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. 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; 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 woeful'st casket That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we: This way fall I to death. Enter King HENRY, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him. K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy king. Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. K. Hen. O, thou eternal mover of the heavens, SC. I. KING HENRY VI. Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch! War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin. War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I-Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Mate, WALTER WHITMORE, and others; with them SUFFOLK, disguised; and other Gentlemen, prisoners. Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day Is crept into the bosom of the sea, And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings 1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know. 1 Not in f. e. 2 Embrace. Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. Cap. What! think you much to pay two thousand crowns, And bear the name and port of gentlemen ?— Cut both the villains' throats!-for die you shall: 1 Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And, therefore, to revenge it shalt thou die ; [To SuF. And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash: take ransom; let him live. Suf. Look on my George: I am a gentleman. Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. How now! why start'st thou ? what, doth death affright? Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth, And told me that by water I should die: Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded; [Lays hold on SUFFOLK. Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole. Whit. The duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags ! Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke: Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I ?2 Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, king Henry's blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup? And thought thee happy when I shook my head? 1 The in f. e. 2 This line, not in the folio, is from the old play of the "Contention." Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board. Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou. Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long boat's side Strike off his head. Cap. Thou dar'st not for thy own. Poole ? Poole, Sir Poole, lord? Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground; Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again: For daring to affy a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king, And now the house of York-thrust from the crown, 1 the forlorn swain: in f. e. 2 These words and the following Poole, are from the "Contention." By shameful murder of a guiltless king, Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours Small things make base men proud: this villain, here, Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me: I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. fear. [thee. Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave What are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him; speak him fair. Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it we should honour such as these With humble suit: no, rather let my head Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, Save to the God of heaven, and to my king; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear: More can I bear, than you dare execute. Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot. 1 The device of Edward III., "the rays of the sun dispersing themselves out of a cloud."-Camden. 2 Bargulus, Illyrius latro.-Ciceronis Officia, Lib. III., c. ii. |