1 M.
Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know,
We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

2 M.
O, that it were to do!—What have we done?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent? Enter Suffolk.

1 M.
Here comes my lord.

Suf.
Now, sirs,
Have you dispatch'd this thing?

1 M.
Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

Suf.
Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
I will reward you for this venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand:—
Have you lay'd fair the bed? are all things well,
According as I gave directions?

1 M.
Yes, my good lord.

Suf.
Away, be gone. [Exeunt Murtherers.

Enter King, Queen, Cardinal, Somerset, Lords, and others.

Kin.
Go, call our uncle to our presence straight:
Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suf.
I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [Exit.

Kin.
Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster,
Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
He be approv'd in practice culpable.

Que.
Heav'n forbid, any malice should prevail,
That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
Pray Heav'n, he may acquit him of suspicion!

Kin.
I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.— Re-enter Suffolk, hastily.
How now? why look'st thou pale? why trembl'st thou?
Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

Suf.
Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead.

Que.
Marry, Heav'n forefend!

Car.
Heav'n's secret judgment:—I did dream to-night,
The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word* ^note. [King swoons.

Que.
How fares my lord?—Help, lords! the king is dead.

&blquo;Som.
&blquo;Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

Que.
Run, go, help, help!—O, Henry, ope thine eyes!

Suf.
He doth revive again;—madam, be patient.

Kin.
O merciful Heav'n!

Que.
How fares my gracious lord?

Suf.
Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

Kin.
What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;

And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words.
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eye-balls murd'rous tyranny
Sits, in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding:—
Yet do not go away: come, basilisk,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight:
For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead* ^note.

Que.
Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus?
Although the duke was enemy to him,
Yet he, most christian-like, laments his death:
And for myself,—foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
And all to have the noble duke alive.
What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known we were but hollow friends;
It may be judg'd, I made the duke away:
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death: Aye me unhappy!
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!

Kin.
Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man!

Que.
Be woe for me, more wretched than he is† ^note.
What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?
&blquo;I am no loathsome leper, look on me.

&blquo;What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
&blquo;Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?
Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy:
Erect his statue then, and worship it,
&blquo;And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea;
And twice by aukward wind from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well fore-warning wind
Did seem to say,—Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?
&blquo;What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts,
&blquo;And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves;
&blquo;And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore,
&blquo;Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock?
&blquo;Yet Æolus would not be a murtherer,
&blquo;But left that hateful office unto thee:
&blquo;The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me;
&blquo;Knowing that thou would'st have me drown'd on shore
&blquo;With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness:
&blquo;The splitting rocks cowr'd in the sinking sands,
&blquo;And would not dash me with their ragged sides;
&blquo;Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
&blquo;Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,
When from thy shore the tempest beat us back,
I stood upon the hatches in the storm:
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
I took a costly jewel from my neck,—
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,—
And threw it towards thy land; the sea receiv'd it;
And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart:
&blquo;And even with this, I lost fair England's view,
&blquo;And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart;
&blquo;And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
&blquo;For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
&blquo;How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
&blquo;(The agent of thy foul inconstancy)
&blquo;To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did,

&blquo;When he, to madding Dido, would unfold
&blquo;His father's acts commenc'd in burning Troy?
&blquo;Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
Aye me, I can no more! Die, Margaret;
For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long* ^note. [Noise within. Commons are seen pressing towards the door, with Salisbury keeping them back. Enter Warwick.

War.
It is reported, mighty sovereign,
That good duke Humphrey trait'rously is murther'd
By Suffolk's 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.

Kin.
That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true;
But how he dy'd, God knows, not Henry:
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
And comment then upon his sudden death.

War.
That shall I do, my liege:—Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, 'till I return. [Exit, to an inner Room.

Kin.
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!
† ^noteIf my suspect be false, forgive me, heav'n;
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? A door is thrown open, and Gloster discovered dead upon his bed, Warwick, and others, by him.

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

Kin.
That is to see how deep my grave is made:
For, with his soul, fled all my worldly solace;
And, seeing him, I see my death in life.

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 lay'd
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 settl'd in his face!
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
Of ashy semblance, meager, pale, and bloodless,
Being all descended to the lab'ring 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 returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But, see, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eye-balls farther out than when he liv'd,
Staring full ghastly like a strangl'd man:
His hair up-rear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tug'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd.
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 murther'd here;
The least of all these signs were probable* ^note.

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

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

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.

Que.
Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen;
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 unbloody'd beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Que.
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 scour'd 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 Car. Som. and others.

War.
What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

Que.
He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

&blquo;War.
&blquo;Madam, be still; with reverence may I say it;
&blquo;For every word, you speak in his behalf,
&blquo;Is slander to your royal dignity.

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

&blquo;War.
&blquo;But that the guilt of murther bucklers thee,
&blquo;And I should rob the death's-man of his fee,

&blquo;Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
&blquo;And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
&blquo;I would, false murd'rous coward, on thy knee
&blquo;Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
&blquo;And say—it was thy mother that thou mean'st,
&blquo;That thou thyself wast born in bastardy:
&blquo;And, after all this fearful homage done,
&blquo;Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
&blquo;Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men.

&blquo;Suf.
&blquo;Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood,
&blquo;If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.

&blquo;War.
&blquo;Away, even now, or I will drag thee hence:
&blquo;Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee,
&blquo;And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost* ^note. [Exeunt Suf. and War.

Kin.
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† ^note.

Que.
What noise is this? [Noise within. Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick.

Kin.
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 trait'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury,
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. Enter Salisbury.

Sal.
Sirs, stand apart, the king shall know your mind. [To the Commons, entering.
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 ling'ring death.
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey dy'd;
They say, in him they fear your highness' death:
And meer 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,
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* ^note.

Com. [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 shew how quaint an orator you are:
But all the honour Salisbury hath won,
Is—that he was the lord embassador,
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.

Com. [Within.]
An answer from the king, or we will all break in.

Kin.
Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care:
And had I not been cited so by them,
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
For, sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means.
And therefore,—by his majesty I swear,
Whose far unworthy deputy I am,—
He shall not breathe infection in this air
But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Exit Salisbury.

Que.
O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

Kin.
Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suffolk.
No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him,
Thou wilt but add encrease 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 King, Warwick, Lords, &c.

Que.
Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you!
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction,
&blquo;Be play-fellows to keep you company!
&blquo;There's two of you, the devil make a third!
And three-fold vengeance tend upon your steps* ^note!

Suf.
Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Que.
Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch!
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies?

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 fixt on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban.
And even now my burthen'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, murth'ring basilisks!
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings!
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss;
And boding scritch-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell* ^note—

Que.
Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyself;
And these dread curses—like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an over-charged gun,—recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf.
You bad 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.

Que.
O, let me intreat thee cease! Give me thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woful monuments.
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand;
That thou might'st think on these lips, 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,
Lother a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewel; and farewel 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, wer't thou hence;
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† ^note. Enter a Gentleman, hastily.

Que.
Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I pr'ythee?

Gen.
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 heav'n, 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 over-charged soul:
And I am sent to tell his majesty,
That even now he cries aloud for him.

Que.
Go, tell this heavy message to the king. [Ex. Gen.
Ay 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 encrease, 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‡ ^note between it's 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 Elyzium.
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.

Que.
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&verbar2; ^note.

Suf.
I go.

Que.
And take my heart with thee along.

Suf.
A jewel lock'd into the woful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we;
This way fall I to death.

Que.
This way for me. [Exeunt, severally.

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