Exit Warwicke, and Salisbury. Manet Yorke.
Aniou and Maine are giuen to the French,
Paris is lost, the state of Normandie
Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone:
Suffolke concluded on the Articles,
The Peeres agreed, and Henry was well pleas'd,
To change two Dukedomes for a Dukes faire daughter.
I cannot blame them all, what is't to them?
'Tis thine they giue away, and not their owne.
Pirates may make cheape penyworths of their pillage,
And purchase Friends, and giue to Curtezans,
Still reuelling like Lords till all be gone,
While as the silly Owner of the goods
Weepes ouer them, and wrings his haplesse hands,
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloofe,
While all is shar'd, and all is borne away,
Ready to sterue, and dare not touch his owne.
So Yorke must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue,
While his owne Lands are bargain'd for, and sold:
Me thinkes the Realmes of England, France, & Ireland,
Beare that proportion to my flesh and blood,
As did the fatall brand Althæa burnt,
Vnto the Princes heart of Calidon:
Aniou and Maine both giuen vnto the French?
Cold newes for me: for I had hope of France,
Euen as I haue of fertile Englands soile.
A day will come, when Yorke shall claime his owne,
And therefore I will take the Neuils parts,
And make a shew of loue to proud Duke Humfrey,
And when I spy aduantage, claime the Crowne,
For that's the Golden marke I seeke to hit:
Nor shall proud Lancaster vsurpe my right,
Nor hold the Scepter in his childish Fist,
Nor weare the Diadem vpon his head,
Whose Church‑like humors fits not for a Crowne.
Then Yorke be still a‑while, till time do serue:
Watch thou, and wake when others be asleepe,
To prie into the secrets of the State,
Till Henrie surfetting in ioyes of loue,
With his new Bride, & Englands deere bought Queen,
And Humfrey with the Peeres be falne at iarres:
Then will I raise aloft the Milke‑white‑Rose,
With whose sweet smell the Ayre shall be perfum'd,
And in in my Standard beare the Armes of Yorke,
To grapple with the house of Lancaster,
And force perforce Ile make him yeeld the Crowne,
Whose bookish Rule, hath pull'd faire England downe.