Original
Modern English
I muse my Lord of Gloucester is not come: ’Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, Whate’er occasion keeps him from us now.
I wonder why Lord Gloucester hasn’t come: It’s not like him to be the last one here, Whatever the reason is keeping him away.
Can you not see? or will ye not observe The strangeness of his alter’d countenance? With what a majesty he bears himself, How insolent of late he is become, How proud, how peremptory, and unlike himself? We know the time since he was mild and affable, And if we did but glance a far-off look, Immediately he was upon his knee, That all the court admired him for submission: But meet him now, and, be it in the morn, When every one will give the time of day, He knits his brow and shows an angry eye, And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee, Disdaining duty that to us belongs. Small curs are not regarded when they grin; But great men tremble when the lion roars; And Humphrey is no little man in England. First note that he is near you in descent, And should you fall, he as the next will mount. Me seemeth then it is no policy, Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears And his advantage following your decease, That he should come about your royal person Or be admitted to your highness’ council. By flattery hath he won the commons’ hearts, And when he please to make commotion, ’Tis to be fear’d they all will follow him. Now ’tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they’ll o’ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. The reverent care I bear unto my lord Made me collect these dangers in the duke. If it be fond, call it a woman’s fear; Which fear if better reasons can supplant, I will subscribe and say I wrong’d the duke. My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Reprove my allegation, if you can; Or else conclude my words effectual.
Can’t you see? Or won’t you notice How strange his face looks now? How he carries himself with such dignity, How rude he’s become recently, So proud, so demanding, so unlike his old self? We know how he used to be gentle and friendly, And if we just glanced at him from a distance, He would immediately kneel, And everyone admired his humility. But now, if you meet him, even in the morning, When everyone else greets you politely, He frowns and looks angry, Walks past with a stiff, unbending knee, Disrespecting the duty we owe him. Small dogs aren’t noticed when they show their teeth; But great men tremble when a lion roars; And Gloucester is no small man in England. First, note that he’s close to you in family, And if you fall, he will rise as the next in line. It seems to me that it’s not wise, Given the hatred he has for you And the advantage he’d gain after your death, That he should be near you or allowed in your council. He’s won the common people over with flattery, And when he wants to stir up trouble, It’s feared that they’ll all follow him. Now is spring, and weeds have shallow roots; Let them grow now, and they’ll take over the garden And strangle the flowers if we don’t manage them. The concern I have for my lord Made me see these dangers in the duke. If it’s foolish, call it a woman’s worry; But if better reasons can convince me, I’ll admit I was wrong about the duke. My Lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York, Disprove what I’ve said, if you can; Or else accept that my words are true.
Well hath your highness seen into this duke; And, had I first been put to speak my mind, I think I should have told your grace’s tale. The duchess, by his subornation, Upon my life, began her devilish practises: Or, if he were not privy to those faults, Yet, by reputing of his high descent, As next the king he was successive heir, And such high vaunts of his nobility, Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess By wicked means to frame our sovereign’s fall. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason. The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb. No, no, my sovereign; Gloucester is a man Unsounded yet and full of deep deceit.
Your highness has rightly seen through this duke; And if I had been asked first to speak my mind, I would’ve told the same story. The duchess, by his encouragement, Started her evil plans, I swear, Or if he wasn’t involved in those deeds, At least his high status and claims to the throne Encouraged the mad duchess To use wicked methods to bring down our king. Water flows smoothly where the river is deep; And in his simple appearance, he hides treason. The fox doesn’t bark when it’s about to steal the lamb. No, no, my king; Gloucester is a man Who is still unknown and full of hidden deceit.
Did he not, contrary to form of law, Devise strange deaths for small offences done?
Didn’t he, contrary to the law, Order cruel deaths for minor offenses?
And did he not, in his protectorship, Levy great sums of money through the realm For soldiers’ pay in France, and never sent it? By means whereof the towns each day revolted.
And didn’t he, while he was protector, Take large sums of money from the kingdom For soldiers’ pay in France, and never send it? Because of this, the towns rebelled every day.
Tut, these are petty faults to faults unknown. Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphrey.
These are small faults compared to others. Time will reveal them all in the end, Smoothly as it does with Duke Humphrey.
My lords, at once: the care you have of us, To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, Is worthy praise: but, shall I speak my conscience, Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil or to work my downfall.
My lords, listen: your concern for us, To cut down the thorns that might hurt us, Is worthy of praise; but, if I may speak honestly, Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent Of plotting against us as a lamb or dove: The duke is virtuous, gentle, and too kind To dream of evil or cause my ruin.
Ah, what’s more dangerous than this fond affiance! Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrowed, For he’s disposed as the hateful raven: Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he’s inclined as is the ravenous wolf. Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit? Take heed, my lord; the welfare of us all Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.
Ah, what’s more dangerous than this blind trust! Does he seem like a dove? His feathers are fake, For he’s more like a hateful raven: Is he a lamb? His skin is surely borrowed, For he’s as vicious as a hungry wolf. Who can’t take on a form of deceit? Be careful, my lord; our whole welfare Depends on stopping that deceitful man.
All health unto my gracious sovereign!
All health to my gracious sovereign!
Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?
Welcome, Lord Somerset. What news from France?
That all your interest in those territories Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.
You have lost all your land in France; Everything is gone.
Cold news, Lord Somerset: but God’s will be done!
Bad news, Lord Somerset, but God’s will be done!
[Aside] Cold news for me; for I had hope of France As firmly as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud And caterpillars eat my leaves away; But I will remedy this gear ere long, Or sell my title for a glorious grave.
[Aside] Bad news for me; I had hoped for France As strongly as I hope for a prosperous England. But now my hopes have been ruined before they could grow And worms are eating away my future; But I will fix this soon, Or give up my title for a glorious death.
All happiness unto my lord the king! Pardon, my liege, that I have stay’d so long.
All happiness to my lord the king! Forgive me, my king, for staying so long.
Nay, Gloucester, know that thou art come too soon, Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art: I do arrest thee of high treason here.
No, Gloucester, you’re too early, Unless you’re more loyal than I think: I charge you with high treason here.
Well, Suffolk, thou shalt not see me blush Nor change my countenance for this arrest: A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. The purest spring is not so free from mud As I am clear from treason to my sovereign: Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?
Well, Suffolk, I won’t blush Or change my face because of this accusation: A clear heart isn’t easily scared. The cleanest stream isn’t free from mud As I am free from treason against my king: Who can accuse me? What have I done wrong?
’Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France, And, being protector, stayed the soldiers’ pay; By means whereof his highness hath lost France.
It’s believed, my lord, that you took bribes from France, And, as protector, held back the soldiers’ pay; Because of that, our king lost France.
Is it but thought so? what are they that think it? I never robb’d the soldiers of their pay, Nor ever had one penny bribe from France. So help me God, as I have watch’d the night, Ay, night by night, in studying good for England, That doit that e’er I wrested from the king, Or any groat I hoarded to my use, Be brought against me at my trial-day! No; many a pound of mine own proper store, Because I would not tax the needy commons, Have I disbursed to the garrisons, And never ask’d for restitution.
Is that just a rumor? Who thinks this? I never took the soldiers’ pay, Nor did I ever take a penny from France. So help me God, as I have spent the night, Yes, night after night, working for England’s good, Let the smallest coin I ever took from the king, Or any penny I saved for myself, Be brought up at my trial! No; I’ve spent my own money, Because I didn’t want to tax the poor common people, To help the soldiers, And I never asked for it back.
It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.
It’s good, my lord, that you say this.
I say no more than truth, so help me God!
I speak only the truth, so help me God!
In your protectorship you did devise Strange tortures for offenders never heard of, That England was defamed by tyranny.
While you were protector, you invented Strange punishments for crimes never heard of, And England was shamed by your cruelty.
Why, ’tis well known that, whiles I was protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me; For I should melt at an offender’s tears, And lowly words were ransom for their fault. Unless it were a bloody murderer, Or foul felonious thief that fleeced poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment: Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured Above the felon or what trespass else.
Well, it’s well-known that while I was protector, Pity was the only flaw in me; Because I would feel for an offender’s tears, And kind words would be enough to forgive them. Unless it was a bloody murderer, Or a cruel thief who robbed poor travelers, I never punished them harshly: Murder, that terrible sin, I punished More than any other crime.
My lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered: But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his highness’ name; And here commit you to my lord cardinal To keep, until your further time of trial.
My lord, those mistakes are easy to explain: But bigger crimes are being blamed on you, And you can’t easily clear yourself of them. I arrest you in the name of the king; And here I hand you over to my lord cardinal To keep until your trial.
My lord of Gloucester, ’tis my special hope That you will clear yourself from all suspect: My conscience tells me you are innocent.
My lord of Gloucester, I truly hope You will clear yourself of all suspicion: My conscience tells me you are innocent.
Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous: Virtue is choked with foul ambition And charity chased hence by rancour’s hand; Foul subornation is predominant And equity exiled your highness’ land. I know their complot is to have my life, And if my death might make this island happy, And prove the period of their tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness: But mine is made the prologue to their play; For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted tragedy. Beaufort’s red sparkling eyes blab his heart’s malice, And Suffolk’s cloudy brow his stormy hate; Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue The envious load that lies upon his heart; And dogged York, that reaches at the moon, Whose overweening arm I have pluck’d back, By false accuse doth level at my life: And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, And with your best endeavour have stirr’d up My liefest liege to be mine enemy: Ay, all you have laid your heads together-- Myself had notice of your conventicles-- And all to make away my guiltless life. I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; The ancient proverb will be well effected: ’A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.’
Ah, gracious lord, these are dangerous times: Goodness is smothered by selfish ambition And kindness driven away by hatred; Secret plots are in charge And fairness has been banished from your land. I know their plan is to take my life, And if my death could make this country happy, And end their tyranny, I would give it gladly: But mine is the first death in their play; For thousands more, who don’t see the danger, Will not end their planned tragedy. Beaufort’s fiery eyes betray his hatred, And Suffolk’s furrowed brow shows his stormy anger; Sharp Buckingham vents his envy With his words; And dogged York, reaching for the moon, Whose over-ambitious arm I’ve pulled back, By false accusations aims at my life: And you, my queen, with the rest, Without cause have put disgrace on me, And with all your efforts have turned My most loyal king against me: Yes, all of you have joined together-- I knew of your meetings-- And all to end my innocent life. I won’t lack for false witnesses to convict me, Or plenty of traitors to add to my guilt; The old saying will come true: ‘It’s easy to find a stick to beat a dog.’
My liege, his railing is intolerable: If those that care to keep your royal person From treason’s secret knife and traitors’ rage Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at, And the offender granted scope of speech, ’Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.
My king, his accusations are unbearable: If those who are supposed to protect your royal life From treason’s hidden knife and traitor’s fury Are treated this way, criticized and scolded, And the accused is allowed to speak freely, It will make them less eager to serve you.
Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here With ignominious words, though clerkly couch’d, As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations to o’erthrow his state?
Has he not insulted our queen here With shameful words, though they were carefully phrased, As if she had bribed people to lie And ruin his position?
But I can give the loser leave to chide.
But I can let the loser complain.
Far truer spoke than meant: I lose, indeed; Beshrew the winners, for they play’d me false! And well such losers may have leave to speak.
That’s more true than I meant: I really do lose; Curse the winners, for they deceived me! And well, losers like me can be allowed to speak.
He’ll wrest the sense and hold us here all day: Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.
He’ll twist the meaning and keep us here all day: Lord Cardinal, he’s your prisoner now.
Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.
Gentlemen, take the duke away, and guard him carefully.
Ah! thus King Henry throws away his crutch Before his legs be firm to bear his body. Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side, And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. Ah, that my fear were false! ah, that it were! For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear.
Ah! this is how King Henry throws away his support Before his legs are strong enough to carry him. This is how the shepherd is driven from your side, And the wolves are snarling, ready to attack. Ah, I wish my fear were false! Ah, I wish it were! For, good King Henry, I fear for your decline.
My lords, what to your wisdoms seemeth best, Do or undo, as if ourself were here.
My lords, do what you think is best, Whether to act or undo things, as if I were here myself.
What, will your highness leave the parliament?
What, will your highness leave the parliament?
Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown’d with grief, Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes, My body round engirt with misery, For what’s more miserable than discontent? Ah, uncle Humphrey! in thy face I see The map of honour, truth and loyalty: And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come That e’er I proved thee false or fear’d thy faith. What louring star now envies thy estate, That these great lords and Margaret our queen Do seek subversion of thy harmless life? Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong; And as the butcher takes away the calf And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house, Even so remorseless have they borne him hence; And as the dam runs lowing up and down, Looking the way her harmless young one went, And can do nought but wail her darling’s loss, Even so myself bewails good Gloucester’s case With sad unhelpful tears, and with dimm’d eyes Look after him and cannot do him good, So mighty are his vowed enemies. His fortunes I will weep; and, ’twixt each groan Say ’Who’s a traitor? Gloucester he is none.’
Yes, Margaret; my heart is overwhelmed with grief, And the flood of tears begins to pour from my eyes, My body surrounded by misery, For what is more miserable than being discontent? Ah, Uncle Humphrey! in your face I see The picture of honor, truth, and loyalty: And yet, good Humphrey, has there ever been a time When I have proved you false or feared your loyalty? What evil star is jealous of your position, That these great lords and Margaret our queen Seek to bring ruin to your innocent life? You never wronged them, nor anyone else; And just as the butcher takes the calf away And ties it up, beating it when it strays, Dragging it to the slaughterhouse, So mercilessly have they taken him away; And just as the mother cow cries out, Running up and down, looking for her lost calf, Unable to do anything but weep for her lost darling, So I weep for good Gloucester’s fate, With helpless tears and dimmed eyes, Watching him go and being unable to help him, For his enemies are too powerful. I will mourn his fate; and with each sigh, I will say, ‘Who is a traitor? Gloucester is not.’
Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun’s hot beams. Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester’s show Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers, Or as the snake roll’d in a flowering bank, With shining chequer’d slough, doth sting a child That for the beauty thinks it excellent. Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I-- And yet herein I judge mine own wit good-- This Gloucester should be quickly rid the world, To rid us of the fear we have of him.
Free lords, cold snow melts when the sun shines on it. Henry, my lord, is indifferent to important matters, Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester’s act Tricks him, just like the sad crocodile Uses sorrow to trap pitying travelers, Or like the snake lying in a flower bed, With its bright, patterned skin, stings a child Who thinks its beauty is wonderful. Believe me, lords, if no one were wiser than I— And yet in this case, I think my judgment is good— This Gloucester should be quickly removed from the world, To rid us of the fear we have of him.
That he should die is worthy policy; But yet we want a colour for his death: ’Tis meet he be condemn’d by course of law.
That he should die is a wise political move; But we still need a reason for his death: It’s right that he be condemned by law.
But, in my mind, that were no policy: The king will labour still to save his life, The commons haply rise, to save his life; And yet we have but trivial argument, More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death.
But, in my opinion, that’s not a good plan: The king will still try to save his life, The common people may rise up to save him; And yet we have only weak evidence, More than just suspicion, that makes him worthy of death.
So that, by this, you would not have him die.
So, by saying this, you would not want him to die?
Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I!
Ah, York, no one alive wants it more than I!
’Tis York that hath more reason for his death. But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk, Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, Were’t not all one, an empty eagle were set To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, As place Duke Humphrey for the king’s protector?
It’s York who has more reason for his death. But, my lord Cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk, Say what you really think, and speak from your hearts, Wouldn’t it be the same, if an empty eagle were set To guard a chicken from a hungry hawk, As if we placed Duke Humphrey as the king’s protector?
So the poor chicken should be sure of death.
So the poor chicken is definitely going to die.
Madam, ’tis true; and were’t not madness, then, To make the fox surveyor of the fold? Who being accused a crafty murderer, His guilt should be but idly posted over, Because his purpose is not executed. No; let him die, in that he is a fox, By nature proved an enemy to the flock, Before his chaps be stain’d with crimson blood, As Humphrey, proved by reasons, to my liege. And do not stand on quillets how to slay him: Be it by gins, by snares, by subtlety, Sleeping or waking, ’tis no matter how, So he be dead; for that is good deceit Which mates him first that first intends deceit.
Madam, it’s true; and if it weren’t crazy, then, Would it not be madness to make the fox the keeper of the henhouse? A fox, accused of being a sly murderer, His guilt should be easily covered up, Just because he hasn’t yet carried out his plan. No; let him die, because he’s a fox, By nature an enemy to the flock, Before his jaws are stained with blood, Like Humphrey, as proven by reason, to my king. And don’t argue about how to kill him: Whether by traps, by snares, by trickery, Whether sleeping or awake, it doesn’t matter how, As long as he’s dead; because that’s good deceit Which catches the one who first intends deceit.
Thrice-noble Suffolk, ’tis resolutely spoke.
Noble Suffolk, you speak with great determination.
Not resolute, except so much were done; For things are often spoke and seldom meant: But that my heart accordeth with my tongue, Seeing the deed is meritorious, And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, Say but the word, and I will be his priest.
Not determined, unless it’s already done; For things are often said and rarely meant: But my heart agrees with my words, Seeing the deed is worthy, And to protect my king from his enemy, Just say the word, and I will act as his priest.
But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk, Ere you can take due orders for a priest: Say you consent and censure well the deed, And I’ll provide his executioner, I tender so the safety of my liege.
But I would want him dead, my Lord Suffolk, Before you can take the proper steps for a priest: If you agree and approve the deed, I’ll find someone to carry out the execution, I’m just looking out for my king’s safety.
Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.
Here’s my hand, the deed is worth doing.
And so say I.
And I agree.
And I and now we three have spoke it, It skills not greatly who impugns our doom.
And now that the three of us have spoken, It doesn’t matter much who opposes our decision.
Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, To signify that rebels there are up And put the Englishmen unto the sword: Send succors, lords, and stop the rage betime, Before the wound do grow uncurable; For, being green, there is great hope of help.
Great lords, I’ve come straight from Ireland, To inform you that the rebels are up there And are attacking the English: Send help, lords, and stop the rage in time, Before the wound becomes incurable; For since it’s still fresh, there’s great hope of recovery.
A breach that craves a quick expedient stop! What counsel give you in this weighty cause?
A crisis that needs an immediate solution! What advice do you have for this serious matter?
That Somerset be sent as regent thither: ’Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ’d; Witness the fortune he hath had in France.
Send Somerset as regent there: It’s right that such a lucky ruler should be sent; Just look at the success he’s had in France.
If York, with all his far-fet policy, Had been the regent there instead of me, He never would have stay’d in France so long.
If York, with all his far-fetched plans, Had been the regent there instead of me, He never would have stayed in France so long.
No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done: I rather would have lost my life betimes Than bring a burthen of dishonour home By staying there so long till all were lost. Show me one scar character’d on thy skin: Men’s flesh preserved so whole do seldom win.
No, not to lose it all, like you did: I’d rather have lost my life early on Than bring home the burden of dishonor By staying there so long until everything was lost. Show me one scar on your skin: Men who stay too whole rarely win.
Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire, If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with: No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be still: Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there, Might happily have proved far worse than his.
Well then, this small spark will become a raging fire, If wind and fuel are brought to feed it: No more, good York; sweet Somerset, be quiet: Your fortune, York, if you had been regent there, Might have turned out much worse than his.
What, worse than nought? nay, then, a shame take all!
What, worse than nothing? Then shame on everything!
And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!
And, in the group, you who wish disgrace!
My Lord of York, try what your fortune is. The uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms And temper clay with blood of Englishmen: To Ireland will you lead a band of men, Collected choicely, from each county some, And try your hap against the Irishmen?
My Lord of York, test what your luck is. The wild fighters of Ireland are in arms And mix clay with the blood of Englishmen: Will you lead a group of men to Ireland, Carefully chosen, with some from each county, And try your luck against the Irish?
I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
I will, my lord, if it pleases the king.
Why, our authority is his consent, And what we do establish he confirms: Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.
Why, our authority is his approval, And whatever we decide, he confirms: Then, noble York, take on this task.
I am content: provide me soldiers, lords, Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.
I’m happy with that: provide me soldiers, lords, While I handle my own matters.
A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform’d. But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.
A task, Lord York, that I will make sure gets done. But now, let’s return to the false Duke Humphrey.
No more of him; for I will deal with him That henceforth he shall trouble us no more. And so break off; the day is almost spent: Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.
No more about him; I will deal with him So he’ll trouble us no more. And let’s break off here; the day is nearly over: Lord Suffolk, you and I need to discuss that matter.
My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days At Bristol I expect my soldiers; For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland.
My Lord of Suffolk, in fourteen days I expect my soldiers in Bristol; For there I’ll ship them off to Ireland.
I’ll see it truly done, my Lord of York.
I’ll make sure it’s done, my Lord of York.
Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution: Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying: Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man, And find no harbour in a royal heart. Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity. My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men: I fear me you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts. ’Twas men I lack’d and you will give them me: I take it kindly; and yet be well assured You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, I will stir up in England some black storm Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell; And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage Until the golden circuit on my head, Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams, Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. And, for a minister of my intent, I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman, John Cade of Ashford, To make commotion, as full well he can, Under the title of John Mortimer. In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade Oppose himself against a troop of kerns, And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts Were almost like a sharp-quill’d porpentine; And, in the end being rescued, I have seen Him caper upright like a wild Morisco, Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. Full often, like a shag-hair’d crafty kern, Hath he conversed with the enemy, And undiscover’d come to me again And given me notice of their villanies. This devil here shall be my substitute; For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble: By this I shall perceive the commons’ mind, How they affect the house and claim of York. Say he be taken, rack’d and tortured, I know no pain they can inflict upon him Will make him say I moved him to those arms. Say that he thrive, as ’tis great like he will, Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength And reap the harvest which that rascal sow’d; For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put apart, the next for me.
Now, York, or never, steel your fearful thoughts, And turn doubt into resolve: Be what you hope to be, or resign yourself To death; it’s not worth enjoying: Let pale fear stay with the lowborn man, And not find shelter in a royal heart. Faster than springtime showers come thoughts On thoughts, And every thought is about dignity. My mind is busier than a spider’s web Weaving traps for my enemies. Well, nobles, well, it’s smartly done, To send me off with an army: I fear you’re just warming up the starving snake, Who, nurtured in your hearts, will sting Your souls. It’s men I lacked and you’ll give them to me: I appreciate it; but be sure You’re putting sharp weapons in a madman’s hands. While I gather a powerful army in Ireland, I will stir up a storm in England That will send ten thousand souls to heaven or hell; And this storm won’t stop raging Until the crown on my head, Like the sun’s clear rays, Calms the fury of this madness. And, to carry out my plan, I’ve won over a rebellious man from Kent, John Cade of Ashford, To create a disturbance, as best as he can, Under the name of John Mortimer. In Ireland, I’ve seen this stubborn Cade Fight against a group of Irish warriors, And fight so long that his thighs were covered With darts, like a porcupine; And in the end, when rescued, I saw him Dance like a wild Moor, Shaking the bloody darts as if they were bells. Often, like a shaggy, sly fighter, He’s met with the enemy, And returned unnoticed to me To inform me of their evil deeds. This devil will be my stand-in; For this John Mortimer, who is now dead, Looks like him in face, walk, and speech: This way, I’ll see how the common people feel, How they support the York family’s claim. If he’s caught, tortured, and broken, I know no pain they can inflict That will make him say I pushed him to those actions. If he succeeds, as I think he will, Then I’ll return from Ireland with my strength And reap the rewards that rascal planted; For once Humphrey is dead, as he will be, And Henry is out of the way, the throne is mine.