_York._ Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch’d her well:   [bad054] A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon!   [bad055] Now, pray, my lord, let’s see the devil’s writ. What have we here? [_Reads._ ‘The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; But him outlive, and die a violent death.’ Why, this is just   ·bad060· ‘Aio te, Æacida, Romanos vincere posse.’   [bad061] Well, to the rest: ‘Tell me what fate awaits the Duke of Suffolk? By water shall he die, and take his end. What shall betide the Duke of Somerset?   [bad065] Let him shun castles; Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains Than where castles mounted stand.’ Come, come, my lords;   [bad069] These oracles are hardly attain’d,   [bad070] And hardly understood. The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban’s, With him the husband of this lovely lady: Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them:   [bad074] A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.   ·bad075· _Buck._ Your grace shall give me leave, my Lord of York, To be the post, in hope of his reward. _York._ At your pleasure, my good lord. Who’s within there, ho!   [bad078] _Enter a_ Servingman. Invite my Lords of Salisbury and Warwick To sup with me to-morrow night. Away! [_Exeunt._   ·bad080· ACT II. SCENE I. _Saint Alban’s_. _Enter the_ KING, QUEEN, GLOUCESTER, CARDINAL, _and_ SUFFOLK, _with_ Falconers _halloing_. _Queen._ Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook,   [bba001] I saw not better sport these seven years’ day: Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high; And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. _King._ But what a point, my lord, your falcon made,   ·bba005· And what a pitch she flew above the rest! To see how God in all his creatures works! Yea, man and birds are fain of climbing high. _Suf._ No marvel, an it like your majesty,   [bba009] My lord protector’s hawks do tower so well;   ·bba010· They know their master loves to be aloft And bears his thoughts above his falcon’s pitch. _Glou._ My lord, ’tis but a base ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar. _Car._ I thought as much; he would be above the clouds.   [bba015] _Glou._ Ay, my lord cardinal? how think you by that? Were it not good your grace could fly to heaven? _King._ The treasury of everlasting joy. _Car._ Thy heaven is on earth; thine eyes and thoughts Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart;   [bba020] Pernicious protector, dangerous peer, That smooth’st it so with king and commonweal! _Glou._ What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown peremptory?   [bba023] Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?   [bba024] Churchmen so hot? good uncle, hide such malice;   [bba025] With such holiness can you do it?   [bba026] _Suf._ No malice, sir; no more than well becomes So good a quarrel and so bad a peer. _Glou._ As who, my lord?