our father--

_Enter_ PORTER.

RED. My f-fa-father?

JOHN. Porter, you damned slave.

POR. Is't midsummer: do you begin to rave?

JOHN. Hark, how the traitor flouts me to my teeth!
I would entreat your knaveship, let me forth,
For fear I dash your brains out with the keys.
What is become of Gloster and my garments?

POR. Alas, in your apparel Gloster's gone,
I let him out even now; I am undone.

JOHN. It was your practice, and to keep me back,
You sent Jack Daw your son with ka-ka-ka,
To tell a sleeveless tale! lay hold on him,
To Newgate with him and your tut-a-tut!
Run, Redcap, and trudge about,
Or bid your father's portership farewell.

[_Exeunt with_ PORTER.

RED. Eh! here's a go-good je-je-jest, by the L-Lord, to mo-mock an ape
withal! my fa-fa-father has brought his ho-ho-hogs to a fa-fa-fair
m-m-market. Po-po-porter, quoth you? p-po-porter that will for me; and
I po-po-porter it, let them po-po-post me to heaven in this qua-quarter.
But I must s-s-seek this Gl-Gl-Gloster and Sk-Sk-Skink that
co-coney-catching ra-ra-rascal, a pa-pa-plague co-co-confound him.
Re-Re-Redcap must ru-run, he cannot tell whi-whither.
[_Exit_.

SCENE THE FOURTEENTH.

_Sound trumpets, enter_ HENRY _the younger, on one
hand of him_ QUEEN ELINOR, _on the other_ LEICESTER.

HEN. Mother and Leicester, add not oil to fire;
Wrath's kindled with a word, and cannot hear
The numberless persuasions you insort.

QUEEN. O, but, my son, thy father favours him.
Richard, that vile abortive changeling brat,
And Fauconbridge, are fallen at Henry's feet.
They woo for him, but entreat my son
Gloster may die for this, that he hath done.

LEI. If Gloster live, thou wilt be overthrown.

QUEEN. If Gloster live, thy mother dies in moan.

LEI. If Gloster live, Leicester will fly the realm.

QUEEN. If Gloster live, thy kingdom's but a dream.

HEN. Have I not sworn by that eternal arm,
That puts just vengeance' sword in monarchs' hands,
Gloster shall die for his presumption!
What needs more conjuration, gracious mother?
And, honourable Leicester, mark my words.
I have a bead-roll of some threescore lords
Of Gloster's faction.

QUEEN. Nay, of Henry's faction,
Of thy false father's faction; speak the truth,
He is the head of factions; were he down,
Peace, plenty, glory, will impale thy crown.

LEI. Ay, there's the _But_, whose he