And, for a minister of my intent,
I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,
To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kerns,
And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porpentine ;
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen
Him caper upright like a wild Morisco,
Shaking the bloody darts as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kern,
Hath he conversed with the enemy,
And undiscover'd come to me again
And given me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute ;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble :
By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say he be taken, rack'd and tortured,
1 know no pain they can inflict upon him



ACT III., Sc. 2.



KING HENRY VI. PART II.



523



Will make him say I moved 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 St. Edmund's. A Boom
of State.

Enter two or three running over the stage from
the murder of the Duke of Gloucester.

1 Mur. Run to my Lord of Suffolk ; let him

know
We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

2 Mur. O that it were to do ! What have we

done ?
Did'st ever hear a man so penitent ?

Enter Suffolk.

1 Mur. Here comes my lord.
Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing ?
1 Mur. Ay, 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 ? Is all things well,
According as I gave directions ?
1 Mur. "Tis, my good lord.
Suf. Away ! be gone. Exeunt Murderers.

Sound trumpets. Enter King, Queen, Cardinal

Beaufort and Somerset, with Attendants.
King. Go, call our uncle to our presence

straight ;

Say we intend to try his grace to-day,
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suf. I '11 call him presently, my noble lord.

Exit.
King. Lords, take your places ; and, I pray

you all,

Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester
Than from true evidence of good esteem
He be approved in practice culpable.

Que. God forbid any malice should prevail
That faultless may condemn a nobleman !
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion !
King. I thank thee, Meg ; these words content
me much.

Re-enter Suffolk.
How now ! why look'st thou pale ? why tremblest

thou ?

Where is our uncle? what 's the matter, Suffolk?
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloucester is

dead.

Que. Marry, God fprfend !
Car. God's secret judgment : I did dream to-
night

The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

King swoons.
Que. How fares my lord ? Help, lords ! the

king is dead.

Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the nose.
Que. Run, go, help, help ! O Henry, ope thine

eyes!

Suf. He doth revive again : madam, be patient.
King. heavenly God !
Que. How fares my gracious lord?



Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry,
comfort !

King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort

me?

Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft 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 murderous 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 Gloucester 's dead.

Que. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus ?
Although the duke 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 judged 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 : ay me, unhappy !
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy !

King. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched
ma,n !

Que. 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 Gloucester's tomb ?
Why, then, Dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy.
Erect his statua 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 t
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ?
What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts
And he that loosed them forth their brazen caves ;
And bid them blow towards England's blessed

shore, ,

Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ?
Yet ^olus would not be a murderer,
But left that hateful office unto thee :
The pretty-vaulting sea refused to drown me,
Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on

shore,

With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness :
The splitting rocks cower'd 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.

S 5



524



KING HENRY VI. PART II.



ACT III., Sc. 2.



As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,

When from thy 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 received 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,

The agent of thy foul inconstancy,

To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did

When he to madding Dido would unfold

His father's acts commenced in burning Troy !

Am I not witch'd like her ? or thou not false like

him?

Ay me, I can no more ! die, Margaret !
For Henry weeps that thou dost live so long.

Noise within. Enter Warwick, Salisbury and
many Commons.

War. It is reported, mighty sovereign,
That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is mur-
der' d

By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
The 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.

King. 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 shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salis-
bury,

With the rude multitude till I return. Exit.

Xing. O Thou that judgest all things, stay my

thoughts,

My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life !
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
For judgment only doth belong to thee.
Fain would I go to chafe 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 earthy image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater ?

Re-enter Warwick and others, bearing Glou-
cester's body on a bed.

War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this
body.

King. 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 death.

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 re-

turneth

To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But see, his face is black and full of blood,
His eye-balls further out than when he lived,
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man ;
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretched with

struggling;

His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for life and was by strength subdued :
Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking ;
His well-proportion' d beard made rough and

.rugged,

Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
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 ?

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.

Que. 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 the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with un bloodied beak ?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Que. 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 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 darest. proud Lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death.

Exeunt Cardinal, Somerset and others.

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

Que. 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 devils' noble race.



ACT HI., Sc. 2.



KING HENRY VI. PART II.



525



War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee
And I should rob the deathsman of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of tan 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 meant' st,
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy ;
And after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men !

Suf. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy

blood,
If from this presence thou darest go with me.

War. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence :
Unworthy though thou art, I '11 cope with thee
And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost.
Exeunt Suffolk and Warwick.

King. What stronger breastplate than a heart

untainted !

Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted,

A noise within.

Que. What noise is this ?

Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, ivith their
weapons drawn.

King. 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

Bury
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

Sal. [To the Commons, entering.'] Sirs, stand

apart ; the king shall know your mind.
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
Unless Lord 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 lingering 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 waked,
Lest, being suffer' d in that harmful slumber,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal ;
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you, whether 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 bereft of life.

Commons. [ Within.} An answer from the king,
my Lord of Salisbury !

Suf. "Tis like the commons, rude unpolish'd

hinds.
Could send such message to their sovereign :



But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To show 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 will all break in !

King. 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 do 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.

Que. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk !

King. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle

Suffolk !

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 ransom for thy life.
C ome, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me ;
I have great matters to impart to thee.

Exeunt ail but Queen and Suffolk.

Que. Mischance and sorrow go along with you !
Heart's discontent and sour affliction
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.

Que. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted

wretch !
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy ?

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 strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave :
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words ;
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ;
Mine hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ;
Ay, every joint should eein to curse and ban :
And even now my burthen'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 prospect 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

Que. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou tonnent'st

thyself ;

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?



526



KING HENRY VI. PART II.



ACT III., Sc. 3.



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.

Que. 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 woful monuments.
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,
That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,
Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for

thee!

So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief ;
'Tis but surmised whiles 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,
Leather 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 thence ;
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 livest.

Enter Vaux.

Que. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news,
I prithee ?

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 r.ow he cries aloud for him.

Que. Go tell this heavy message to the king.

Exit Vaux.

Ay 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 lived 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 !

tyue. Away ! though parting be a fretful corro-
sive,

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 '11 have an Iris that shall find thee out.

Suf. I go.

Que. And take my heart with thee.

Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the wofull'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we :
This way fall I to death.

Que. This way for me.

Exeunt severally.

Scene III. A Bed-chamber.

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

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

Oar. If thou be'st death, I '11 give thee Eng-
land's treasure,

Enough to purchase such another island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

King. 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, whether they will or no?
O, torture me no more ! I will confess.
Alive again ? then show me where he is :
I '11 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 up-
right,

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.

King. 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.

King. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea-
sure 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.

King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close ;
And let us all to meditation. Exeunt.



ACT IV., Sc. 1.



KING HENRY VI. PART II.



527



Act IV.



Scene I. The Coast of Kent.

Alarum. Fight at Sea. Ordnance goes off.

Enter a Captain, a Master, a Master's- Mate,

Walter Whitmore and others; with them

Suffolk and others, prisoners.

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of he 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, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

I Gen. What is my ransom, master? let me
know.

Mas. 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 thou-
sand 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
Be counterpoised with such a petty sum !

1 Gen. I '11 give it, sir ; and therefore spare my

life.

2 Gen. And so will I and write home for it

straight.

Whi. 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 :
Kate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

Whi. And so am I ; nay name is Walter Whit-
more.

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.

Whi. Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not :