_Car._ My Lord of York, try what your fortune is. The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms   ·bca310· And temper clay with blood of Englishmen: To Ireland will you lead a band of men, Collected choicely, from each county some,   [bca313] And try your hap against the Irishmen? _York._ I will, my lord, so please his majesty.   ·bca315· _Suf._ 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.   ·bca320· _Suf._ A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform’d. But now return we to the false Duke Humphrey. _Car._ 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:   ·bca325· Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.   [bca326] _York._ My Lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days At Bristol I expect my soldiers;   [bca328] For there I’ll ship them all for Ireland. _Suf._ I’ll see it truly done, my Lord of York.   [bca330] [_Exeunt all but York._ _York._ Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,   [bca331] And change misdoubt to resolution: Be that thou hopest to be, or what thou art   [bca333] Resign to death; it is not worth the enjoying: Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,   ·bca335· And find no harbour in a royal heart. Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought, And not a thought but thinks on dignity. My brain more busy than the labouring spider   [bca339] Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.   ·bca340· Well, nobles, well, ’tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men: I fear me you but warm the starved snake, Who, cherish’d in your breasts, will sting your hearts. ’Twas men I lack’d and you will give them me:   ·bca345· I take it kindly; yet be well assured You put sharp weapons in a madman’s hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,   [bca348] I will stir up in England some black storm Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell;   ·bca350· And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage Until the golden circuit on my head, Like to the glorious sun’s transparent beams, Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.   [bca354] And, for a minister of my intent,   ·bca355· I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman, John Cade of Ashford,   [bca357] To make commotion, as full well he can, Under the title of John Mortimer. In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade   ·bca360· Oppose himself against a troop of kernes, And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts   [bca362] Were almost like a sharp-quill’d porpentine;   [bca363] And, in the end being rescued, I have seen   [bca364] Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,   ·bca365· Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells. Full often, like a shag-hair’d crafty kerne, Hath he conversed with the enemy,