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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 : Wbere,8 from thy sight, I should be raging mad, And cry
out for thee to close
Suf. I go.
Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask
8 For whereas.
9 The messenger of Juno.
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. Car. If thou best 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 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 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
• War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.
SCENE I. Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover.
Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat, a Cap
tain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, Walter WHITMORE, and Others; with them SUFFOLK, and other Gentlemen, prisoner's.
* 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 SUFFOLK,] Walter Whit
more, 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 thou
sand 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. * i Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my
life. * 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it
straight. • IVhit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, ' And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ;
' And so should these, if I might have my
will. 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 Whit
How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death
. 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, • Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd, And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!
[Luys hold on SUPFOLK. Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, The duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
• 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? Cup. 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? • 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, • Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, • When I have feasted with queen Margaret? * Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall’n;
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride :3
? A low fellow.
3 Pride that has had birth too soon.