K. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, [Exeunt. 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 And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades, 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. Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousond crowns, you And bear the name and port of gentlemen?— Cut both the villains' throats;-for die 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. 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; [To Suf. And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. Suf. 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 Whit more. How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affright? Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth, 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; Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name, But with our sword we wip'd away the blot; Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, [Lays hold on Suffolk. Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags! Suf. 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. Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood,. The honourable blood of Lancaster, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup? Fed from my trencher, kneeľ'd down at the board, Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side Strike off his head. Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy own. Cap. Yes, Poole. Suf. Poole? Cap. Poole? Sir Poole? lord? Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground; And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's death, Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain, With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. Hath slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts, And now the house of York—thrust from the crown, And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours Small things make base men proud: this villain here, Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate. By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me : go of message from the queen to France; I I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus :-'tis thee I fear. Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. A Roman sworder and banditto slave, [Exit Suf. with Whit. and Others. |