Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, GLOSTER,
CARDINAL, and SUFFOLK, with Falconers, hollaing.
Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,
I saw not better sport these seven years' day:
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high;
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.

K. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,
And what a pitch she flew above the rest!-
To see how God in all his creatures works!
Yea, man and birds, are fain of climbing high.
Suff. No marvel, an it like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;
They know, their master loves to be aloft,
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
Car. I thought as much; he'd be above the clouds..

Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal; How think you by that? Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven? K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy!

Car. Thy heaven is on earth: thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart; Pernicious protector, dangerous peer,

That smooth'st it so with king and commonweal! Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?

Tantæne animis cœlestibus ira?

Churchmen so hot? good uncle hide such malice;
With such holiness can you do it?

Suff. No malice, sir; no more than well becomes
So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer.

Glo. As who, my lord?

Suff.

Why, as you, my lord; An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.

Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster.

K. Hen. I pr'thee, peace, Good queen; and whet not on these furious peers, For blessed are the peace-makers on earth.

Car. Let me be blessed for the peace I make,
Against this proud protector, with my sword!
Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, 'would 'twere come to that!
[Aside to the Cardinal.

Car. Marry, when thou dar'st."
Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter,

In thine own person answer thy abuse.

[Aside.

[Aside.

Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar'st, This evening, on the east side of the grove. [Aside. K. Hen. How now, my lords?

Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly,

We had had more sport.-Come with thy two-hand [Aside to Gloster.

sword.

Glo. True, uncle.

Car. Are you advis'd?-the east side of the grove? Glo. Cardinal, I am with you.

K. Hen.

Aside.

Why, how now, uncle Gloster ?

Glo. Talking of hawking; nothing else, my lord— Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown

for this,

Or all my fence shall fail.

Car. Medice teipsum;

Protector, see to't well, protect yourself.

[Aside.

[Aside.

K. Hen. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, lords.

How irksome is this music to my heart!

When such strings jar, what hope of harmony?

1

pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.

Enter an Inhabitant of St. Albans, crying, A Miracle! Glo. What means this noise?

Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim?

Inhab. A miracle! a miracle!

Suff. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle. Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at St. Alban's shrine, Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight; A man that ne'er saw in his life before.

K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd! that to believing souls Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair!

Enter the Mayor of St. Albans and his Brethren; and SIMPCOX, borne between two Persons in a Chair; his Wife, and a great Multitude, following.

Car. Here come the townsmen on procession, To present your highness with the man.

K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale, Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.

Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king, His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.

K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance, That we for thee may glorify the Lord.

What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor❜d?
Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace.

Wife. Ay, indeed, was he.

Suff. What woman is this?

Wife. His wife, an't like your worship.

Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou couldst have better told.

K. Hen. Where wert thou born?

Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. K. Hen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been great to thee;

Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,

But still remember what the Lord hath done.

Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by chance,

Or of devotion to this holy shrine?

Simp. God knows, of pure devotion; being call'd A hundred times, and oftener, in my sleep

By good saint Alban; who said,-Šimpcox, come;
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.
Wife. Most true, forsooth; and many time and oft
Myself have heard a voice to call him so.

Car. What, art thou lame?

Simp. O born so, master.
Glo.

What, and wouldst climb a tree? Simp. But that in all my life when I was a youth. Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear. Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst

venture so.

Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some dam

sons,

And made me climb, with danger of my life.

Glo. A subtle knave! but yet it shall not serve.Let me see thine eyes:-wink now; now open them :In my opinion, yet thou see'st not well.

Simp. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God, and

saint Alban.

Glo. Say'st thou me so? What colour is this cloak of? Simp. Red, master; red as blood.

Glo. Why, that's well said: What colour is my gown of?

Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet.

K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what colour jet

is of?

Suff. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.

Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day, a many.
Wife. Never before this day, in all his life.

Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name?
Simp. Alas, master, I know not.

Glo. What's his name?
Simp. I know not.

Glo. Nor his?

Simp. No, indeed, master.

Glo. What's thine own name?

Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.
Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lying'st knave
In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind,
Thou might'st as well have known our names, as thus
To name the several colours we do wear.

Sight may distinguish of colours; but suddenly
To nominate them all, 's impossible.-

My lords, saint Alban here hath done a miracle;
And would ye not think that cunning to be great,
That could restore this cripple to his legs again?
Simp. O, master, that you could!

Glo. My masters of St. Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips?

May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.

Glo. Then send for one presently.

May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.

[Exit an Attendant.

Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [A Stool brought out.] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and run away.

Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain.

Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle.

Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same

stool.