YORK.
What, worse than naught? Nay, then a shame take all!
SOMERSET.
And, in the number, thee that wishest shame!
CARDINAL.
My Lord of York, try what your fortune is.
Th’ 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?
YORK.
I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
SUFFOLK.
Why, our authority is his consent,
And what we do establish he confirms.
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.
YORK.
I am content. Provide me soldiers, lords,
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.
SUFFOLK.
A charge, Lord York, that I will see performed.
But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey.
CARDINAL.
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.
YORK.
My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol I expect my soldiers;
For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland.
SUFFOLK.
I’ll see it truly done, my Lord of York.