Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past.

Flu. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you, asse my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scauld, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself and all the world know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is come to me and prings me Ppread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek. It was in a place where I could not breed no contention with him; but I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

د

Enter PISTOL.

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. Got pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, Got pless you! Pist. Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections and your appetites and your digestions doo's not agree with it, I would desire you to

God's will is. I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals: come, there is sauce for it. (Strikes him again.) You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gow. Enough, captain: you have astonished

him.

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

Pist. Must I bite?

Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question too, and ambiguities.

Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I eat and eat, I swear

Flu. Eat, I pray you. Will you have some more sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.

Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat. Flu. Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all. Pist. Good.

Flu. Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate. Pist. Me a groat!

Flu. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.

Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. Flu. If I owe you any thing I will pay you in cudgels: you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

[Exit.

Pist. All hell shall stir for this. Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well. [Exit.

Pist. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?

ACT III.-Scene 2.

NORFOLK, WOLSEY, SUFFOLK, CROMWELL.

Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, Cardinal: who commands you

To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands; and to confine yourself
To Asher-house, my lord of Winchester's,
Till you hear further from his highness.
Wol.

Stay: Where's your commission, lords? words cannot carry

Authority so weighty.

Who dare cross 'em,

Suf. Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly?

Wol. Till I find more than will or words to do it,

I mean your malice, know, officious lords,
I dare and must deny it. Now I feel
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, envy:
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces,
As if it fed ye! and how sleek and wanton
Ye appear in everything may bring my ruin!
Follow your envious courses, men of malice;
You have Christian warrant for 'em, and, no

doubt,

In time will find their fit rewards. That seal You ask with such a violence, the king,

Mine and your master, with his own hand gave

me;

Bade me enjoy it with the place and honours,
During my life; and to confirm his goodness,
Tied it by letters-patent: now, who'll take it?
Suf. The king, that gave it.
Wol.

It must be himself then.

Suf. Lord Cardinal, the king's further pleasure is,

Because all those things you have done of late,

By your power legatine within this kingdom, Fall into the compass of a pramunire,

That therefore such a writ be sued against you;

To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be

Out of the king's protection. This is my charge. Nor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations

How to live better. For your stubborn answer
About the giving back the great seal to us,
The king shall know it, and, no doubt, shall

thank you.

So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. [Exeunt all but WOLSEY. Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear

me.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:
I feel my heart new opened. O! how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours.
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders

These ruin'd pillars, out of pity taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honour:
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven!
Crom. I am glad your grace has made that
right use of it.

Wol. I hope I have: I am able now, methinks,

Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,

To endure more miseries and greater far
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad?

Crom.
The heaviest and the worst
Is your displeasure with the king.
Wol.

God bless him!

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More
is chosen

Lord chancellor in your place.
Wol.

That's somewhat sudden:
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice
For truth's sake and his conscience; that his
bones,

When he has run his course and sleeps in
blessings,

May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em!
What more?

Crom. That Cranmer is returned with wel-
come,

00 Installed lord archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news indeed.
Crom.
Last, that the Lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
This day was viewed in open as his queen,
Going to chapel; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.

Wol. There was the weight that pulled me
down. O Cromwell,

The king has gone beyond me: all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever.
10 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me,
Cromwell;

I am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master: seek the king;
That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told
him

What and how true thou art: he will advance
thee;

Some little memory of me will stir him-
I know his noble nature-not to let

Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Crom.
well,

20 Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety.

O my lord!

Crom. Must I then leave you? must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master?

Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. The king shall have my service; but my prayers

For ever and for ever shall be yours.

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;

And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee,
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of
honour,

Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away
ambition:
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate

thee;

Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues: be just and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's: then if thou fall'st, O
Cromwell,

130

140

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; 150 And, prithee, lead me in:

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny; 'tis the king's: my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all

I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell,
Cromwell!

Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Crom. Good sir, have patience.
Wol.

So I have. Farewell 160 The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.

20

Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,

My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
York. No; it is stopped with other flattering
sounds,

As praises of his state: then there are fond
Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen:
Report of fashions in proud Italy,
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after in base imitation.

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-
So it be new, there's no respect how vile-
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard,
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Direct not him whose way himself will
choose:

30 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.

Gaunt. Methinks I am a prophet new
inspired,

And thus expiring do foretell of him:
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,
For violent fires soon burn out themselves;
Small showers last long, but sudden storms

are short;

He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;
With eager feeding food doth choke the
feeder:

Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

40 This royal throne of kings, this sceptred

50

60

isle,

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this

England,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

Feared by their breed and famous by their

birth,

Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
For Christian service and true chivalry,
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son:
This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear
land,

Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement, or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious
siege

Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,

[For sleeping England long time have I watched;

Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt.

The pleasure that some fathers feed upon,

Is my strict fast, I mean my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt;] Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.

K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their names?

Gaunt. No; misery makes sport to mock itself:

Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
K. Rich. Should dying men flatter with
those that live?

Gaunt. No, no; men living flatter those that die.

K. Rich. Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou

flatter'st me.

Gaunt. Oh! no, thou diest, though I the

sicker be.

K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.

Gaunt. Now he that made me knows I

see thee ill;

Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land,
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick;
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Committ'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee:
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown,
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head;
And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
[O! had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye,
Seen how his son's son should destroy his
sons,

From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame,

100

Deposing thee before thou wert possessed,
Which art possessed now to depose thyself.
Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this land by lease;
But for thy world enjoying but this land,
Is it not more than shame to shame it so?]
Landlord of England art thou now, not
king:

Thy state, of law, is bond-slave to the law,
And thou-

K. Rich. A lunatic lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition

Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal
blood

With fury from his native residence.
20 Now, by my seat's right royal majesty,

Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son,
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head
Should run thy head from thy unreverent
shoulders.

Gaunt. O spare me not, my brother
Edward's son,

For that I was his father Edward's son.
That blood already, like the pelican,
Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused:
My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning
soul-

Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy
souls!-

30 May be a precedent and witness good

That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's
blood:

Join with the present sickness that I have;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too long withered flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with
thee!

These words hereafter thy tormentors be!
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave:
Love they to live that love and honour have.

[Exit, borne out by his Attendants.

K. Rich. And let them die that age and sullens have;

40 For both hast thou, and both become the grave.

York. I do beseech your majesty, impute
his words

To wayward sickliness and age in him:
He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear
As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here.
K. Rich. Right, you say true: as Hereford's
love, so his;

As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is.

II. ACT III.-Scene 2.

The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view. KING RICHARD, BISHOP OF CARLISLE, AUMERLE, SCROOP, SOLdiers.

K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call they this at hand?

Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms.

Car. Fear not, my lord: that Power that
made you king

Hath power to keep you kirg in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embraced,

And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse,
The proffered means of succour and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too
remiss;

Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in friends.

K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st
thou not

That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, that lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders and in outrage bloody here;
But when from under this terrestrial ball
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins,
The cloak of night being plucked from off
their backs,

Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?

So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revelled in the night, Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, Shall see us rising in our throne, the east,