The envious load that lies upon his heart;
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whose overweening arm I have pluck’d back,
160 By false accuse doth level at my life:
And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head
[♦] And with your best endeavour have stirr’d up
My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
165 Ay, all of you have laid your heads together—
[♦] Myself had notice of your conventicles—