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: Wheret, 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.

Suff. I go.

Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee.
Suff. A jewel lock'd into the woeful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we;
This way fall I to death.

Q. Mar.

This way for me.

[Exeunt, severally.

SCENE III.

London. Cardinal Beaufort's bed-chamber.

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.

For whereas.

The messenger of Juno.

LIKE LIME-TWIGS SET TO CATCH MY WINGED SOUL!

A3 Scene 3.

London Publish d by Thomas Tegg, NIII Cheapsule March 1.1814

Printed by Dixon & San.

"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 so 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 pleasure 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 all. Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Kent. The sea-shore near Dover.

Firing heard at sea. tain, a Master, a

Then enter from a boat, a Cap

Master's Mate, Walter Whit

more, 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 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 ransome 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 Whitmore, is thy share.

1 Gent. What is my ransome, 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 thousand crowns,

* And 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.

+ Pitiful.