But left that hateful office unto thee *.

The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the finking fands,
And would not dash me with their ragged fides;
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 fhore the tempeft beat us back,
I ftood upon the hatches in the storm;
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping fight of thy 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 fea receiv'd it,
And fo I wish'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 fpectacles,
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 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? art thou not falfe like him?

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

For Henry weeps that thou dost 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.

[true;

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

[Warwick goes in. K. Henry. O thou that judgeft all things, ftay my thoughts;

My thoughts that labour to perfuade my foul,
Some violent hands were laid on Humphry's life:
If my fufpect be falfe, torgive me, God!
For judgement ouly doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand 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..

[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 ftate upon him,
To free us from his Father's wrathful curfe,

I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke.

Suf. 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 ghost,

Of afhy 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 cheek again

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 ftruggling;
His hands abroad display'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 sticking;
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.

Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to
Myfelf and Beaufort had him in protection;
And we, I hope, Sirs, are no murtherers.

[death?

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 feen he found an enemy.

2. Mar. Then you, belike, fufpect thefe 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?
Suf. I wear no knife to flaughter fleeping men;
But here's a 'vengeful fword, rufted with ease,
That fhall 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 false Suffolk dare
him?

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

Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

War. Madam, be ftill; with reverence may I fay; For every word you speak in his behalf

Is flander to your royal dignity.

Suf. Blunt-witted Lord, ignoble in demeanour,
If ever lady wrong'd her lord fo much,

Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some ftern untutor'd churl; and noble stock
Was graft with crab tree flip, whose fruit thou art;
And never of the Nevills' noble race.

War. But that the guilt of murther bucklers thee,
And I fhould rob the death's man of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand fhames,
And that my Sovereign's prefence makes me mild,
I would, falfe murdrous coward, on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for thy paffed fpeech,
And fay it was thy mother that thou meant'ft ;
That thou thyfelf waft born in bastardy :
And, after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire, and send thy foul to hell,
Pernicious blood-fucker of fleeping men!

Suf. Thou shalt be waking, while I fhed thy blood, If from this prefence thou dar ft 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 fome fervice to Duke Humphry's ghoft.

[Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick.

K. Henry. What ftronger breaft-plate than a heart

untainted?

Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel juft;
And he but naked (though lock'd up in fteel)
Whofe confcience with injuftice is corrupted.

2. Mar. What noife is this?

[A noife within.

Enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their weapons drawn. K. Henry. Why, how now, Lords? your wrathful weapons drawn

Here in our prefence! dare you be fo bold?

Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

Suf. The trait'rous Warwick with the men of Bury

Set all upon me, mighty Sovereign.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal. Sirs, ftand apart; the King fhall know your

mind.

Dread Lord, the Commons fend you word by me,
Unless Lord Suffolk ftrait be put 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 fay, by him the good Duke Humphry died;
They fay, in him they fear your Highnefs' death;
And mere inftinct of love and loyalty.

(Free from a ftubborn oppofite intent,
As being thought to contradict your liking),
Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
They fay, in care of your moft royal perfon,
That if your Highness should intend to fleep,
And charge that no man should disturb your reft,
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death;
Yet, notwithstanding such a strait edict,
Were there a ferpent feen with forked tongue,
That flily glided towards your Majefty,
It were but neceffary you were wak d,
Left, being fuffer'd in that harmful flumber,
The mortal worm might make the fleep eternal.
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you whe'r you will or no,
From fuch fell ferpents as false Suffolk is;
With whose inveromed and fatal ting
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
They fay, is fhamefully bereft of life.

Commons within. An anfwer from the King, my Lord' of Salisbury.

Suf. 'Tis like the Commons, rude unpolifh'd hinds, Could fend fuch meffage to their Sovereign!

But you, my Lord, were glad to be employ'd, '
To fhew how quaint an orator you are.
But all the honour Salisbury hath won,
Is, that he was the Lord Ambassador
Sent from a fort of tinkers to the King.

[in.

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