Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist,

Nor wear the diadem upon his head

Whose church-like humours fits not for a crown.

Then, York, be still a while till time do serve.

Watch thou, and wake when others be asleep,

To pry into the secrets of the state—

Till Henry, surfeit in the joys of love

With his new bride and England’s dear-bought queen,

And Humphrey with the peers be fall’n at jars.

Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,

With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed,

And in my standard bear the arms of York,

To grapple with the house of Lancaster;

And force perforce I’ll make him yield the crown,

Whose bookish rule hath pulled fair England down.

Exit

1.2 Enter Duke Humphrey of Gloucester and his wife Eleanor, the Duchess

DUCHESS

Why droops my lord, like over-ripened corn

Hanging the head at Ceres’ plenteous load?

Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,

As frowning at the favours of the world ?

Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,

Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?

What seest thou there? King Henry’s diadem,

Enchased with all the honours of the world?

If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face

Until thy head be circled with the same.

Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.

What, is’t too short? I’ll lengthen it with mine;

And having both together heaved it up,

We’ll both together lift our heads to heaven

And never more abase our sight so low

As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

GLOUCESTER

O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,

Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts!

And may that hour when I imagine ill

Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,

Be my last breathing in this mortal world! !

My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.

DUCHESS

What dreamed my lord? Tell me and I’ll requite it

With sweet rehearsal of my morning’s dream.

GLOUCESTER

Methought this staff, mine office-badge in court,

Was broke in twain—by whom I have forgot,

But, as I think, it was by th’ Cardinal—

And on the pieces of the broken wand

Were placed the heads of Edmund, Duke of Somerset,

And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk.

This was my dream—what it doth bode, God knows.

DUCHESS

Tut, this was nothing but an argument

That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester’s grove

Shall lose his head for his presumption.

But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:

Methought I sat in seat of majesty

In the cathedral church of Westminster,

And in that chair where kings and queens are

crowned,

Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneeled to me,

And on my head did set the diadem.

GLOUCESTER

Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright.

Presumptuous dame! Ill-nurtured Eleanor!

Art thou not second woman in the realm,

And the Protector’s wife beloved of him ?

Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command

Above the reach or compass of thy thought?

And wilt thou still be hammering treachery

To tumble down thy husband and thyself

From top of honour to disgrace’s feet?

Away from me, and let me hear no more!

DUCHESS

What, what, my lord? Are you so choleric

With Eleanor for telling but her dream?

Next time I’ll keep my dreams unto myself

And not be checked.

GLOUCESTER

Nay, be not angry; I am pleased again. Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER

My Lord Protector, ’tis his highness’ pleasure

You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans,

Whereas the King and Queen do mean to hawk.

GLOUCESTER

I go. Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us ?

DUCHESS

Yes, my good lord, I’ll follow presently.

Exeunt Gloucester and the Messenger

Follow I must; I cannot go before

While Gloucester bears this base and humble mind.

Were I am an, a duke, and next of blood,

I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks

And smooth my way upon their headless necks.

And, being a woman, I will not be slack

To play my part in fortune’s pageant.

(Calling within) Where are you there? Sir John! Nay,

fear not man.

We are alone. Here’s none but thee and I.

Enter Sir John Hume

HUME

Jesus preserve your royal majesty.

DUCHESS

What sayst thou? ‘Majesty’ ? I am but ‘grace’.

HUME

But by the grace of God and Hume’s advice

Your grace’s title shall be multiplied.

DUCHESS

What sayst thou, man? Hast thou as yet conferred

With Margery Jordan, the cunning witch of Eye,

With Roger Bolingbroke, the conjuror?

And will they undertake to do me good?

HUME

This they have promisèd: to show your highness

A spirit raised from depth of underground

That shall make answer to such questions

As by your Grace shall be propounded him.

DUCHESS

It is enough. I’ll think upon the questions.