so near the court. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so great: O, I could hew up rocks and fight with flint, I am so angry at these abject terms; And now, like Ajax Telamonius, On sheep or oxen could I spend my fury. I am far better born than is the king, More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts: But I must make fair weather yet a while, Till Henry be more weak and I more strong,-- Buckingham, I prithee, pardon me, That I have given no answer all this while; My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. The cause why I have brought this army hither Is to remove proud Somerset from the king, Seditious to his grace and to the state. That is too much presumption on thy part: But if thy arms be to no other end, The king hath yielded unto thy demand: The Duke of Somerset is in the Tower. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. Then, Buckingham, I do dismiss my powers. Soldiers, I thank you all; disperse yourselves; Meet me to-morrow in St. George's field, You shall have pay and every thing you wish. And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, Command my eldest son, nay, all my sons, As pledges of my fealty and love; I'll send them all as willing as I live: Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have, Is his to use, so Somerset may die. York, I commend this kind submission: We twain will go into his highness' tent. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm to us, That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm? In all submission and humility York doth present himself unto your highness. Then what intends these forces thou dost bring? To heave the traitor Somerset from hence, And fight against that monstrous rebel Cade, Who since I heard to be discomfited. If one so rude and of so mean condition May pass into the presence of a king, Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head, The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. The head of Cade! Great God, how just art Thou! O, let me view his visage, being dead, That living wrought me such exceeding trouble. Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him? I was, an't like your majesty. How art thou call'd? and what is thy degree? Alexander Iden, that's my name; A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss