Card.
I'me vext! I'me more, I'me wrack'd! By what? who knows?
By a thing within me call'd a Conscience.
A Trick,—a Spring, that catches us, and pinches,
If we but point at an ill Action.
Why is it an ill thing to kill a man?
He is the Plague and Sickness of the World.
'Tis a kind honest thing to kill a man,
You cure the World of one Disease, you free
Thousands from Mischief, and you ease the man.
Yet if one do a man so great a kindness,
The damn'd ungrateful Rogue torments one's Conscience.
Men are ungrateful Rogues, living or dead.
I know not what to do; I must have ease.
Ho there! Enter a Servant.

Ser.
My Lord.

Card.
Call my Physitian.
Stay there!—What shou'd I do with a Physitian?
No Physick can give me any ease, but Poyson.
The gravel of the Grave is the best scowring
For such fierce Hawks as I am, after feeding.
Go, now I think on't, call my Confessor.
Let him alone!—What shou'd I do with him too?
My Soul is sick, and it can have no ease,
I grow sick.—
Unless it purge (forsooth) in a Priest's ear.
Fetch me a Glass of Wine, run quickly,—run.
I tremble!—a cold sweat comes over me,
All the Air tastes of an infernal damp.

The Ghost of Duke Humphry appears and goes out, the Cardinal falls into a Swoon. Enter the Servant with Wine.

1 Ser.
Help, help, my Lord is fallen! my Lord is dead!

2 Ser.
Oh! Heaven! What's the matter with my Lord?

3 Ser.
He opens now his eyes!

4 Ser.
He foams at the mouth.

1 Ser.
Let's set him in the Chair and give him air.

3 Ser.
I'le run for his Physitians. Ex.

4 Ser.
I'le give notice
To all the Court. Ex. Enter the three Murtherers.

Card.
Stand off, and let the Duke of Glocester speak to me.
Speak, speak, I say! What wou'dst thou have with me?

2 Mur.
He names the Duke of Glocester.

1 Mur.
Oh! Does he so?
Is his Infallibility come to that? A Pox of his Doctrines,
He has damn'd himself and me too.

Card.
Who is the Grave-maker?
He is a Villain, he digs Graves so shallow,
The dead break Prison, and come plague the Living.
Why this is fine, the Living cannot eat
Nor drink, nor sleep in quiet for the Dead;
The Dead that can do none of e'm, must plague us.
Thou envious Ghost, get to thy own abode,
I know not where it is, in Heaven or Hell,
Oh! Hell! Hell! Hell! I am tormented: Oh!

1 Mur.
Oh! gallant, brave Infallibility! Enter the King, Salisbury, Warwick.

King.
How does the Cardinal?

2 Mur.
Sir, of a sudden
He's fallen into a fit of Infallible Madness.

Card.
Ha! who are these? Stand off, stand off, who are you?

Sal.
This is your King.

Card.
What King? The King of Terrors?
Death! is it he? If thou be'st Death, I'le give thee
Treasure enough to purchase all this Kingdom,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

King.
Ah! What a sign it is of evil life
When Death's approach appears so terrible?

War.
My Lord, my Lord! Do you know your King?

Car.
What King? what King?

War.
King Henry.

Car.
Ha! King Henry!
Sir, bring me to my Trial when you will,
I am prepar'd, died he not in his Bed?
Can I make men live whether they will no?
Oh! do not torture me! I will confess!—Oh!

King.
Poor wretch!

War.
What think you, Sir? Are not these signs
Of horrid Guilt?

King.
Let us not Censure him.

Car.
Alive again, do you say? Ha! shew him me!
I'le give a Thousand Pound to look on him.
Stand by and let me see him,—there he is,
He has no Eyes, the dust has blinded e'm,
Comb down his hair!—look!—look! it stands upright
Like Limetwigs, set to catch my flying Soul.
I prethee do not carry me along with thee,
And I'le do cruel Pennance all my life;
Hunger shall tear my Entrals, Whips my Flesh,
Thorns my bare Feet; my habit shall be Hair cloth,
The Rock my Bed, hard Roots my only food,
Foul Puddle all my drink; if this suffice not,
I'le sell my self a Slave among the Turks:
What dost thou say? wilt thou consent to this?

King.
Oh! thou eternal Mercy, cast an eye
Of pity on this Wretch! Oh! drive away from him
The hungry Fiend, that strives to gripe his Soul.

Card.
Ha! Wilt thou not consent? and must I die?
Oh! let me live, and be a Slave, a Dog!
What must I die? Oh! this is very cruel!

War.
See how he grins, Sir, with the pangs of Death.

Sal.
Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.

King.
Peace to his Soul, if it be Heavens good pleasure.
Lord Cardinal, If you have any hopes of Heaven,
Hold up your hand, and give a joyful signal.

Sal.
He gives us none.

King.
Oh! Heaven have mercy on him.

War.
He gives a dreadful signal of his Guilt.

King.
Forbear to judge him, we are sinners all.
He's dead!—close up his eyes,—and let us all
To sad and devout Meditation. Exeunt.

The Scene is drawn. The Queen weeping.—A Lady attending.

Qu.
How am I robb'd of all my joys in Youth?
That now my doleful Years will hang on me,
Like a great Family on a poor Bankrupt.
My hope is, Destiny will ne're be able,
With this great weight of Misery upon me,
To drag me to the Prison of old Age,
Where we lie cold and dark as in the Grave,
And have as great a load of Earth upon us;
Where melancholy thoughts about us crawl,
Like Toads in Dungeons about Malefactors:
That Prison, where through gates of Horror wrinkled
Fate feeds us with the Water of our Tears,
But enough to quench the thirst of Sorrow,
For the old Well is then almost dried up.

Lady.
Oh! Madam! you'l bring Age on you in Youth,
If you weep thus.

Qu.
I wou'd if I cou'd, bring on me
The only joy of Age to be near Death.
But I have a long Life to travel through,
Barren and comfortless as any Desert,
And I am spoil'd of all just at the entrance. Enter another Lady.

2 Lady.
Madam, there's a Gentleman without
Come from aboard a Vessel, where the Duke
Of Suffolk lately was.—

Qu.
Oh! bring him! Enter a Gentleman.
Oh! saw you lately, Sir, the Duke of Suffolk?

Gent.
Yes, Madam.

Qu.
Oh! How does he?

Gent.
Well, I doubt not;
He is at the end of an unhappy Journey.—

Qu.
In France already?

Gent.
In a better Country.—
Madam, forgive my zeal to my dear Lord.
I had the honour to be once his Servant;
And knowing well your Majesty did bear
A very great respect to his great Merit.

Came to entreat you to revenge his Blood!

Qu.
His Blood!

Gent.
His Blood: See Madam, this was once,
The beauteous manly Visage of my Lord. Shews the Duke of Suffolk's Head.

1 Lady.
She faints! she dies! Oh! help for Heaven's sake.

2 Lady.
She stirs; she's coming to her self again.

Qu.
Why have you wak'd me from this pleasing slumber,
In which I had forgotten my vast misery?
Where is the bloody Spectacle you shewed me?

1 Lady.
Away with it!

Qu.
Shew it me again, I say.
Oh! barbarous and bloody Spectacle!
Is this the Noble Duke? Is this the man
That was the pride of Nature, England's Ornament,
But now is England's everlasting shame.
Oh! my dear murder'd Duke! Is this the meeting
Which we at parting promised to each other?
Love promis'd more than Destiny cou'd pay.
Who did this cursed deed?

Gent.
A cursed Pyrate,
Who in the Rivers Mouth clapt him aboard,
And took the Duke and all of us his Prisoners.
The Duke they knew not till they spy'd his George,
And then he own'd himself, and for his Ransome,
Offer'd what sums of Gold they wou'd demand;
He chanc'd to be one Walter Whitmore's Prize,
Who lost in Fight his eye.

Qu.
And to revenge it,
He wou'd put out the Sun.

Gent.
Yes, kill the Duke.
And he was stirr'd to greater insolence.
By that damn'd Villain, which they call'd their Captain,
Who said the Duke had murder'd good Duke Humphry,
Begger'd the King, lost France, and ruined England.
Nay, his foul Tongue did not refuse to spit
Dishonour on your Sacred Majesty,
And said the Duke had injur'd the King's Bed.

Qu.
Impudent Villain!

Gent.
For all which foul Crimes,
He said he wou'd revenge the King and Kingdom.

Qu.
Bold bloody Villain.

Gent.
The brave Duke on this,
Calling to mind his Birth was Calculated,
And it was told him he shou'd die by Water,

He thought at first the Fiend had quibbled with him,
And he shou'd die by one who was call'd Water;
But then remembring that he was at Sea,
He found the Devil had two strings to his Bow,
So Saw himself encompast round with Destiny.
Then lifting up his Eyes to Heaven he smil'd,
As if he in his noble thoughts derided
The sport Fate makes with great mens Lives and Fortunes.
Then looking down with scorn on his base Enemies,
He gave a sigh, at which he nam'd Queen Margaret,
And with that grace he acted every thing,
He bowed his Head, and had it stricken off.

Qu.
Oh! execrable Villains! cou'd this face
Which govern'd me, not strike an awe in you?
Who were not worthy once to look up it?
And thou unfortunate gallant man!
Thy Wit, thy Valour, and thy delicate Form,
Were mighty faults, which the World cou'd not bear.
No wonder the vile envy of the base
Pursued thee, when the Noble cou'd not bear thee,
They cursed thee as the Negroes do the Sun,
Because thy shining Glories blackned e'm.
For which, Oh England! thus I pray for thee!
May'st thou ne're breed brave Man, or if thou dost,
Oh! let him be thy Ruine, or thou his.
May all thy Witty men be sadly Vitious,
Let sloth devour their Fortunes, Fools their Fame,
Lewdness their Souls, their Bodies Foul Disease.
May thy Wise Men be Factious, and head Fools,
If they be honest let e'm loose their Heads.
Let thy Brave men against thy self be bravest,
Be Men at foreign, Devils at Civil War.
Let all thy Pious Sons with zeal run mad,
And make Religion thy Reproach and Curse.
May'st thou have all Religions to confound thee,
And none to save thee.—Here a bloody Altar,
Oh! cruel England! hast thou made for me,
Therefore these bloody Prayers I make for thee.

2 Lady.
The King is coming, Madam.

Enter the King.

King.
Oh! my Lord,
I bring thee frightful News, the Kentishmen
Are up in Arms, headed by one Jack Cade,
A Fellow who proclaims himself Lord Mortimer,
Descended from the Duke of Clarence Line.
He is marching towards London, in the head
Of a rude rugged merciless crowd of Peasants;
And all the way he proclaims me Usurper,
And vows to Crown himself at Westminster.
And in this great distress, to comfort me,
The tray'trous Duke of York, with a great Power,
Is marching hither too, and he proclaims
He comes but to remove the Duke of Sommerset,
But most believe he secretly intends
To reap the benefit of Cade's Rebellion.
That I am like a Ship beset with danger,
Threatned with Wracking by the Kentish Storm,
Or to be Boarded by that Pyrate, York.

Qu.
So! so my Curse on England springs already. (Aside.
Oh! this were Musick to me, were it not
Allay'd by the sad weeping of my Son,
Heir of these Noble Kingdoms; who, methinks,
Sighs in my Ear, Ah, Mother, for my sake
Pity the helpless King my unfortunate Father!
He was Crown'd King when he was nine Months old,
But if you do not aid him, his Misfortune
Will never suffer me to be a King.
For thy sake Princely Boy, I will assist him,
And something for his own, he's a good Man,
Though a weak King; and it was my ambition
Made Suffolk stain his hands in innocent Blood.
Which Crime forgive me Heaven, and let the Duke
Of Suffolk's Blood be all my Punishment. Enter Sommerset and Buckingham.

Buck.
Oh! fly Sir, fly, the Rebels are in Southwark;
The Citizens through fear forsake their Houses.
The Rascal People all joyn with the Traytors,
Threatning to spoil the City, and your Court.

Som.
Take comfort, Royal Sir, we'll all stand by you.

King.
Pray let as little Blood be shed as possible.
I'le send a holy Bishop to entreat e'm
To spare their Souls and Bodies; I will promise e'm
To mend my Government, for I confess,
England may yet Curse my unfortuate Reign.

Qu.
Come, Sir, take Spirit in you; Men like Buildings
Fall to the Ground, if never Fire burn in e'm
To harden e'm; King's a Royal Building,
That shou'd have no soft. Clay in it at all.
Adversity has always reign'd upon you,
And made you soft; but yield not, Sir, to Rebels.
Royalty like great Beauty, must be chaste,
Rogues will have all, if once they get a taste. Exeunt.

Epilogue.
Now some fine things perhaps you think to hear,
But he who did reform this Play does swear
He'll not bestow rich Trappings on a Horse,
That will want Breath to run a Three-days Course;
And be turn'd off by Gallants of the Town,
For Citizens and their Wives to Hackney on.
Not that a Barb that's come of Shackspears breed,
Can e're want Mettle, Courage, Shape, or Speed;
But you have Poetry so long rides Post,
That your delight in Riding now is lost.
And there is Reason for it I must own,
I'ave Foundred all the Poets in the Town.
Alas, their Strength and Courage may abate,
Under the Critique's Spur, and the Fools Weight.
And Destiny is playing wanton Tricks,
Turning the Nation round to Politiques;
The Romish Beast has scar'd her from her Wits,
And thrown her in her old Convulsion Fits.
The same she had many Years since, 'tis said,
Then Poetry was a miserable Jade.
The Pulpit then Men fiercely did bestride,
And Musqueteers that Wooden Horse did ride.
Those damn'd Diseases by time purg'd away,
The Nation streight grew Young again and Gay.
Balls assign'd, as Masquerades and Plays,
Were all the Business of those happy Days.
You flock'd to Plays as if they Jubilees were,
Things to be seen but once in Fifty Year.
Boxes i'th' Morning did with Beauty shine,
And Citizens then in the Pit did Dine.
The Wife with her good Husband did prevail,
To bring the Sucking Bottle full of Ale.
Then on her Knees cold Capon-legs were seen,
Her Husbands Capon-legs I do not mean.
Then we were pretious things, purchas'd tis known,
By Cloaths and Suppers, but these Days are done.
Yet they will come again, Times cannot hold,
But whilst they mend, Curse on it we grow old;
Then we may all who once were your delight,
Sup with Duke Humphry as you have done to Night. FINIS.

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