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The Same. The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER’S Garden. | |
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Enter MARGERY JOURDAIN, HUME, SOUTHWELL, and BOLINGBROKE. | |
| Hume. Come, my masters; the duchess, I tell you, expects performance of your promises. | |
| Boling. Master Hume, we are therefore provided. Will her ladyship behold and hear our exorcisms? | |
| Hume. Ay; what else? fear you not her courage. | 5 |
| Boling. I have heard her reported to be a woman of invincible spirit: but it shall be convenient, Master Hume, that you be by her aloft while we be busy below; and so, I pray you, go in God’s name, and leave us. [Exit HUME.] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate, and grovel on the earth; John Southwell, read you; and let us to our work. | |
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Enter DUCHESS aloft, HUME following. | |
| Duch. Well said, my masters, and welcome all. | |
| To this gear the sooner the better. | |
| Boling. Patience, good lady; wizards know their times: | 10 |
| Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, | |
| The time of night when Troy was set on fire; | |
| The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl, | |
| And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves, | |
| That time best fits the work we have in hand. | 15 |
| Madam, sit you, and fear not: whom we raise | |
| We will make fast within a hallow’d verge. [Here they perform the ceremonies belonging, and make the circle; BOLINGBROKE, or SOUTHWELL reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens terribly; then the Spirit riseth. | |
| Spir. Adsum. | |
| M. Jourd. Asmath! | |
| By the eternal God, whose name and power | 20 |
| Thou tremblest at, answer that I shall ask; | |
| For till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. | |
| Spir. Ask what thou wilt. That I had said and done! | |
| Boling. First, of the king: what shall of him become? | |
| Spir. The Duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; | 25 |
| But him outlive, and die a violent death. [As the Spirit speaks, SOUTHWELL writes the answers. | |
| Boling. What fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? | |
| Spir. By water shall he die and take his end. | |
| Boling. What shall befall the Duke of Somerset? | |
| Spir. Let him shun castles: | 30 |
| Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains | |
| Than where castles mounted stand. | |
| Have done, for more I hardly can endure. | |
| Boling. Descend to darkness and the burning lake! | |
| False fiend, avoid! [Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends. | 35 |
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Enter YORK and BUCKINGHAM, hastily, with their Guards, and Others. | |
| York. Lay hands upon these traitors and their trash. | |
| Beldam, I’think we watch’d you at an inch. | |
| What! madam, are you there? the king and commonweal | |
| Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains: | 40 |
| My Lord Protector will, I doubt it not, | |
| See you well guerdon’d for these good deserts. | |
| Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England’s king, | |
| Injurious duke, that threat’st where is no cause. | |
| Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you this? [Showing her the papers. | 45 |
| Away with them! let them be clapp’d up close | |
| And kept asunder. You, madam, shall with us: | |
| Stafford, take her to thee.— [Exeunt above, DUCHESS and HUME guarded. | |
| We’ll see your trinkets here all forthcoming. | |
| All, away! [Exeunt SOUTHWELL, BOLINGBROKE, &c., guarded. | 50 |
| York. Lord Buckingham, methinks you watch’d her well: | |
| A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon! | |
| Now, pray, my lord, let’s see the devil’s writ. | |
| What have we here? | |
| The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose; | 55 |
| But him outlive, and die a violent death. | |
| Why, this is just, | |
| Aio te, Æacida, Romanos vincere posse. | |
| Well, to the rest: | |
| Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? | 60 |
| By water shall he die and take his end. | |
| What shall betide the Duke of Somerset? | |
| Let him shun castles: | |
| Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains | |
| Than where castles mounted stand. | 65 |
| Come, come, my lords; these oracles | |
| Are hardly attain’d, and hardly understood. | |
| The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban’s; | |
| With him, the husband of this lovely lady: | |
| Thither go these news as fast as horse can carry them, | 70 |
| A sorry breakfast for my Lord Protector. | |
| Buck. Your Grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, | |
| To be the post, in hope of his reward. | |
| York. At your pleasure, my good lord. Who’s within there, ho! | |
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Enter a Serving-man. | 75 |
| Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick | |
| To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! [Flourish. Exeunt. | |
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