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For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
(The agent of thy foul inconstancy)
To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did,
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy?

Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?

Ah me! I can no more. Die, Margaret,
For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

Noise within.

Enter WARWICK, and SALISBURY. The Commons press to the door.

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign,
That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees

That want their leader, scatter up and down,
And care not who they sting in his revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis
too true;

But how he died, God knows, not Henry.
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
And comment then upon his sudden death.
War. That I shall do, my liege.—Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, till I return.

[WARWICK goes into an inner room, and
SALISBURY retires.

K. Hen. O, thou that judgest all things, stay my
thoughts!

My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul,
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life.
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
For judgment only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears,
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling;
But all in vain are these mean obsequies,
And to survey his dead and earthy image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
The doors of an inner Chamber are thrown open,
and GLOSTER is discovered, dead in his bed;
WARWICK and others standing by it.

War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this
body.

K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made;

For with his soul fled all my worldly solace,
For seeing him, I see my life in death.

War. As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King, that took our state upon him
To free us from his Father's wrathful curse,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.

Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow?

War. See, how the blood is settled in his face. Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring heart; Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy; Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er re

turneth

To blush and beautify the cheek again.

But see, his face is black, and full of blood;

His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd.
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man:
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with strugg-
ling;

His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd,
And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdued.
Look on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking;
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd.
It cannot be but he was murder'd here;
The least of all these signs were probable.

Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death?

Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection,
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's foes,

And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep: 'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend, And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.

Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noble

men

As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding

fresh,

And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,

But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where's
your knife?

Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons?
Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men:
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart,
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge.—
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death.

[Exeunt Cardinal, SOMERSET, and others. War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,

Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,

Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. War. Madam, be still, with reverence may I

say;

For every word you speak in his behalf
Is slander to your royal dignity.

Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour,
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much,
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock
Was graft with crab-tree slip; whose fruit thou art,
And never of the Nevils' noble race.

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, And say, it was thy mother that thou meant'st; That thou thyself wast born in bastardy : And, after all this fearful homage done, Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men.

Suf. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood,

If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.

War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. [Exeunt SUFFOLK, and WARWICK. K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?

Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
[A noise within.

Q. Mar. What noise is this? Re-enter SUFFOLK, and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn.

K. Hen. Why, how now, lords! your wrathful weapons drawn

Here in our presence! dare you be so bold?— Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here? Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of Bury,

Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

Noise of a Crowd within. Re-enter SALISBURY. Sal. Sirs, stand apart;-[Speaking to those

within.]-the king shall know your mind.-
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
Unless lord Suffolk straight be done to death,
Or banished fair England's territories,

They will by violence tear him from your palace,
And torture him with grievous lingering death.
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died;
They say, in him they fear your highness' death;
And mere instinct of love, and loyalty,
Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
As being thought to contradict your liking,
Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
They say, in care of your most royal person,
That, if your highness should intend to sleep,

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And charge, that no man should disturb your rest,
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death,
Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict,
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
That slily glided towards your majesty,
It were but necessary, you were wak'd;
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal:
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you, whe'r you will or no,
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;
With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, my lord of Salisbury!

Suf. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds,

Could send such message to their sovereign;
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To show how quaint an orator you are:
But all the honour Salisbury hath won,
Is, that he was the lord ambassador,
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.
Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king,
or we will all break in!

K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from

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Q. Mar. O Henry! let me plead for gentle Suffolk.

K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle
Suffolk.

No more, I say: if thou dost plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but said, I would have kept my word,
But, when I swear, it is irrevocable.-

If after three days' space thou here be'st found
On any ground that I am ruler of,

The world shall not be ransom for thy life.-
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
I have great matters to impart to thee.

[Exeunt K. HENRY, WARWICK, Lords, &c.
Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you!
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction,
Be playfellows to keep you company!
There's two of you; the devil make a third,
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Q. Mar. Fie, coward, woman, and soft-hearted wretch!

Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them?

Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave.
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ;
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks!
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings!
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss,
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell-

Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk: thou torment'st thyself;

And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?
Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from,
Well could I curse away a winter's night,
Though standing naked on a mountain top,
Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport.

Q. Mar. O! let me entreat thee, cease. me thy hand,

Give

That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woeful monuments.
O! could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,
Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for
thee.

So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by,

As one that surfeits, thinking on a want.
I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd,
Adventure to be banished myself;
And banished I am, if but from thee.

Go; speak not to me: even now be gone.-
O! go not yet.-Even thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves.
Loather a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee.

Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou thence:
A wilderness is populous enough,

So Suffolk had thy heavenly company;
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With every several pleasure in the world,
And where thou art not, desolation.

I can no more.-Live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st.
Enter VAUX.

Q. Mar. 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.

Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king. [Exit VAUX. Ah me! what is this world? what news are these? But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the southern 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, 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, befal what may befal.

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.
Suf. I go.

Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee.
Suf. 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.

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,
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, 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.-

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Comb down his hair: look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.-
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary

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

sure be.

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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, disguised; 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 tragic 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 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.

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 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, Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum?

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