Earle of Northumberland, he slew thy Father,
And thine, Lord Clifford, & you both haue vow'd reuenge
On him, his sonnes, his fauorites, and his friends
Northumb. If I be not, Heauens be reueng'd on me
Clifford. The hope thereof, makes Clifford mourne in
Steele
Westm. What, shall we suffer this? lets pluck him down,
My heart for anger burnes, I cannot brooke it
Henry. Be patient, gentle Earle of Westmerland
Clifford. Patience is for Poultroones, such as he:
He durst not sit there, had your Father liu'd.
My gracious Lord, here in the Parliament
Let vs assayle the Family of Yorke
North. Well hast thou spoken, Cousin be it so
Henry. Ah, know you not the Citie fauours them,
And they haue troupes of Souldiers at their beck?
Westm. But when the Duke is slaine, they'le quickly
flye
Henry. Farre be the thought of this from Henries heart,
To make a Shambles of the Parliament House.
Cousin of Exeter, frownes, words, and threats,
Shall be the Warre that Henry meanes to vse.
Thou factious Duke of Yorke descend my Throne,
And kneele for grace and mercie at my feet,
I am thy Soueraigne
Yorke. I am thine
Exet. For shame come downe, he made thee Duke of
Yorke
Yorke. It was my Inheritance, as the Earledome was
Exet.
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