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

Eall,)

2. Mar. God forbid any malice thould prevail, That faultlefs may condemn a Nobleman! Pray God he may acquit him of fufpicion!

K. Henry, I thank thee. Well, these words content me much pad along

Enter Suffolk.

How now? why look it thou pale? why trembleft thou?. Where is our uncle ?what is the matter, 'Suffolk?" Suff. Dead in his bed, my Lord; Glo'ster is dead. 2. Mar. Marry, God forefend! Car. God's fecret judgement: I did dream to-night, The Duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. [King fwoons.

2. Mar. How fares my Lord ? help, Lords, the King

is dead.

Som. Rear up his body, wring him by the nose. 2. Mar. Run, go, help, help! oh, Henry, ope thine

eyes.

Suff. He doth revive again; Madam, be patient.
K. Henry. O heav'nly God!

2. Mar. How fares my gracious Lord ?

Suff. Comfort, my Sovereign; gracious Henry, com fort.

[me?

K. Henry. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort Came he right now to fing 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 breaft, V Can chafe away the firft-conceived found t Hide not thy poison with such fugar'd words; Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, Í fay; Their touch affrights me as a ferpent's fting. Thou baleful mellenger, out of my fight! Upon thy eye-balls murd'rous tyranny Sits in grim majefty to fright the world. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding!wa

Yet

2

Yet do not go away; come, bafilifk,
And kill the innocent gazer with thy fight:
For in the fhade of death I fhall find joy;
In life but double death, now Glo'fter's dead.

2. Mar. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus? Although the Duke was enemy to him,

Yet he, moft Christian-like, laments his death.
And for myself, foe as he was to me,

Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-confuming fighs, recal his life;

I would be blind with weeping, fick with groans,
Look pale as primrose with blood-drinking fighs, i
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;

A

So fhall my name with Slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes' courts be fill'd with my 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'fter, wretched man!
2. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
What, doft thou turn away and hide thy face?
I am no lothfome leper; look on me.

What, art thou like the adder waxen deaf?
Be pois'nous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen.
Is all thy comfort fhut in Glo'fter's tomb?
Why, then, Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his ftatue, and do worship to it,

And make my image but an alehouse-sign.
Was I for this nigh wreck'd upon the fea,

And twice by adverfe winds from England's bank,{{
Drove back again unto my native clime?

What boded this? but well-forewarning winds
Did feem to fay, Seek not a fcorpion's neft,

Nor fet no footing on this unkind fhore.
What did I then, but curfe the gentle gufts,
And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves;
And bid them blow towards England's bleffed thore,
Or turn our ftern upon a dreadful rock?

Yet plus would not be a murtherer,

But left that hateful office unto thee *.

The fpilting rocks cow'r'd in the finking fands,
And would not dash me with their ragged fides;
Becuase thy flinty heart, more hard than they,
Might in thy palace perifh Margaret.

As far as I could ken the chalky cliffs,
When from thy fhore the tempest beat us back,
I ftood upon the hatches in the storm;
And when the dufky fky began to rob
My earneft-gaping fight of thy land's view,
I took a coftly jewel from my neck,

(A heart it was, bound in with diamonds),
And threw it tow'rds thy land; the fea receiv'd it,
And fo I with'd thy body might my heart.
And ev'n with this I loft fair England's view,
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart;
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,
For lofing ken of Albion's wifhed coaft.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
(The agent of thy foul inconftancy)
To fit and witch me, as Afcanius did,
When he to madding Dido would unfold

His father's acts, commence'd in burning Troy?

Am I not witch'd like her? art thou not falfe like him?"

Ah me, I can no more: die, Margaret!

For Henry weeps that thou doft live fo long.

Noife within. Enter Warwick, Salisbury, and many Commons.

War. It is reported, mighty Sovereign,

That good Duke Humphry traiteroufly is murther'd
By Suffolk, and the Cardinal Beaufort's means:
The Commons, like an angry hive of bees
That want their leader, fcatter up and down,
And care not who they fting in their revenge.
Myfelf have calm'd their fpleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

office unto thee.

The pretty vaulting fea refus'd to drown me;

Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on fhore

With tears as falt as fea, through thy unkindness,

The splitting rocks, &c.

VOL V.

G

K. Henry.

K. Henry. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too But how he died, God knows, not Henry: [true Enter his chamber, view his breathlefs corpfe, And comment then upon his fudden death. War. That I fhall do, my Liege: ftay, Salisbury With the rude multitude, till I return.

[Warwick goes ina

K. Henry. O thou that judgeft all things, itay, my thoughts;

My thoughts that labour to perfuade my foul, esti
Some violent hands were laid on Humphry's life:
If r my fufpect be falfe, forgive me, God!
For judgment only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thoufand kiffes, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of falt tears;
To tell my love upon his dumb, deaf trunk,
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:
But all in vain are thefe mean obfequies.

A

[Bed with Gloucester's body put forth. And to furvey his dead and earthy image, What were it but to make my forrow greater? War. Come hither, gracious Sovereign, view this body.

K. Henry. That is to fee how deep my grave is made: For with his foul fled all my worldly folace; For feeing him, I fee my life in death.

War. As furely as my foul 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.

Suff. A dreadful oath, fworn with a folemn tongue!
What inftance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?
War. See how the blood is fettled in his face.
Oft have I feen a timely-parted ghoft,

Of athy femblance, meagre, pale, and bloodlefs,
Being all defcended to the lab'ring heart,
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the fame for aidance 'gainst the enemy;

Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the check again.

But

But fee, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eye-balls farther out than when he liv'd;
Staring full ghaftly, like a ftrangled man;
His hair up-rear'd, his noftrils ftretch'd with struggling;
His hands abroad difplay'd, as one that grafp'd
And tugg'd for life, and was by ftrength fubdu'd.
Look on the fheets: his hair, you fee, is fticking;
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the fummer's corn by tempeft lodg'd.
It cannot be but he was murther'd here;
The leaft of all thefe figns were probable.

Suff. Why, Warwick, who fhould do the Duke to Myfelf and Beaufort had him in protection; [death? And we, I hope, Sirs, are no murtherers.

War. But both of you had vow'd Duke Humphry's death,

And you, forfooth, had the good Duke to keep: 'Tis like you would not feaft 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 fees faft by a butcher with an ax,

But will fufpect 'twas he that made the flaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's neft,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite foar with unbloodied beak?
Even fo fufpicious is this tragedy.

2 Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where's your knife?

Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons ?
Suff. I wear no knife to flaughter fleeping men;
But here's a 'vengeful fword, rusted with ease,
That thall be fcoured in his ranc rous heart,
That flanders me with murther's crimson badge.
Say, if thou dar'ft, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphry's death.

War. What dares not Warwick, if falfe Suffolk dare him?

2. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, Nor ceafe to be an arrogant controller,

Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

G 2

War.