had I gone to it by fortune, I had made your sons George and Dick to have stood gaping after the Crown. This wench, mother, is a widow, and hath made proof of her valour; and for any thing I know, I am as like to do the deed, as John Gray her husband was. I had rather the people prayed to bless mine heir, than send me an heir. Hold your peace, if you can see; there was never mother had a towarder son. Why, cousin Howard and Tom Sellinger, heard you ever such a coil about a wife? How. My sovereign lord, with patience bear her spleen. Your princely mother's zeal is like a river, That from the free abundance of the waters Breaks out into this inundation. From her abundant care this rage proceeds, Sel. My lord, my lord, avoid a woman's humour. If you resist this tumour of her will, Here you shall have her dwell upon this passion, Seem you but sorry for what you have done, Say any thing, it makes no matter what, Than thus be wearied with a woman's chat. Duch. Ay, ay, you are the spaniels of the court, Nor borne the blemish of her bigamy. A widow is it not a goodly thing? Gray's children, come ask blessing of the King. Queen. Nay, I beseech your grace, my lady York, As when a virgin I to Gray was wed. King. Come, come, have done. Now you have chid enough. God's foot, we were as merry ere she came as any people in Christendom, I with the mistress and these with the maids, only we have no fiddlers at our feast; but, mother, you have made a fit of mirth. Welcome to Grafton, mother. By my troth, you are even just come as I wished you here. Let us go to supper; and in charity give us your blessing ere we go to bed. Duch. O Edward, Edward! fly and leave this place, To make them kneel with reverence at her feet, Queen. I do confess it: yet, my lady York, My mother is a duchess, as you are, And, as you know, a daughter and a sister But you cannot so basely think on me, Sel. Madam, she is the mirror of her kind. Duch. Thou art a minion and a flatterer. Sel. Madam, but that you are my sovereign's mother, I would let you know you wrong a gentleman. How. Good cousin Sellinger, have patience. Dear madam, I beseech you, on my knee, Edw. Well said, good coz; I pray thee, make them friends. Why, how now, Bess, what weep? nay then, I'll chide you. What sudden news comes by this messenger? Enter a Messenger. Mess. My sovereign lord, the bastard Falconbridge Of late hath stirr'd rebellion in the south, Encouraging his forces to deliver King Henry, late depos'd, out of the Tower. Edw. Well, let this Phaeton, that is mounted thus, Look he sit surely, or, by England's George, Good cousin Howard, and Tom Sellinger, To raise up power against this haughty rebel. SCENE II.—Near London. [Exeunt. Enter FALCONBRIDGE with his troops, marching, Spicing, Smoke, Chub, and others. Fal. Hold, drum! Spi. Hold, drum, and be hanged! Smoke. Hold, drum, hold! peace then, ho! Silence to the proclamation. Spi. You lie, you rogue; 'tis to the oration. Chub. Nay, then, you all lie; 'tis to the coblication. Fal. True-hearted English, and our valiant friends All. Ho! brave General, i'faith. Spi. Peace there, you rogues, or I will split your chaps. If any wronged, discontented English, Touch'd with true feeling of King Henry's wrongs, Henry the Sixth, the lawful king of England, Who, by that tyrant Edward, the usurper, Fal. Pitying King Henry's poor distressed case, Takes up just arms against the house of York, All. Liberty, liberty, liberty, general liberty! All. A Neville! a Neville! a Neville! Smoke. Ay, ay; the law is on our side. Spi. Peace, you rogues! Fal. And more: a blessing by the Word propos'd To those that aid a true anointed king. Courage, brave spirits, and cry a Falconbridge! |