mbridge, Scroop, and Grey,--in their dear care
And tender preservation of our person,--
Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes:

[_All take their places at Council table._

Who are the late Commissioners?[7]

_Cam._ (_R. of table._) I one, my lord:
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.

_Scroop._ (_R. of table._) So did you me, my liege.

_Grey._ (_R. of table._) And me, my royal sovereign.

_K. Hen._ Then, Richard earl of Cambridge, there is yours;--
There yours, lord Scroop of Masham;--and, sir knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:--
Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.--
My lord of Westmoreland,--and uncle Exeter,--

[_L. of table._

We will aboard to-night.

(_Conspirators start from their places._)

Why, how now, gentlemen!
What see you in those papers, that you lose
So much complexion?--look ye, how they change!
Their cheeks are paper.--Why, what read you there,
That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood
Out of appearance?

_Cam._ I do confess my fault;
And do submit me to your highness' mercy.

[_Falling on his knees._

_Grey._ } To which we all appeal. [_Kneeling._
_Scroop._ }

_K. Hen._ (_rising; all the LORDS rise with the KING._)
The mercy that was quick[8] in us but late,
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy.
See you, my princes and my noble peers,
These English monsters! My lord of Cambridge here,--
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appertinents
Belonging to his honour; and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd,
And sworn unto the practises of France,
To kill us here in Hampton: to the which
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is,--hath likewise sworn.--But, O,
What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop? thou cruel,
Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature!
Thou that did'st bear the key of all my counsels,
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,
That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold,
May it be possible, that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
That might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange,
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross[9]
As black from white,[10] my eye will scarcely see it;
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like