Enter Queen Margaret.
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.
My blood is chill'd—yet never from her birth
Hath Anjou's Margaret known the taste of fear. Enter a Page. Page.
Oh woe is me, that to my lot it falls
To bear the tidings of so heavy a chance. Queen.
What woe? What chance? Speak! for thou need'st not fear
To break this firm heart with the heaviest tale.
Say—is my son fall'n sick, or is he dead?
Speak—I'm prepared to hear thee— Page.
Take them—take them. [Giving her Suffolk's scarf and ring.

Queen.
Ah! barbarous villains! who have done this deed? Page.
Slain by a pirate on the Kentish coast,
His corse lies floating on the briny sea.
These precious reliques an attendant saved,
The last sad tokens of his love for thee.

Queen.
Ah Suffolk! Suffolk! hath thy lovely face
Ruled like a wand'ring planet over me,
And could it not enforce them to relent,
That were unworthy to behold the same?
Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind,
And makes it fearful and degenerate.
Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.
But who can cease to weep, and look on these?
Here lie, dear reliques, next my throbbing breast.
—Now will I hail returning Somerset,
And with the red-rose banners waved in air
Arouse a tempest that shall sweep from earth
Pale York, and all my Suffolk's murderers. [Exit.

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