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!-E'en thus two friends condemn'd * Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, * Lother a hundred times to part than die.

* Yet now farewel; and farewel life with thee!

Suf. 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 Vaux.

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

Vaux. 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 over-charged 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. Ah me! what is this world? what news are

these?

'But wherefore grieve I at an 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 sor

rows?

'Now, get thee hence: The king, thou know'st, is coming;

'If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

...

Suf. 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 dug 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 shouldst 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, befal what may befal.

'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.

Suf. I go.

Q. Mar.

And take my heart with thee.

Suf. A jewel lock'd into the woeful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
F'en as a splitted bark, so sunder we;

This way fall I to death.

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and Others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him. *K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.

'Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure,

Enough to purchase such another island, 'So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. * K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, * When death's approach is seen so terrible! *War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.

* 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 up

right,

'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 this wretch's soul, *And from his bosom purge this black despair! 'War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin.

* Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. *K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea

sure be!

'Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.'He dies, and makes no sign; O God, forgive him! 'War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 'K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners

'Close up his
'And let us all to meditation.

eyes, and draw the curtain close;

[Exeunt.

G

ACT IV.

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;

4

* And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades * That drag the tragick 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 Suffolk,] Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me

know.

'Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

Mate. And so much shall you give, or off

goes yours..