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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 Mórisco,
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty Kerne,
Hath he conversed with the enemy;
And undiscover'd come to me again,
And given me notice of their villanies.
This devil here shall he my substitute;
For that John Mortimer, which uow is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble:
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
#. 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, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit.
Scene II-Bury. A Room in the Palace.
Enter certain Murderers, hastily.
1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know,
We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded.
2 Mur. O, that it were to do —What have we
Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Enter SUFFolk. 1 Mur. Here comes my lord. Suf. Now, sirs, have you Despatch'd this thing? 1 Mur. Ah, my good lord, he's dead. Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house: I will reward you for this venturous 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? l, Mur. "Tis, my good lord. Suf. Away, be gone! [Exeunt Murderers.

Enter King HENRY, Queen MARGARet, Cardinal
BEAUFort, SovieRset, Lords, and others.
R. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence
Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.
Suf. I’ll joi. presently, my noble lord. [Exit.
K. Hen. Lords, take your places;–And I pray
you all, -
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster,
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!
F. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words
content me much.-

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Suf. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort! [me?

K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort Came he right now to sing a raven's note, Whose dismal tune berest 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 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 Gloster's dead. Q. Mar. Why do you rate mylord of Suffolk thus? Although the o: 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 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 fill'd with my reproach. This get I by his death: Ah me, unhappy! To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy! K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, 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 poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy: Erect his statue then, and worship it, And make my image but an alehouse sign. Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea; And twice by awkward wind from England's bank Drove back again unto my native clime? What boded this, but well-forewarning wind Did seem to say,+Seek not a scorpion's nest, Nor set no footing on this unkind shore? What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts, And he that loos'd them from their brazen caves; And bid them blow towards England's blessed shores, Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? Yet AEolus would not be a murderer, But left that hateful office unto thee: The pretty vaulting sea refus’d to drown me; Kuowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd on shore, With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness: The splitting rocks cow'rd 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 thy chalky cliffs, When from the 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 receiv'd it; And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart: And even 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
o agent of thy foul inconstancy,
o sit and witch me, as Ascanius did,
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy,”
Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?
Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret !
For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

Noise within. Enter WARwick and SAlisbury. The Commons press to the door.

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign, That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. i. commons, like an angry hive of bees, That want their leader, scatter up and down, And care not who they sting in his revenge. Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny, Until they hear the order of his death. K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too true; But how he died, God knows, not Henry: Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, And comment then upon his sudden death. War. That I shall do, my liege:—Stay, Salisbury, With the rude multitude, till I return. [Warwick goes into an inner room, and Salisbury retires. K. Hen. Othou, that judgest all things, stay my thoughts; My thoughts, that labour ''. my soul, Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life! If my suspect be false, forgive me, God; For judgment only doth ...i. to thee! Fain would I go to chase 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; And to survey his dead and earthly image, What were it but to make my sorrow greater? The folding doors of an inner chamber are thrown open, and Gloste R is discovered dead in his bed: WAR wick and others standing by it. War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this

body. K. Hen. 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 in i. 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, meagre, pale, and bloodless, Being all descended to the labouring 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 farther out than when he liv'd, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man: His hair o, his nostrils stretch'd with struging; His hand; oad display'd, as one that grasp'd And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdu'd. Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking; His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg’d. It cannot be, but he was murder'd here; The least of all these signs were probable.

Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to death 2 Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection; And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's foes; 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 Humphrey's timeless death. .. War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh, And sees fast by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter? Who finds i. 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. ''. you the butcher, Suffolk; where's your knife? Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons? o I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men; But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease, That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart, That slanders me with murder's crimson badge:– Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire, That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. |. Cardinal, Som. and others. War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him 2 Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may I say ; For every 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 Nevils' noble race. War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech, And say—it was thy mother, that thou mean'st, That thou thyself was born in bastardy: And, after all this fearful homage done, Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell, Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men! Suf. Thou shalt be waking, while Ished thy blood, If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence: Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. [Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick. K. Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart - untainted 2 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?

Re-enter SUFFolk and WARWICK, with their treapons drawn. K. Hen. 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 traitorous Warwick, with the men of Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. [Bury, Noise of a crowd within. Re-enter SAlisbury. Sal. Sirs; stand apart; the king shall know your mind,- (Speaking to those within.)

Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death,
Or banished fair England's territories,
They will by violence tear him from your palace,
And torture him with grievous ling'ring death.
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died;
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 strait edict,
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
That slily glided towards your majesty,
It were but necessary, you were wak'd;
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
The of worm might make the sleep eternal:
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no,
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;
With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
They say, is shamefully berest of life.
Commons. (Within.) An answer from the king,
my lord of Salisbury. [hinds,
Suf. "Tis like, the commons, rude unpolish'd
Could send such message to their sovereign:
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To shew how quaint 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.
Commons. (Within.) An answer from the king,
or we'll all break in.
K. Hen. 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 so entreat;
For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
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.
- [Exit Salisbury.
Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!
K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle
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 ransome for thy life.—
Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me;
I have great matters to impart to thee.
[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, &c.
Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, [you!
Be playfellows to keep you company'
There's two of you ; the devil make a third,
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations,
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.
Q. Mar. Fy, coward woman, and soft-hearted
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies?
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 surongly 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;
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burden'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 prospects, murdering basilisks :
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings!
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss;
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell—
Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st
And these dread curses—like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thyself.
Suf. You bade 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. O, let me entreat thee, cease! Give me
thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woeful monuments.
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand;
(Kisses his hand.)
That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,
Through o a thousand sighs are breath'd for
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 assured,
Adventure to be banished myself:
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go, speak not to me; even now be gone.—
O, go not yet!—Even thus two friends, condemn'd,
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewell; and farewell 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 heavenly company:
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With every several pleasure in the world;
And where thou art not, desolation.
I can no more:—Live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st.

Enter WAUX.

Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast! what news, I pr’ythee!

Vaux. To signify unto his majesty, That Cardinal Beaufort is at 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. Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his overcharged soul: And I am sent to tell his majesty, That even now he cries aloud for him.

Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king.

Exit Vaux.

Ah 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 2 Here could I breathe my soul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, Dying with mother's dugs between his lips: W. 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 should'st 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: O, let me stay, befall what may befall.

Q. Mar. Away!, though parting be a fretful corIt is applied to a deathsul wound. [rosive, 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 woeful'st cask
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 III.-London. Cardinal Beaufort's bed.
Enter King HENRY, SA lisbury, WAR wick, and
others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him.
K. Hen. How sares my lord? speak, Beaufort,
to thy sovereign. treasure,
Car. If thou be'st death, I’ll give thee England's
Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
When death's approach is seen so terrible!
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?—
O! 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 i. no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.—
Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch o winged soul!—
Give me some drink; and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
O, beat away the busy meddling 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. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure he Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven'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. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.— Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation. [Ereunt. 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 W Hit MoRE, and others; with them SUFFolk, 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,
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.
Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here shall they make their ransome on the sand,
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore.—
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;—
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;–
The other, (pointing to Suffolk) Walter Whitmore,
- is thy share.
1 Gent. What is my ransome, master? let me
know. [head.
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes
yours. scrowns,
Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand ,
And bear the name and port of of ?—
Cut both the villains' throats;–for die you shall;
The lives of those, which we have lost in fight,
Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum.
1 Gent...I’ll give it, sir; and therefore spare my
life. [straight.
2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it
Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die;
(To Suffolk.)
And so should these, if I might have my will.
Cap. Be not so rash; take ransome, 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 Whit-
- In ore. [affright?
How now ! why start'st thou? what, doth death
Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is
A cunning man did calculate my birth, [death.
And told me—that by Water I should die:
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded ;
Thy name is—Gaultier, being rightly sounded.
Whit. Gaultier, or Walter, which it is, I care not;
Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name,
But with our sword we wip'd away the blot;
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!
(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;
Joye sometime went disguis'd, and why not I?
Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
Suf. Obscure, and lowly swain, King Henry's
The honourable blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom,
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrupt
Bare-headed plodded by my foot cloth mule,
And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
How often hast thou waited at my cup,
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,
When I have feasted with queen Margaret?
Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n;
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride:
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood,
And duly waited for my coming forth?
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn
swain? -
Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
Suf. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art
thou. [side
Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's
Strike off his head.

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Suf. Poole? Cap. Poole? Sir Poole lord? Ay, kennel, puddle, sink: whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, For swallowing the treasure of the realm : Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground; [death, And thou; that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again: And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, For daring to affy a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. By devilish policy art thou grown great, And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg'd With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France: T. false revolting Normans, thorough thee, Disdain to call us lord; and Picardy Hath slain their governors, surpris'd our forts, And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,— Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,_ As hating thee, are rising up in arms: And now the house of York—thrust from the crown, By shameful murder of a guitless king, And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours Advance our half-facd sun, striving to shine, Under the which is writ—Invitis nubibus. The commons here in Kent are up in arms: And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary, Is crept into the palace of our king, And i by thee: —Away! conve in hence. Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! Small things make base men proud: this villain here, Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate. Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. It is impossible, that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me: I go of message from the queen to France; I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. Cap. Walter, [death. Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must wast thee to thy Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus:–’tis thee I

fear. Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee. 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, shew what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot! Great men ost die by vile bezonians: A Roman sworder and banditto slave, Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders, Pompey the great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. Exit Suf, with Whit. and others. Cap. And as for these whose ransome we have set, It is our pleasure, one of them depart:— Therefore come you with us, and let him go. Exeunt all but the first Gentleman,

Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's body.

Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, Until the queen his mistress bury it. Exit.

1 Gent, O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
His body will I bear unto the king:
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
So will the queen, that living held him dear.

- [Exit, with the body.

Scene II.-Blackheath. Enter GEORGE BEv is and Joh N HOLLAND.

Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath ; they have been up these two days. John. They ho the more need to o now then. Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade, the clothier, means to dress the commonweath, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England, since gentlemen came up. Geo. O miserable age' Virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men. John. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. | workmen. Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good John. True; And yet it is said, Labour in thy vocation: which is as much to say, as, -let the mao be labouring men; and therefore should we e magistrates. Geo. Thou hast hit it: for there's no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand. John. I see them " I see them " son, the tanner of Wingham;Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to make dog's leather of. John. And Dick the butcher, Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. }. And Smith the weaver. Geo. Argo, their thread of life is spun. John. Come, come, let's fall in with them.

There’s Best's

Drum. Enter CADE, Dick the butcher, SMITH the

weaver, and others in great number.

Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed father,

Dick. Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings.


Cade. —for our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes, Command silence.

Dick. Silences

Cade. My father was a Mortimer,

Dick. He was an honest man, and a good bricklayer. (Aside.)

Cade. My mother a Plantagenet,_

Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife.

- . (Aside.) Cade. My wise descended of the Lacies, Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many laces. Aside.) Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. (Aside.) Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable; and there was he born, under a hedge; for his father had never a house, but the cage. (Aside.) Cade. Valiant I am. Smith. 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. (Aside.) Cade. I am able to endure much. Dick. No question of that, for I have seen him whipped three market days together. (Aside.) |. I fear neither sword nor fire. Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof. (Aside.) Dick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of

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