Enter VAUX.

Queen. 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 overcharged soul :
And I am sent to tell his Majesty
That even now he cries aloud for him.

Queen. Go tell this heavy message to the King.

Ah me

[Exit VAUX.

what is this world! what news are these!
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,2
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,

And with the sourthern clouds contend in tears,

Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows?
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,23 from thy sight, I should be raging mad,

22" Why do I grieve for a loss that will quickly be forgotten, and not rather spend all my grief upon the loss of Suffolk, which will never cease to weigh upon me?"

23 Where is here equivalent to whereas. A frequent usage.

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 lived 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!
Queen. Away!

Though parting be a fretful córrosive,

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 24 that shall find thee out.

Suf. I go.

Queen.

And take my heart along with thee. Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woefull'st casket

That ever did contain a thing of worth.

Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we :

Enter King HENRY, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him.

King. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sover

eign.

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.

24 Iris was the messenger of Juno.

King. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,

Where 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, whêr 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 th' apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

King. 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.

King. Peace to his soul, if't 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.
King. 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 Seashore 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 disguised, and other Gentlemen, Pris

oners.

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful1 day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea;

And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night; 2

Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings,
Clip 3 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 4 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.

I Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know.

1 Remorseful is pitiful. — The epithet blabbing, applied to the day by a man about to commit murder, is exquisitely beautiful. Guilt, if afraid of light, considers darkness as a natural shelter, and makes night the confidant of those actions which cannot be trusted to the tell-tale day." — JOHNSON. 2 The chariot of the night was supposed to be drawn by dragons. See vol. iii. page 61, note 36.

3 To clip is to embrace. See vol. vii. page 81, note 16.

4 Pinnace formerly meant a ship of small burden, built for speed. See vol. vi. page 23, note 14.

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 counterpoised 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. Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, — [To SUF.] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ; 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 Whitmore.
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 : 5

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 wiped away the blot;
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!

[Lays hold on SUFFOLK. 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!

5 Referring to the answer of the Spirit in i. 4: "By water shall he die,

and take his end."