King.
How fares my lord? Speak Beaufort to thy sovereign!

Beau.
If thou be death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
Enough to purchase such another island;
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

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.

Beau.
Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Dy'd he not in his bed?—where should he die?
Can I make men live whether they will or no?
Oh! torture me no more.—I will confess—
Alive again! then shew me where he is—
I'll give a thousand pounds 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 that wretched slave,
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!
Oh beat away the busy meddling fiend,
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul,
And from his bosom purge the black despair!

Buck.
See how the pangs of death do make him glare.

War.
Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.

King.
Peace to his soul, if 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!

Buck.
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

King.
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all;
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains close,
And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt. END OF ACT THE THIRD.

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