With every several pleasure in the world;
And where thou art not, desolation.

I can no more :-live thou to joy thy life;
Myself to joy in naught but that thou liv'st.

Enter VAUX.

Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I 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.

[pr'ythee?

[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?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
Dying with mother's dug between its lips:
Where, 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 shouldst 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 corrosive,

It is applied to a deathful wound.

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 woefull'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

Bedchamber.

Enter KING HENRY, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and others. The CARDINAL in bed; Attendants with him.

K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.

Car. If thou be'st death I'll give thee England's treasure, 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
Where 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 show me where he is:
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him.-
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.-
Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright,
Like lime-twigs set to catch my 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 be!
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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I-KENT.

Firing heard at sea.

ACT IV.

The Sea-shore near Dover.

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
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 ransom 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 ransom, master? let me know.
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
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 :-
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. 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 SUFFOLK. 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; Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded. Whit. Gaultier or Walter, which it is I care not Never 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: Jove 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 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?
Bareheaded 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. Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side Strike off his head.

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; And thou, that smil'dst at good Duke Humphrey's death, 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;
The 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 guiltless king

And lofty proud encroaching tyranny,

Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours
Advance our half-fac'd 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 all by thee.-Away! convey him 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,

Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.