Hath put vs in these ill-befeeming armes,
Not to breake peace, or any braunch of it,
But to establish heere a peace indeede,
Concurring both in name and qualitie.

Weft. When euer yet was your appeale denied
Wherein haue you been galled by the king?
What peere hath beene fubornde to grate on you?
That you should feale this lawleffe bloody booke
Of forgde rebellion with a feale diuine,
And confecrate commotions bitter edge.

Bishop. My brother generall, the common wealth
To brother borne an houfhold cruelty,
I make my quarrell in particular.

Weft. There is no neede of any fuch redreffe,
Or if there were, it not belongs to you.

Mowbray. Why not to him in part, and to vs all
That feele the bruifes of the daies before?

And fuffer the condition of thefe times,
To lay a heauy and vnequall hand
Vpon our honors.

Weft. But this is meere digreffion from my purpose.
Here come I from our princely generall,

To know your griefes, to tell you from his grace,
That he will giue you audience, and wherein
It shall appeere that your demaunds are iuft,
You fhall enioy them, euery thing fet off
That might fo much as thinke you enemies.

Mowbray. But he hath forcde vs to compel this offer,

And it proceedes from policie, not loue.

Weft. Mowbray, you ouerweene to take it so:
This offer comes from mercy, not from feare:
For loe, within a ken our army lies:
Vpon mine honour, all too confident
To giue admittance to a thought of feare:

Our battell is more full of names than yours,
Our men more perfect in the vse of armes,
Our armour all as ftrong, our cause the best:
Then reafon will our hearts should be as good:
Say you not then, our offer is compelld.

Mow Well, by my will, we shall admit no parlee.
Weft. That argues but the fhame of your offence,
A rotten cafe abides no handling.

Haftings. Hath the prince Ichn a full commiffion,
In very ample vertue of his father,

To heare, and abfolutely to determine

Of what conditions we shall stand vpon ?

Weft. That is intended in the generalles name,

I muse you make fo flight a question.

Bishop. Then take, my lord of Westmerland, this fcedule, For this containes our generall grieuances,

Each feuerall article herein redrest.

All members of our cause both here and hence,

That are enfinewed to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantiall forme,
And prefent execution of our willes,
To vs and our purpofe confinde,
We come within our awefull bancks againe,
And knit our powers to the arme of peace.

Weft. This will I fhew the generall, please you lords,
In fight of both our battells we may meete,
At either end in peace, which God fo frame,
Or to the place of diffrence call the fwords,
Which muft decide it.

Bihop. My lord, we will doe fo.

Exit Westmerland.

Mow. There is a thing within my bofome tells me

That no conditions of our peace can stand.

Haflings. Feare you not, that if we can make our peace,

Vpon fuch large termes, and fo abfolute,

As

As our conditions fhall confift vpon,

Our peace shall stand as firme as rockie mountaines.
Moub. Yea but our valuation shal be such,
That euery flight and falfe deriued caufe,
Yea euery idle, nice, and wanton reason,
Shall to the king taste of this action,
That were our royal faiths martires in loue,
We shall be winow'd with fo rough a wind,
That euen our corne shall feeme as light as chaffe,
And good from bad find no partition.

Bifh. No, no, my lord, note this, the king is weary

Of daintie and fuch picking greeuances,

For he hath found, to end one doubt by death,

Reuiues two greater in the heires of life:
And therefore will he wipe his tables cleane,
And keepe no tel-tale to his memorie,
That may repeate, and hiftory his loffe,
To new remembrance: for full wel he knowes,
He cannot fo precifely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occafion,
His foes are fo enrooted with his friends,
That plucking to vnfix an enemy,
He doth vnfasten so, and shake a friend,
So that this land, like an offenfiue wife,
That hath enragde him on to offer strokes,
As he is ftriking, holdes his infant vp,
And hangs refolu'd correction in the arme,
That was vpreard to execution.

Haft. Befides, the king hath wafted al his rods,
On late offendors, that he now doth lacke

The very inftruments of chafticement,

So that his power, like to a phanglesse lion,
May offer, but not hold.

Biflop. Tis very true,

And therefore be affurde, my good lord marshall.

If we do now make our attonement well,

Our peace wil like a broken limbe vnited,

Grow ftronger for the breaking.

Mow. Be it fo, here is returnd my lord of Weftmerland.

Enter Weftmerland.

Weft. The prince is here at hand, pleaseth your lordship To meet his grace iuft diftance tweene our armies.

Enter prince Iohn and his armie.

Mow. Your grace of York, in Gods name then fet forward. Bishop. Before, and greete his grace (my lord) we come. Ichn. You are well incountred here, my coufen Mowbray, Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop,

And fo to you lord Haflings, and to all.

My lord of Yorke, it better fhewed with you,
When that your flocke affembled by the bell,
Encircled you, to heare with reuerence,
Your expofition on the holy text,

That now to fee you here, an yron man talking,
Cheering a rowt of rebells with your drumme,
Turning the word to fword, and life to death.
That man that fits within a monarches heart,
And ripens in the fun-fhine of his fauor,
Would he abufe the countenance of the king:
Alacke what mifcheefes might he fet abroach,
In fhadow of fuch greatneffe? with your lord bishop
It is euen fo, who hath not heard it spoken,
How deepe you were within the bookes of God,
To vs the fpeaker in his parliament,

To vs th'imagine voice of God himfelfe,

The

The very opener and intelligencer,
Betweene the grace, the fanctities of heauen,
And our dull workings? O who fhal beleeue,
But you mifufe the reuerence of your place,
Imply the countenance and grace of heau'n,
As a falfe fauorite doth his princes name:
In deedes difhonorable you haue tane vp,
Vnder the counterfeited zeale of God,
The fubiects of his fubftitute my father,
And both againft the peace of heauen and him,
Haue here vpfwarmd them.

Bishop. Good my lord of Lancaster,

I am not here against your fathers peace,
But as I told my lord of Wefimerland,
The time mifordred doth in common sense,
Crowd vs and crush vs to this monstrous forme,
To hold our fafety vp: I fent your grace,

The parcells and particulars of our griefe,

The which hath beene with fcorne fhoued from the court,
Whereon this Hidra, fonne of warre is borne,

Whofe dangerous eies may well be charmd afleepe,

With graunt of our most iust, and right desires,
And true obedience of this madnes cured,

Stoope tamely to the foote of maieftie.

Mow. If not, we ready are to trie our fortunes,
To the last man.

Haft. And though we here fal downe,
We haue fupplies to fecond our attempt,
If they mifcarry, theirs fhal fecond them,
And fo fucceffe of mischiese shall be borne,
And heire from heire fhall hold his quarrell vp,
Whiles England fhall haue generation.

Prince. You are too fhallow Haftings, much too fhallow,'

To found the bottome of the after times.

Weft.