MURLEY.
Fie, paltry, paltry, to and fro; good my liege, a
pardon. I am sorry for my fault.
KING.
That comes too late: but tell me, went there none
Beside sir Roger Acton, upon whom
You did depend to be your governour?
MURLEY.
None, none, my Lord, but sir John Old-castle.
KING.
Bears he part in this conspiracy?
[Enter Bishop.]
ACTON.
We looked, my Lord, that he would meet us here.
KING.
But did he promise you that he would come?
ACTON.
Such letters we received forth of Kent.
BISHOP.
Where is my Lord the King?--Health to your grace.
Examining, my Lord, some of these caitive rebels,
It is a general voice amongst them all,
That they had never come unto this place,
But to have met their valiant general,
The good Lord Cobham, as they title him:
Whereby, my Lord, your grace may now perceive,
His treason is apparent, which before
He sought to colour by his flattery.
KING.
Now, by my royalty, I would have sworn
But for his conscience, which I bear withal,
There had not lived a more true hearted subject.
BISHOP.
It is but counterfeit, my gracious lord,
And therefore, may it please your majesty
To set your hand unto this precept here,
By which we'll cause him forthwith to appear,
And answer this by order of the law.
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