K. Henry Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care;
And had I not been cited fo by them,

Yet did I purpose as they do intreat ;
For, fure, my thoughts do hourly prophefy
Mifchance unto my state by Suffolk's means;
And therefore by his Majetty I fwear,
Whofe far unworthy deputy I am,

He fhall not breathe infection in this air

But three days longer, on the pain of death.

2 Mar. Oh Henry! let me plead for gentle Suffolk.
K. Henry. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle Suffolk.
No more, i fay it thou doit plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but faid, I would have kept my word;
But when I fwear, it is irrevocable;

If after three days space thou here be'ft found
On any ground that I am ruler of,

The world fhall not be raniom for thy life.

Come, Warwick; come, good Warwick; go with me; I have great matters to impart to thee.

[Exeunt King Henry, Warwick, &c.

SCENE VHI, Manent Queen and Suffolk,

2. Mar Mifchance and forrow go along with you ! Heart's difcontent and four affliction

Be play fellows to keep you company!

There's two of you, the devil make a third,
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
Suf. Ceafe, gentle Queen, thefe execrations,

And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

9 Mar. Fie, coward woman, and foft hearted wretch, Haft thou not fpirit to curfe thine enemy?

Suf. A plague upon them! Wherefore fhould I curfe Would curfes kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, [them? I would invent as bitter fearching terms,

As curs'd, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many figns of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loth fome cave.
My tongue fhould ftumble in mine earnest words,
Mine eyes fhould fparkle like the beaten flint,

Mine hair be fix'd on end like one distract:
Ay, every joint fhould feem to curfe and ban.
And even now my burthen'd heart would break,
Should I not curfe them. Poifon be their drink!
Gall, worfe than gall, the daintiest meat they tafte !
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefeft prospect murd'ring bafilifks!
Their foftest touch as fmart as lizards' ftings!
Their mufic frightful as the ferpent's hifs!
And boding fcreech owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-feated hell-

[felf;

2. Mar. Enough, fweet Suffolk, thou torment'it thyAnd these dread curfes, like the fun 'gainft glass, Or like an over-charged gun, recoil,

And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf. You bad me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banifh'd from, Well could I curfe away a winter's night, Though ftanding naked on a mountain-top, Where biting cold would never let grafs grow, And think it but a minute fpent in fport.

[hand, i

2. Mar. Oh, let me intreat thee ceafe; give me thy That I may dew it with my mournful tears; Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, To wash away my woful monuments.

Oh, could this kifs be printed in thy hand,

That thou might'st think on thefe lips by the feal,
Through whom a thoufand fighs are breath'd for thee,
So get
thee gone, that I may know my grief;

'Tis but furmis'd, whilft thou art standing by,
As one that furfeits, thinking on a want.

I will repeal thee, or, be well affur'd,

Adventure to be banished myfelf:

And banished I am, if but from thee.

Go, fpeak not to me; even now be gone

Oh, go not yet -Ev'n thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace and kifs, and take ten thoufand leaves,
Lother a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewèl, and farewel 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 heav'nly company.

For where thou art, there is the world itfelf;
With ev'ry fev'ral pleasure in the world:
And where thou art not, defolation.

1 can no more.. Live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in aught but that thou liv't,

SCENE IX.

Enter Vaux.

2. Mar. Whither goes Vaux fo faft? what news, I Vaux. To fignify unto his Majelty,

That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death :
For fuddenly a grievous sickness took him,

[pr'ythee?

That makes him gasp, and ftare, and catch the air,
Blafpheming God, and curfing men on earth,
Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphry's ghost
Were by his fide; fometimes he calls the King,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
The fecrets of his over charged foul:
And I am fent to tell his Majelly,
That even now he cries aloud for him.

2. Mar. Go tell this heavy meffage to the King.

[Exit Vaux. Ay me what is this world? what news are these? But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor lofs, Omitting Suffolk's exile, my foul's treasure ? Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, And with the fouthern clouds contend in tears? Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my forrows. Now get thee hence; the King, thou know'ft, is coIf thou be found by me, thou art but dead. [ming; Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live; And in thy fight to die, what were it elfe, But like a pleasant flumber in thy lap? Here could i breathe my foul into the air, As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe Dying with mother's dug between its lips: Where, from thy fight, I fhould be raging mad, And cry out for thee to clofe up mine eyes, To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth: So fhouldst thou either turn my flying foul, Or I fhould breathe it fo into thy body;

And then it liv'd in sweet Elyfium.

To die by thee, were but to die in jest;

From thee to die, were torture more than death.
Oh! let me stay, befal what may befal.

2. Mar. Away; though parting be a fretful corrofive, It is applied to a deathful wound.

To France, fweet Suffolk; let me hear from thee:
For wherefoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.

Suf. i go.

2. Mar. And take my heart with thee.
Suf. A jewel lock'd into the woful'st casket
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, fo funder we;
This way fall to death.

2. Mar. This way for me.

[Exeunt feverally.

SCENE X. The Cardinal's bedchamber.

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the Cardinal in bed.

K. Henry. How fares my Lord? fpeak, Beaufort, to thy Sovereign

Car. If thou be'it Death, I'll give thee England's Enough to purchafe fuch another ifland, Sa thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

[trealure,

K. Henry. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is feen fo terrible! War. Beaufort, it is thy Sovereign fpeaks to thee. Gar. "" Bring me unto my trial when you will.

Dy'd he not in his bed? where fhould he die? "Can I make men live whe'r they will or no? "Oh, torture me no more, I will confefs."Alive again? then fhew me where he is: "I'll give a thoufand pound to look upon him". He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them : "Comb down his hair; look! look! it ftands upright, "Like lime-twigs fet to catch my winged foul. "Give me fome drink, and bid th' apothecary

66

Bring the frong poison that I bought of him. K. Henry. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch;

Oh, beat away the bufy, meddling fiend,
That lays ftrong fiege unto this wretch's foul,
And from his bofom purge this black defpair.

War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin! Sal. Disturb him not, let him pafs peaceably.

K. Henry. Peace to his foul, if God's good pleafure be! Lord Cardinal, if thou think'ft on heaven's blifs, Hold up thy hand, make fignal of thy hope. He dies, and makes no fign! O God, forgive him. War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

K. Henry. Forbear to judge, for we are finners all. Clofe up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, And let us ali to meditation.

A C T IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

The coaft of Kent.

Alarum. Fight at Sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter Captain Whitmore, and other pirates, with Suffolk and other prifoners.

Capt. "THE gaudy, blabbing, and remorfeful day,

Is crept into the bofom of the fea :

"And now loud howling wolves aroufe the jades "That drag the tragic melancholy night;

"Who with their drowfy, flow, and flagging wings,
"Clip dead mens' graves, and from their milty jaws
"Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore bring forth the foldiers of our prize:
For whilft our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here fhall they make their ransom on the fand,
Or with their blood ftain this difcolour'd fhore.
Mafter, this prifoner freely give I thee;

And thou that art his mate, make boot of this:
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy fhare,

1 Gent. What is my raniom, Maller, let me know.
Maft. A thoufand crowns, or elfe lay down your head.
Mate. And fo much fhall you give, or off goes your's.
Whit. What, think you much to pay two thoufond
And bear the name and port of gentlemen? [crowns,
Cut both the villains' throats, for die you fhall:
Nor can thofe lives which we have loft in fight,