London. A Street.
 Enter GLOUCESTER and his MEN in mourning cloaks.

Gloucester	Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud,
	And after summer evermore succeeds
	Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold;
	So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet.
	Sirs, what's o'clock?

Servant								Ten, my lord.

Gloucester	Ten is the hour that was appointed me
	To watch the coming of my punished duchess;
	Uneath may she endure the flinty streets,
	To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
	Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
	The abject people gazing on thy face
	With envious looks, laughing at thy shame,
	That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels
	When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
	But soft, I think she comes; and I'll prepare
	My tear-stained eyes to see her miseries.

                Enter ELEANOR barefoot, in a white sheet,
    with verses pinned to her back, and a taper burning in her hand,
with SIR JOHN STANLEY, the SHERIFF, and OFFICERS with bills and halberds.

Servant	So please your grace, we'll take her from the sheriff.

Gloucester	No, stir not for your lives; let her pass by.

Eleanor	Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
	Now thou dost penance too. Look how they gaze!
	See how the giddy multitude do point
	And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee.
	Ah, Gloucester, hide thee from their hateful looks,
	And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
	And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine.

Gloucester	Be patient, gentle Nell; forget this grief.

Eleanor	Ah, Gloucester, teach me to forget myself;
	For whilst I think I am thy married wife,
	And thou a prince, Protector of this land,
	Methinks I should not thus be led along,
	Mailed up in shame, with papers on my back,
	And followed with a rabble that rejoice
	To see my tears and hear my deep-fet groans.
	The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet,
	And when I start, the envious people laugh,
	And bid me be advisd how I tread.
	Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke?
	Trowest thou that e'er I'll look upon the world,
	Or count them happy that enjoys the sun?
	No; dark shall be my light, and night my day;
	To think upon my pomp shall be my hell.
	Sometime I'll say I am Duke Humphrey's wife,
	And he a prince and ruler of the land;
	Yet so he ruled, and such a prince he was
	As he stood by whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
	Was made a wonder and a pointing-stock
	To every idle rascal follower.
	But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame,
	Nor stir at nothing till the axe of death
	Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will;
	For Suffolk, he that can do all in all
	With her that hateth thee and hates us all,
	And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
	Have all limed bushes to betray thy wings,
	And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee.
	But fear not thou until thy foot be snared,
	Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.

Gloucester	Ah Nell, forbear; thou aimest all awry.
	I must offend before I be attainted;
	And had I twenty times so many foes,
	And each of them had twenty times their power,
	All these could not procure me any scathe
	So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
	Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach?
	Why, yet thy scandal were not wiped away,
	But I in danger for the breach of law.
	Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell.
	I pray thee sort thy heart to patience;
	These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.

                             Enter a HERALD.

Herald	I summon your grace to his majesty's parliament,
	Holden at Bury the first of this next month.

Gloucester	And my consent ne'er asked herein before!
	This is close dealing. Well, I will he there.
													[Exit HERALD.
	My Nell, I take my leave; and, master sheriff,
	Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.

Sheriff	And't please your grace, here my commission stays,
	And Sir John Stanley is appointed now
	To take her with him to the Isle of Man.

Gloucester	Must you, Sir John, protect my lady here?

Stanley	So am I given in charge, may't please your grace.

Gloucester	Entreat her not the worse in that I pray
	You use her well. The world may laugh again;
	And I may live to do you kindness if
	You do it her. And so, Sir John, farewell.

Eleanor	What, gone, my lord, and bid me not farewell?

Gloucester	Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
										[Exeunt GLOUCESTER and his MEN.

Eleanor	Art thou gone too? All comfort go with thee;
	For none abides with me. My joy is death-
	Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard,
	Because I wished this world's eternity.
	Stanley, I prithee go, and take me hence;
	I care not whither, for I beg no favour,
	Only convey me where thou art commanded.

Stanley	Why, madam, that is to the Isle of Man;
	There to be used according to your state.

Eleanor	That's bad enough, for I am but reproach;
	And shall I then he used reproachfully?

Stanley	Like to a duchess, and Duke Humphrey's lady;
	According to that state you shall be used.

Eleanor	Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare,
	Although thou hast been conduct of my shame.

Sheriff	It is my office; and, madam, pardon me.

Eleanor	Ay, ay, farewell; thy office is discharged.
	Come, Stanley, shall we go?

Stanley	Madam, your penance done, throw off this sheet,
	And go we to attire you for our journey.

Eleanor	My shame will not be shifted with my sheet.
	No, it will hang upon my richest robes
	And show itself, attire me how I can.
	Go, lead the way; I long to see my prison.
													[Exeunt.
