The Duke yet liues, that Henry shall depose:
But him out-liue, and dye a violent death.
Why this is iust, Aio aeacida Romanos vincere posso.
Well, to the rest:
Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolke?
By Water shall he dye, and take his end.
What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?
Let him shunne Castles,
Safer shall he be vpon the sandie Plaines,
Then where Castles mounted stand.
Come, come, my Lords,
These Oracles are hardly attain'd,
And hardly vnderstood.
The King is now in progresse towards Saint Albones,
With him, the Husband of this louely Lady:
Thither goes these Newes,
As fast as Horse can carry them:
A sorry Breakfast for my Lord Protector
Buck. Your Grace shal giue me leaue, my Lord of York,
To be the Poste, in hope of his reward
Yorke. At your pleasure, my good Lord.
Who's within there, hoe?
Enter a Seruingman.
Inuite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick
To suppe with me to morrow Night. Away.
Exeunt.
Enter the King, Queene, Protector, Cardinall, and Suffolke, with Faulkners hallowing.
Queene. Beleeue me Lords, for flying at the Brooke,
I saw not better sport these seuen yeeres day:
Yet by your leaue, the Winde was very high,
And ten to one, old Ioane had not gone out
King. But what a point, my Lord, your Faulcon made,
And what a pytch she flew aboue the rest:
To see how God in all his Creatures workes,
Yea Man and Birds are fayne of climbing high
Suff. No maruell, and it like your Maiestie,
My Lord Protectors Hawkes doe towre so well,
They know their Master loues to be aloft,
And beares his thoughts aboue his Faulcons Pitch
Glost. My Lord, 'tis but a base ignoble minde,
That mounts no higher then a Bird can sore:
Card. I thought as much, hee would be aboue the
Clouds