Queene. And as for you that loue to be protected
Vnder the Wings of our Protectors Grace,
Begin your Suites anew, and sue to him.
Teare the Supplication.
Away, base Cullions: Suffolke let them goe
All. Come, let's be gone.
Enter.
Queene. My Lord of Suffolke, say, is this the guise?
Is this the Fashions in the Court of England?
Is this the Gouernment of Britaines Ile?
And this the Royaltie of Albions King?
What, shall King Henry be a Pupill still,
Vnder the surly Glosters Gouernance?
Am I a Queene in Title and in Stile,
And must be made a Subiect to a Duke?
I tell thee Poole, when in the Citie Tours
Thou ran'st a-tilt in honor of my Loue,
And stol'st away the Ladies hearts of France;
I thought King Henry had resembled thee,
In Courage, Courtship, and Proportion:
But all his minde is bent to Holinesse,
To number Aue-Maries on his Beades:
His Champions, are the Prophets and Apostles,
His Weapons, holy Sawes of sacred Writ,
His Studie is his Tilt-yard, and his Loues
Are brazen Images of Canonized Saints.
I would the Colledge of the Cardinalls
Would chuse him Pope, and carry him to Rome,
And set the Triple Crowne vpon his Head;
That were a State fit for his Holinesse
Suff. Madame be patient: as I was cause
Your Highnesse came to England, so will I
In England worke your Graces full content
Queene. Beside the haughtie Protector, haue we Beauford
The imperious Churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,
And grumbling Yorke: and not the least of these,
But can doe more in England then the King
Suff. And he of these, that can doe most of all,
Cannot doe more in England then the Neuils:
Salisbury and Warwick are no simple Peeres
Queene. Not all these Lords do vex me halfe so much,
As that prowd Dame, the Lord Protectors Wife:
She sweepes it through the Court with troups of Ladies,
More like an Empresse, then Duke Humphreyes Wife:
Strangers in Court, doe take her for the Queene:
She beares a Dukes Reuenewes on her backe,
And in her heart she scornes our Pouertie:
Shall I not liue to be aueng'd on her?
Contemptuous base-borne Callot as she is,
She vaunted 'mongst her Minions t' other day,
The very trayne of her worst wearing Gowne,
Was better worth then all my Fathers Lands,
Till Suffolke gaue two Dukedomes for his Daughter
Suff. Madame, my selfe haue lym'd a Bush for her,
And plac't a Quier of such enticing Birds,
That she will light to listen to the Layes,
And neuer mount to trouble you againe.
So let her rest: and Madame list to me,
For I am bold to counsaile you in this;
Although we fancie not the Cardinall,
Yet must we ioyne with him and with the Lords,
Till we haue brought Duke Humphrey in disgrace.
As for the Duke of Yorke, this late Complaint
Will make but little for his benefit:
So one by one wee'le weed them all at last,
And you your selfe shall steere the happy Helme.
Enter.