Start: DUCHESS Why droops my lord like...

Start: DUCHESS

Why droops my lord like over-ripened corn

Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?

Why doth the great Duke Humphrey knit his brows,

As frowning at the favors of the world?

Why are thine eyes fixed to the sullen earth,

Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight?

What seest thou there? King Henry's diadem,

Enchased with all the honors of the world?

If so, gaze on and grovel on thy face

Until thy head be circled with the same.

Put forth thy hand; reach at the glorious gold.

What, is 't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine;

And, having both together heaved it up,

We'll both together lift our heads to heaven

And never more abase our sight so low

As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.

GLOUCESTER

O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,

Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts!

And may that hour when I imagine ill

Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,

Be my last breathing in this mortal world!

My troublous dreams this night doth make me sad.

DUCHESS

What dreamed my lord? Tell me, and I'll requite it

With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.

GLOUCESTER

Methought this staff, mine office badge in court,

Was broke in twain---by whom I have forgot,

But, as I think, it was by th' Cardinal---

And on the pieces of the broken wand

Were placed the heads of Edmund, Duke of Somerset,

And William de la Pole, first Duke of Suffolk.

This was my dream. What it doth bode God knows.

DUCHESS

Tut, this was nothing but an argument

That he that breaks a stick of Gloucester's grove

Shall lose his head for his presumption.

But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke:

Methought I sat in seat of majesty,

In the cathedral church of Westminster

And in that chair where kings and queens were crowned,

Where Henry and Dame Margaret kneeled to me

And on my head did set the diadem.

GLOUCESTER

Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright.

Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtured Eleanor,

Art thou not second woman in the realm

And the Protector's wife, beloved of him?

Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,

Above the reach or compass of thy thought?

And wilt thou still be hammering treachery

To tumble down thy husband and thyself

From top of honor to disgrace's feet?

Away from me, and let me hear no more!

DUCHESS

What, what, my lord? Are you so choleric

With Eleanor for telling but her dream?

Next time I'll keep my dreams unto myself

And not be checked.

GLOUCESTER

Nay, be not angry. I am pleased again.

Shakespeare, William, Henry VI Part 2, http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/2255/pg2255.html, Act 1, Scene 2.

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