Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.

'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me:
I take it kindly; yet, be well assur'd,
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,.
I will stir up in England some black storm,
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven or hell:
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,

I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,

To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.

In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of Kernes;
And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine:
And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him
Caper upright like a wild Mórisco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty Kerne,
Hath he conversed with the enemy;
And undiscover'd come to me again,
And given me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble :
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York,
Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured;
I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him,
Will make him say—I mov'd him to those arms.
Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,)
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd:
For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,›
And Henry put apart, the next for me.

[exit.

SCENE 11. BURY. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Enter certain Murderers, hastily. Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know,

We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded. 2 Mur. O, that it were to do!-What have Didst ever hear a man so penitent? [we done? Enter Suffolk.

1 Mur. Here comes my lord. Suff. Now, sirs, have you Despatch'd this thing?.

1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead. [house; Suff. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my I will reward you for this venturous deed. The king and all the peers are here at hand :Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well, According as I gave directions?

1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lord. Suff. Away, be gone! [exeunt Murderers. Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal

Beaufort, Somerset, Lords, and others. K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence Say, we intend to try his grace to-day, [straight: If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suff. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [exit.

How now; why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?

Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk? Suff. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead. Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend! [to-night, Car. God's secret judgment:-I did dream The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [the king swoons.

Q. Mar. How fares my lord?-Help, lords! the king is dead.

Som. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help!-O, Henry, [patient. Suff. He doth revive again;-Madam, be K. Hen. O heavenly God!

ope thine eyes!

Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord? Suff. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, [me?

comfort!

K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort
Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound!
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words.
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful Messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eyeballs murd'rous tyranny
Sits, in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding :-
Yet do not go away.-Come, basilisk,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight:
For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead.
Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk
Although the duke was enemy to him, [thus?
Yet he, most Christian-like, laments his death:
And for myself,-foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life,
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs,

And all to have the noble duke alive.
What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known, we were but hollow friends;
It may be judg'd, I made the duke away:
So shall my name with slander's tongue be
wounded,

And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death: Ah me, unhappy!
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched
man!
Lue is.

Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched thou

What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper, look on me.
What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?
Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy:
Erect his statue then, and worship it,
And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea;
And twice by awkward wind from England's
Drove back again unto my native clime? [bank
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind
Did seem to say,-Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?
What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts,
And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves;
And bid them blow towards England's blessed
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? [shores,
Yet Eolus would not be a murderer,
But left that hateful office unto thee:
The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me;
Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd
on shore,
[ness:
With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkind-
The splitting rocks cow'rd in the sinking sands,
And would not dash me with their ragged sides:
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
As far as I could ken the chalky cliffs,
When from the shore the tempest beat us back,
I stood upon the hatches in the storm:
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
I took a costly jewel from my neck,—
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,-
And threw it towards thy land;--the sea re-
ceiv'd it;

And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart:
And even with this, I lost fair England's view,
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart;
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
For loosing ken of Albion's wished coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
(The agent of thy foul inconstancy),
To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did,
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy?
Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false
like him?

Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret!
For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long.
Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury.

The Commons press to the door.
War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, [der'd
That good duke Humphrey traitorously is mur-
By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees,

That want their leader, scatter up and down,
And care not who they sting in his revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;

But how he died, God knows, not Henry: Euter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death.

my thoughts;

My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul,
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life!
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God;
For judgment only doth belong to thee!
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears;
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling :
But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
And, to survey his dead and earthly image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
The folding doors of an inner chamber are thrown
open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his
bed: Warwick and others standing by it.
War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view
this body.
[made;
K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is
For, with his soul, fled all my worldly solace ;
For seeing him, I see my life in death.

War. As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King, that took our state upon
To free us from his Father's wrathful curse, [him,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. [tongue!

Suff. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow?

War. See, how the blood is settled in his face! Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, meager, pale, and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring heart; Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er reTo blush and beautify the cheek again. (turneth But, see, his face is black, and full of blood; His eyeballs farther out than when he liv'd, Staring full ghastly, like a strangled man: [gling; His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strugHis hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking; His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugLike to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. [ged, It cannot be, but he was murder'd here; The least of all these signs were probable. [death?

Suff. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection ; And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's foes;

And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : 'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend; And 'tis well scen, he found an enemy. [men

Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these nobleAs guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death.

War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, [fresh, But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter? Who finds the partridge on the puttock's nest,

Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch !

Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies?
Suff. A plague upon them! wherefore should
I curse them?

Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave:
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words:
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract;

Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefest prospects, murdering basilisks!
Their softest touch, as sharp as lizards' stings!
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss;
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell-

Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou tor-
ment'st thyself;

And these dread curses-like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an overcharged gun,-recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thyself. [leave?
Suff. You bade me ban, and will you bid me
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
Well could I curse away a winter's night,
Though standing naked on a mountain top,
Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport.

Q. Mar. O, let me entreat thee, cease! Give
me thy hand,

That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woful monuments.
O, could this be printed in thy hand:

[kisses his hand. That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee!

So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by,
As one that surfeits thinking on a want.
I will repeal thee, or be well assur'd,
Adventure to be banished myself:
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go, speak not to me; even now be gone.-
O, go not yet!-Even thus two friends, condemn'd,
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

Suff. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence;
A wilderness is populous enough.
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With every several pleasure in the world;
And where thou art not, desolation.
I can no more:-live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st.

Enter Vaur.

Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I pr'ythee?

Vaur. To signify unto his majesty, That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death: For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his overcharged soul: And I am sent to tell his majesty, That even now he cries aloud for him.

Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. [exit Vaux. Ahme! what is this world? what news are these? But wherefore grieve I at one hour's poor loss, Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the southern clouds contend in tears; Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? [coming, Now, get thee hence: the king, thou know'st is If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

Suff. If I depart from thee, I cannot live
And in thy sight to die, what were it else,
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe,
Dying with mother's dugs between its lips:
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
So should'st thou either turn my flying soul,
Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.

To die by thee, were but to die in jest ;
From thee to die, were torture more than death
O, let me stay, befall what may befall.

Q. Mar. Away! though parting be a fretful
corrosive,

It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk: let me hear from thee;
For, wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and
others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him
K. Ilen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort,
to thy sovereign.
[land's treasure,
Car. If thou be'st Death, I'll give thee Eng-
Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
K. Hen. Ab, what a sign it is of evil life,
When death's approach is seen so terrible! [thee.
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will.

Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?—
O! torture me no more, I will confess.-
Alive again? then show me where he is;
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.-
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.
Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul!—
Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
O, beat away the busy meddling fiend,
That lays strong siege unto the wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge this black despair!

ACT

SCENE I. KENT. THE SEA-SHORE NEAR DOVER.

Firing heard at sea. Then enter from a boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master's Mate, Walter Whitmore, and others; with them, Suffolk, and other Gentlemen, prisoners.

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea;

And now, loud-howling wolves arouse the jades,
That drag the tragic melancholy night;
Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings,
Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.—
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;—
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;-
The other, [pointing to Suff.] Walter Whitemore,
is thy share.

1 Gent. What is my ransome, master? let me know. [your head. Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. [sand crowns, Cap. What, think you much to pay two thouAnd bear the name and port of gentlemen?—~ Cut both the villains' throats;-for die you shall; The lives of those, which we have lost in fight, Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 1 Gent. I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life. [straight.

2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;

[to Suff

And so should these, if I might have my will.
Cap. Be not so rash; take ransome, let him live.
Suff. Look on my George, I am a gentleman;
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
Whit. And so am I; my name is-Walter
Whitmore.
[affright?
How now? why start st thou? what, doth death
Suff. Thy naine affrights me, in whose sound
A cunning man did calculate my birth, [is death.
And told me that by Water I should die:
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded.
Whit. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I care not;

[blood, [rup?

The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole.
Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags!
Suff. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke;
Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I?
Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
Suff. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's
The honourable blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stir-
Bare-headed, plodded by my foot-cloth mule,
And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
How often hast thou waited at my cup, [board,
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the
When I have feasted with queen Margaret?
Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n;
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride:
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood,
And duly waited for my coming forth?
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn
swain?

[me.

Cap. First let my words stab him, as he bath Suff. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so [side

art thou. Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's Strike off his head.

Suff. Thou dar'st not, for thy own.
Cap. Yes, Poole.

Suff. Poole?

Cap. Poole? Sir Poole? lord?

Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth,
For swallowing the treasure of the realm:
Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the
ground;
[death,
And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's
Against the senseless wind shall grio in vain,
Who, in contempt, shall biss at thee again:
And wedded be thou to the bags of hell,