now, Vnckle Gloster? Glost. Talking of Hawking; nothing else, my Lord. Now by Gods Mother, Priest, Ile shaue your Crowne for this, Or all my Fence shall fayle

Card. Medice teipsum, Protector see to't well, protect your selfe

King. The Windes grow high, So doe your Stomacks, Lords: How irkesome is this Musick to my heart? When such Strings iarre, what hope of Harmony? I pray my Lords let me compound this strife. Enter one crying a Miracle

Glost. What meanes this noyse? Fellow, what Miracle do'st thou proclayme? One. A Miracle, a Miracle

Suffolke. Come to the King, and tell him what Miracle

One. Forsooth, a blinde man at Saint Albones Shrine, Within this halfe houre hath receiu'd his sight, A man that ne're saw in his life before

King. Now God be prays'd, that to beleeuing Soules Giues Light in Darknesse, Comfort in Despaire. Enter the Maior of Saint Albones, and his Brethren, bearing the man betweene two in a Chayre.

Card. Here comes the Townes-men, on Procession, To present your Highnesse with the man

King. Great is his comfort in this Earthly Vale, Although by his sight his sinne be multiplyed

Glost. Stand by, my Masters, bring him neere the King, His Highnesse pleasure is to talke with him

King. Good-fellow, tell vs here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorifie the Lord. What, hast thou beene long blinde, and now restor'd? Simpc. Borne blinde, and't please your Grace

Wife. I indeede was he

Suff. What Woman is this? Wife. His Wife, and't like your Worship

Glost. Hadst thou been his Mother, thou could'st haue better told

King. Where wert thou borne? Simpc. At Barwick in the North, and't like your Grace

King. Poore Soule, Gods goodnesse hath beene great to thee: Let neuer Day nor Night vnhallowed passe, But still remember what the Lord hath done

Queene. Tell me, good-fellow, Cam'st thou here by Chance, or of Deuotion, To this holy Shrine? Simpc. God knowes of pure Deuotion, Being call'd a hundred times, and oftner, In my sleepe, by good Saint Albon: Who said; Symon, come; come offer at my Shrine, And I will helpe thee

Wife. Most true, forsooth: And many time and oft my selfe haue heard a Voyce, To call him so

Card. What, art thou lame? Simpc. I, God Almightie helpe me

Suff. How cam'st thou so? Simpc. A fall off of a Tree

Wife. A Plum-tree, Master

Glost. How long hast thou beene blinde? Simpc. O borne so, Master

Glost. What, and would'st climbe a Tree? Simpc. But that in all my life, when I was a youth

Wife. Too true, and bought his climbing very deare

Glost. 'Masse, thou lou'dst Plummes well, that would'st venture so

Simpc. Alas, good Master, my Wife desired some Damsons, and made me climbe, with danger of my Life

Glost. A subtill Knaue, but yet it shall not serue: Let me see thine Eyes; winck now, now open them, In my opinion, yet thou seest not well

Simpc. Yes Master, cleare as day, I thanke God and Saint Albones

Glost. Say'st thou me so: what Colour is this Cloake of? Simpc. Red Master, Red as Blood

Glost. Why that's well said: What Colour is my Gowne of? Simpc. Black forsooth, Coale-Black, as Iet

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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