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'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.1

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 remorseful2 day * Is crept into the bosom of the sea;

* And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades

* Exeunt.] This is one of the scenes which have been applauded by the criticks, and which will continue to be admired when prejudices shall cease, and bigotry give way to impartial examination. These are beauties that rise out of nature and of truth; the superficial reader cannot miss them, the profound can image nothing beyond them. JOHNSON.

2 The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day -] The epithet blabbing applied to the day by a man about to commit murder, is exquisitely beautiful. Guilt is afraid of light, considers darkness as a natural shelter, and makes night the confidante of those actions which cannot be trusted to the tell-tale day. JOHNSON.

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K. Henry Ford Cardinal if thou thinkst on Heavensblifs Hold up thy Hand...

Published by F. & C. Rivington London Sep 10.1803.

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* 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 SUFFOLK,] 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. * 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.

3

the jades

That drag the tragick melancholy night;

Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings

Clip dead men's graves,] The wings of the jades that drag night appears an unnatural image, till it is remembered that the chariot of the night is supposed, by Shakspeare, to be drawn by dragons.

* Cap. Be not so rash; take ransome, 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 Whitmore.

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'How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affright?

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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:

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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, Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, ' And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! [Lays hold on Suffolk. Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a

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prince,

The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole.

6 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,

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The honourable blood of Lancaster,

• Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.* I last thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup?

a jaded groom.] Jaded groom, may mean a groom whom all men treat with contempt; as worthless as the most paltry kind of horse; or a groom who has hitherto been treated with no greater ceremony than a horse.

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