, you do me wrong with inquisition,
And yet I care not greatly if I tell thee.
Thou seest my husband full of jealousy:
Prince Richard in his suit importunate,
My brother Gloster threat'ned by young Henry,
To clear these doubts, I will in some disguise
Go to Blackheath, unto the holy hermit,
Whose wisdom, in foretelling things to come,
Will let me see the issue of my cares.
If destinies ordain me happiness,
I'll chase these mists of sorrow from my heart
With the bright sun of mirth; if fate agree
To't[490], and my friends must suffer misery,
Yet I'll be merry too, till mischief come.
Only I long to know the worst of ill.

ROB. I'll once put on a scarlet countenance.

LADY F. Be wary, lest ye be discovered, Robin.

ROB. Best paint me, then be sure I shall not blush.

_Enter_ BLOCK _bleeding_, GLOSTER _with him_.

BLO. Beat an officer, Redcap? I'll have ye talk'd withal!
Beat Sir Richard's porter? help, madam, help!

GLO. Peace, you damned rogue.

LADY F. Brother, I pray you forbear.

GLO. Zwounds! an hundred's at my heels almost,
And yet the villain stands on compliment.

BLO. A bots on[491] you, is't you?

GLO. Will you to the door, you fool, and bar the gate?
Hold, there's an angel for your broken pate:
If any knock, let them not in in haste.

BLO. Well, I will do, as I see cause;
Blood, thou art dear to me.
But here's a sovereign plaister for the sore:
Gold healeth wounds, gold easeth hearts!
What can a man have more? [_Exit_.

LADY F. Dear brother, tell us how you made escape?

GLO. You see I am here, but if you would know how,
I cannot 'scape, and tell the manner too,
By this I know your house is compassed
With hell-hound search[492].

LADY F. Brother, I'll furnish you with beard and hair,
And garment like my husband's.
How like you that?

GLO. Well, when I have them:
Quickly, then, dispatch. [_Exit_ LADY.] S'blood! turn
Grey beard and hair.
Robin, conceal; this dieteth my mind.
Mirth is the object of my humorous spleen.
Thou high, commanding fury, further device!
Jests are conceited. I long to see their birth.

_Re-enter_ LADY FAUCONBRIDGE.

What, come ye, sister? Robin, a thief's hand!
But, prythee, where hadst thou this beard and hair?

LADY F. Prince Richard wore them hither in a masque.

GLO. Say'st thou me so? faith, [I] love the princely youth;
Tut, you must taste stolen pleasure now and then.

ROB. But if she steal, and jealous eyes espy,