_Suf._ Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke: Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I?   [bda048] _Cap._ But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. _Suf._ Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry’s blood,   [bda050] The honourable blood of Lancaster,   [bda051] Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.   [bda052] Hast thou not kiss’d thy hand and held my stirrup? Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule   [bda054] And thought thee happy when I shook my head?   ·bda055· How often hast thou waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneel’d down at the board, When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall’n, Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride;   ·bda060· How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood And duly waited for my coming forth? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf   [bda063] And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. _Whit._ Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?   [bda065] _Cap._ First let my words stab him, as he hath me. _Suf._ Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou. _Cap._ Convey him hence and on our long-boat’s side Strike off his head. _Suf._ Thou darest not, for thy own.   [bda069] _Cap._ Yes, Pole. _Suf._ Pole! _Cap._ Pool! Sir Pool! lord!   [bda070] Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt   [bda071] Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth For swallowing the treasure of the realm:   [bda074] Thy lips that kiss’d the queen shall sweep the ground;   ·bda075· And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey’s death Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,   [bda077] Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again: And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, For daring to affy a mighty lord   ·bda080· Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.   [bda082] By devilish policy art thou grown great And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged   [bda084] With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart.   [bda085] By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, The false revolting Normans thorough thee Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.   ·bda090· The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, As hating thee, are rising up in arms:   [bda093] And now the house of York, thrust from the crown By shameful murder of a guiltless king   ·bda095· And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,   [bda096] Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,   [bda098] Under the which is writ ‘Invitis nubibus.’ The commons here in Kent are up in arms:   ·bda100· And, to conclude, reproach and beggary Is crept into the palace of our king,   [bda102] And all by thee. Away! convey him hence.