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 sovereign 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 well3 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.
"Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd; Witness the fortune he hath had in France. Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy, Had been the regent there instead of me, He never would have stay'd 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 burden of dishonour home By staying there so long till all were lost. 299 Show me one scar charácter'd on thy skin: Men's flesh preserv'd so whole do seldom win.10] Queen. Nay, then, this spark will prove a
The 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,
Whiles 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 Humphrey.
Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him
That henceforth he shall trouble us no more.
10 i.e. Men whose flesh is kept so free from wounds are seldom conquerors." 11 Happily perchance.
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine; 3 And, in the end being rescued, I have seen Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,1 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 given me notice of their villanies.] This devil here shall be my substitute; For that John Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gait, 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
Suf. He doth revive again:-madam, be patient.
King. O heavenly God!
How fares my gracious lord? Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!
King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 40 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 murderous tyranny Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.] 50 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. Queen. 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
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: ay me, unhappy! 70 To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy!]
King. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched
Queen. Be woe for me,8 more wretched than he is.
8 Be woe for me, i.e. "be grieved for me."
The splitting rocks3 cower'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.] 100 As far as I could ken the 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 re-
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