K. Henry.
I muse my lord of Glo'ster is not come:
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

Q. Mar.
Can you not see? or will ye not observe
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
With what a majesty he bears himself,

How insolent of late he is become,
How peremptory and unlike himself!
We know the time since he was mild and affable,
And if we did but glance a far-off look,
Immediately he was upon his knee,
That all the court admir'd him for submission.
But meet him now, and be it in the morn
When ev'ry one will give the time of day,
He knits his brow and shews an angry eye,
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
Small curs are not regarded when they grin,
But great men tremble when the Lion roars,
And Humphry is no little man in England.
First note, that he is near you in descent,
And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
Me seemeth then, it is no policy,
(Respecting what a ranc'rous mind he bears,
And his advantage following your decease)
That he should come about your royal person,
Or be admitted to your highness' council.
By flatt'ry hath he won the commons hearts:
And when he'll please to make commotion,
'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him.
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted,
Suffer them now, and they'll o'er-grow the garden,
And choak the herbs for want of husbandry.
The reverent care I bear unto my lord
Made me collect these dangers in the Duke.
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear:
Which fear, if better reasons can supplant,
I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the Duke.
My lords of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,

Reprove my allegation if you can,
Or else conclude my words effectual.

Suf.
Well hath your highness seen into this Duke.
And had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think I should have told your grace's tale.
The Dutchess, by his subornation,
Upon my life, began her devilish practices:
Or if he were not privy to those faults,
Yet by repeating of his high descent
As next the King he was successive heir,
And such high vaunts of his nobility,
Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick Dutchess,
By wicked means to frame our Sov'raign's fall.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,
And in his simple shew he harbours treason.
The Fox barks not when he would steal the Lamb.
No, no, my Soveraign, Glo'ster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.

Car.
Did he not, contrary to form of law,
Devise strange deaths for small offences done?

York.
And did he not, in his Protectorship,
Levy great sums of mony through the realm
For soldiers pay in France, and never sent it?
By means whereof the towns each day revolted.

Buck.
Tut, these are petty faults, to faults unknown
Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humphry.

K. Henry.
My lords at once; the care you have of us,
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot,
Is worthy praise; but shall I speak my conscience?
Our kinsman Glo'ster is as innocent
From meaning treason to our royal person,
As is the sucking Lamb or harmless Dove:
The Duke is virtuous, mild, and too well given

To dream on evil, or to work my downfal.

Q. Mar.
Ah! what's more dang'rous than this fond affiance?
Seems he a Dove? his feathers are but borrow'd,
For he's disposed as the hateful Raven.
Is he a Lamb? his skin is surely lent him,
For he's inclin'd as is the ravenous Wolf.
Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit?
Take heed, my lord, the welfare of us all
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. Enter Somerset.

Som.
All health unto my gracious Sovereign.

K. Henry.
Welcome, lord Somerset; what news from France?

Som.
That all our int'rest in those territories
Is utterly bereft you; all is lost.

K. Henry.
Cold news, lord Somerset; but God's will be done.

York.
Cold news for me: for I had hope of France,
As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
And caterpillars eat my leaves away.
But I will remedy this gear ere long,
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. [Aside. SCENE II. Enter Gloucester.

Glo.
All happiness unto my lord the King:
Pardon, my Liege, that I have staid so long.

Suf.
Nay, Glo'ster, know that thou art come too soon,
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art;
I do arrest thee of high treason here.

Glo.
Well Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me blush
Nor change my countenance for this arrest:

A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
The purest spring is not so free from mud,
As I am clear from treason to my Soveraign.
Who can accuse me? wherein am I guilty?

York.
'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes of France,
And being Protector, staid the soldiers pay,
By means whereof his Highness hath lost France,

Glo.
Is it but thought so? what are they that think it?
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night,
Ay night by night, in studying good for England.
That doit that e'er I wrested from the King,
Or any groat I hoarded to my use,
Be brought against me at my tryal day.
No; many a pound of my own proper store,
Because I would not tax the needy commons,
Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
And never ask'd for restitution.

Car.
It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.

Glo.
I say no more than truth, so help me God.

York.
In your Protectorship you did devise
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of,
That England was defam'd by tyranny.

Glo.
Why 'tis well known, that whiles I was Protector
Pity was all the fault that was in me:
For I should melt at an offender's tears,
And lowly words were ransom for their fault:
Unless it were a bloody murtherer,
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,
I never gave them condign punishment.
Murther indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
Above the felon, or what trespass else.

Suf.
My lord, these faults are easie, quickly answer'd:
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge,
Whereof you cannot easily purge your self.
I do arrest you in his Highness' name,
And here commit you to my lord Cardinal
To keep, until your further time of tryal.

K. Henry.
My lord of Glo'ster, 'tis my special hope
That you will clear your self from all suspicion;
My conscience tells me you are innocent.

Glo.
Ah gracious lord, these days are dangerous:
Virtue is choak'd with foul ambition,
And charity chac'd hence by rancor's hand;
Foul subornation is predominant,
And equity exil'd your Highness' land.
I know, their complot is to have my life:
And if my death might make this island happy,
And prove the period of their tyranny,
I would expend it with all willingness.
But mine is made the prologue to their play:
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
Beauford's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice,
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue
The envious load that lyes upon his heart:
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whose over-weening arm I have pluck'd back,
By false accuse doth level at my life.
And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest,
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head,
And with your best endeavours have stirr'd up
My liefest liege to be mine enemy:
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together,

(My self had notice of your conventicles)
And all to make away my guiltless life.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt:
The ancient proverb will be well effected,
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.

Car.
My Liege, his railing is intollerable.
If those that care to keep your royal person
From treason's secret knife and traitor's rage,
Be thus upbraided, chid and rated at,
And the offender granted scope of speech,
'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.

Suf.
Hath he not twit our Sovereign lady here
With ignominious words, though clarkly coucht?
As if she had suborned some to swear
False allegations, to o'erthrow his state.

Q. Mar.
But I can give the loser leave to chide.

Glo.
Far truer spoke than meant; I lose indeed,
Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false;
And well such losers may have leave to speak.

Buck.
He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day.
Lord Cardinal, he is your prisoner.

Car.
Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.

Glo.
Ah, thus King Henry throws away his crutch
Before his legs be firm to bear his body;
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
Ah that my fear were false, ah that it were:
For, good King Henry, thy decay I fear. [Exit. SCENE III.

K. Henry.
My lords, what to your wisdom seemeth best,

Do or undo, as if our self were here.

Q. Mar.
What, will your Highness leave the parliament?

K. Henry.
Ay Margaret; my heart is drown'd with grief,
Whose flood begins to flow within my eyes;
My body round engirt with misery:
For what's more miserable than discontent?
Ah uncle Humphry, in thy face I see
The map of honour, truth, and loyalty:
And yet, good Humphry, is the hour to come,
That e'er I prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith;
(What low'ring star now envies thy estate?)
That these great lords, and Margaret our Queen,
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life,
That never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong.
And as the butcher takes away the calf,
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house:
Even so remorsless have they born him hence.
And as the dam runs lowing up and down,
Looking the way her harmless young one went,
And can do nought but wail her darling's loss:
Even so my self bewail good Glo'ster's case
With sad unhelpful tears; and with dim'd eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good:
So mighty are his vowed enemies.
His fortunes I will weep, and 'twixt each groan
Say, who's a traitor? Glo'ster he is none. [Exit.

Q. Mar.
Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams.
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
Too full of foolish pity: Glo'ster's shew
Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers:
Or as the snake roll'd in a flowry bank,

With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I,
(And yet herein I judge my own wit good)
This Glo'ster should be quickly rid the world,
To rid us from the fear we have of him.

Car.
That he should die, is worthy policy,
But yet we want a colour for his death:
'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of law.

Suf.
But in my mind, that were no policy:
The King will labour still to save his life,
The commons happly rise to save his life;
And yet we have but trivial argument,
More than mistrust, that shews him worthy death.

York.
So that by this, you would not have him die.

Suf.
Ah York, no man alive so fain as I.

York.
'Tis York that hath more reason for his death.
But my lord Cardinal, and you my lord of Suffolk,
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls:
Were't not all one, an empty eagle were set
To guard the chicken from a hungry kite,
As place Duke Humphry for the King's Protector?

Q. Mar.
So the poor chicken should be sure of death.

Suf.
Madam, 'tis true; and wer't not madness then
To make the fox surveyor of the fold?
Who being accus'd a crafty murtherer,
His guilt should be but idly posted over,
Because his purpose is not executed.
No; let him die, in that he is a fox,
By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,
Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood,
As Humphry prov'd by reasons to my liege;
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him:

Be it by ginns, by snares, by subtilty,
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first, that first intends deceit.

Q. Mar.
Thrice noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.

Suf.
Not resolute, except so much were done;
For things are often spoke, and seldom meant;
But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
Seeing the deed is meritorious,
And to preserve my soveraign from his foe,
Say but the word, and I will be his priest,

Car.
But I would have him dead, my lord of Suffolk,
Ere you can take due orders for a priest:
Say you consent and censure well the deed,
And I'll provide his executioner,
I tender so the safety of my liege.

Suf.
Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.

Q. Mar.
And so say I.

York.
And I; and now we three have spoke it,
It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. SCENE IV. Enter a Post.

Post.
Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain,
To signifie that rebels there are up,
And put the Englishmen unto the sword:
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,
Before the wound do grow incurable;
For being green, there is great hope of help.

Car.
A breach that craves a quick expedient stop!
What counsel give you in this weighty cause?

York.
That Somerset be sent a Regent thither:

'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd:
Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

Som.
If York, with all his far-fetch'd policy,
Had been the Regent there instead of me,
He never would have staid in France so long.

York.
No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done:
I rather would have lost my life betimes,
Than bring a burthen of dishonour home,
By staying there so long, 'till all were lost.
Shew me one scar character'd on thy skin:
Mens flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win.

Q. Mar.
Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:
No more, good York; sweet Somerset be still.
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been Regent there,
Might haply have proved far worse than his.

York.
What, worse than nought? nay, then a shame take all.

Som.
And in the number, thee that wishest shame.

Car.
My lord of York, try what your fortune is;
Th' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms,
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen.
To Ireland will you lead a band of men,
Collected choicely, from each county some,
And try your hap against the Irishmen?

York.
I will, my lord, so please his Majesty.

Suf.
Why, our authority is his consent,
And what we do establish he confirms;
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

York.
I am content: provide me soldiers, lords,
Whilst I take order for mine own affairs.

Suf.
A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd.
But now return we to the false Duke Humphry.

Car.
No more of him; for I will deal with him,

That henceforth he shall trouble us no more:
And so break off: the day is almost spent:
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.

York.
My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days
At Bristol I expect my soldiers,
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

Suf.
I'll see it truly done, my lord of York. [Exeunt. SCENE V. Manet York.

York.
Now York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution:
Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art
Resign to death, it is not worth th' enjoying:
Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man,
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time show'rs, comes thought on thought,
And not a thought but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more busie than the lab'ring spider,
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well nobles, well; 'tis politickly done,
To send me packing with an host of men:
I fear me you but warm the starved Snake,
Who cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me;
I take it kindly: yet be well assur'd,
You put sharp weapons in a mad-man's hands.
Whilst I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm,
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heav'n or hell.
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage,
Until the golden circuit on my head,

(Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,)
Do calm the fury of this mad-brain'd flaw.
And for a minister of my intent,
I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentish man,
John Cade of Ashford,
To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
And fought so long, 'till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine:
And in the end being rescu'd, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
Hath he conversed with the enemy,
And undiscover'd come to me again,
And giv'n me notice of their villanies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer which is now dead,
In face, in gate, in speech he doth resemble.
By this I shall perceive the Commons mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured;
I know no pain they can inflict upon him
Will make him say I mov'd him to those arms.
Say that he thrive, as 'tis great like he will,
Why then from Ireland come I with my strength,
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd:
For Humphry being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put a-part, the next for me. [Exit.

SCENE VI. Enter two or three running over the stage, from the murther of Duke Humphry.

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

2.
Oh that it were to do! what have we done?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent? Enter Suffolk.

1.
Here comes my lord.

Suf.
Now, Sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?

1.
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 vent'rous deed:
The King and all the Peers are here at hand.
Have you laid fair the bed? are all things well,
According as I gave directions?

1.
Yes, my good lord.

Suf.
Away, be gone. [Exeunt. Enter King Henry, the Queen, Cardinal, Suffolk, Somerset, with attendants.

K. Henry.
Go call our uncle to our presence strait:
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.

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

Q. Mar.
God forbid any malice should prevail,
That faultless may condemn a nobleman:
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion.

K. Henry.
I thank thee Nell, these words content me much. Enter Suffolk.
How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

Suf.
Dead in his bed, my lord, Glo'ster is dead.

Q. Mar.
Marry God forfend!

Car.
God's secret judgment: I did dream to-night,
The Duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [K. swoons.

Q. Mar.
How fares my lord? help lords, the King is dead.

Som.
Rear up his body, wring him by the nose.‡ ^note

Q. Mar.
Run, go, help, help: oh Henry, ope thine eyes.

Suf.
He doth revive again; madam be patient.

K. Henry.
O heav'nly God!

Q. Mar.
How fares my gracious lord?

Suf.
Comfort my Soveraign, gracious Henry comfort.

K. Henry.
What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs:
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 Glo'ster's dead.

Q. Mar.
Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus?
Although the Duke was enemy to him,
Yet he most christian-like laments his death.
As for my self, foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs recal 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 filled with reproach:
This get I by his death: ah me unhappy!
To be a Queen, and crown'd with infamy.

K. Henry.
Ah woe is me for Glo'ster, wretched man!

Q. Mar.
Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
What, dost thou turn away and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper, look on me.
What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf?
Be poys'nous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Glo'ster's tomb?
Why then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his statue, and do worship to it,
And make my image but an ale-house sign.
Was I for this nigh wreckt upon the sea,
And twice by ^{b note}adverse winds from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boaded this? but well fore-warning winds

Did seem to say, seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set thy footing on this unkind shoar.
What did I then? but curst the gentle gusts,
And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves;
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shoar,
Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock:
Yet Æolus would not be a murtherer,
He left that hateful office unto thee.* ^note





The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands,
And would not dash me with their ragged sides;
Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
Might in thy palace perish Margaret.
As far as I could ken the chalky cliffs,
When from thy shoar 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 the land's view,
I took a costly jewel from my neck,
(A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,)
And threw it tow'rds thy land; the sea receiv'd it,
And so I wish'd thy body might my heart.
And ev'n with this I lost fair England's view,
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart,
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
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 watch me, as Ascanius did,
When he to madding Dido would unfold

His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy?
Am I not witcht like her? or thou not false like him?
Ah me, I can no more: dye Margaret,
For Henry weeps that thou didst live so long. Noise within. Enter Warwick, and many Commons.

War.
It is reported, mighty soveraign,
That good Duke Humphry traiterously is murther'd
By Suffolk, and the Cardinal Beauford'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 their revenge.
My self have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

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

War.
That I shall do, my liege: stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, 'till I return.

K. Henry.
O thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts;
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphry'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. [Bed with Glo'ster's body put forth.
And to survey his dead and earthly image,

What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

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

K. Henry.
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 is 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, 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 further out than when he liv'd,
Staring full gastly, like a strangled man;
His hair up-rear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling,
His hands abroad display'd, as one that graspt
And tugg'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.

Suf.
Why Warwick, who should do the Duke to death?
My self and Beauford had him in protection,

And we, I hope, Sirs, are no murtherers.

War.
But both of you have vow'd Duke Humphry's death,
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 noblemen,
As guilty of Duke Humphry's timeless death.

War.
Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh,
And sees fast by a butcher with an ax,
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 the knife?
Is Beauford term'd a kite? where are his tallons?

Suf.
I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men,
But here's a 'vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be scoured in his ranc'rous heart,
That slanders me with murther's crimson badge.
Say if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphry's death.

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

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

War.
Madam be still; with rev'rence may I say;
For ev'ry 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 Nevil's noble race.

War.
But that the guilt of murther bucklers thee,
And I should rob the death's-man of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
And that my Soveraign's presence makes me mild,
I would, false murd'rous coward, on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st;
That thou thy self wast born in bastardy:
And after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious blood-sucker 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 ev'n now, or I will drag thee hence:
Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee,
And do some service to Duke Humphry's ghost. [Exeunt. SCENE VII.

K. Henry.
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? Enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their weapons drawn.

K. Henry.
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 Soveraign.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal.
Sirs, stand apart, the King shall know your mind.
Dread lord, the Commons send you word by me,
Unless lord Suffolk strait be put to death,
Or banished fair England's territories,
They will by violence tear him from your palace,
And torture him with grievous lingring death.
They say, by him the good Duke Humphry dy'd;
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,
And charge that no man should disturb your rest,
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death;
Yet notwithstanding such a strange edict,
Were there a serpent seen with forked tongue
That slily glided tow'rds your Majesty,
It were but necessary you were wak'd;
Lest being suffer'd in that harmless slumber,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal.
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you whe're you will or no,
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;
With whose invenomed 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 Soveraign:
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To shew how queint 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.

Within.
An answer from the King, or we will all break in.

K. Henry.
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 prophesie
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.

Q. Mar.
Oh Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk.

K. Henry.
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. [Exit. SCENE VIII.

Q. Mar.
Mischance and sorrow go along with you,
Heart's discontent and sour affliction,

Be play-fellows to keep you company;
There's two of you, the devil make a third,
And three-fold 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,
Mine hair be fixt an end like one distract:
Ay, ev'ry 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 murd'ring basilisks,
Their softest touch as smart as lizards stings,
Their musick frightful as the serpent's hiss,
And boading screech-owls make the consort full.
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell—

Q. Mar.
Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thy self,
And these dread curses like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an over-charged gun, recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thy self.

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.

Q. Mar.
Oh let me intreat thee cease, give me thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heav'n wet this place,
To wash away my woful monuments.
Oh, 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 my self:
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go, speak not to me; even now be gone—
Oh go not yet—Ev'n thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather 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, wert thou hence;
A wilderness is populous enough,
So Suffolk had thy heav'nly company.
For where thou art there is the world it self,
With ev'ry sev'ral pleasure in the world:
And where thou art not, desolation.
I can no more—Live thou to joy thy life;
My self no joy in ought but that thou liv'st.

SCENE IX. Enter Vaux.

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

Vaux.
To signifie unto his Majesty,
That Cardinal Beauford's at the 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.
Sometimes he talks, as if Duke Humphry's ghost
Were by his side; sometimes 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,
Then even now he cries aloud for him.

Q. Mar.
Go tell this heavy message to the King. [Ex. Vaux.
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 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 shouldst 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;
Oh! 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 woful'st casket
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 X. Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the Cardinal in Bed.

K. Henry.
How fares my lord? speak Beauford to thy Soveraign.

Car.
If thou beest 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. Henry.
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

War.
Beauford, it is thy Soveraign speaks to thee.

Car.
Bring me unto my tryal when you will.
Dy'd he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live whe're 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 pound to look upon him—
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them:
Combe down his hair; look, look, it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul:
Give me some drink, and bid th' apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Henry.
O thou eternal mover of the heav'ns,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch;
Oh beat away the busie medling 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. Henry.
Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be.
Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heav'n's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
He dies, and makes no sign! O God forgive him.

War.
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

K. Henry.
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt.

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