If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found, The world shall not be ransom for thy life.- [Exeunt K. HENRY, WARWICK, Lords, &c. Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with you! Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, Be playfellows to keep you company! And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch! Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies? Suff. A plague upon them! wherefore should I curse them? Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st thyself; And turn the force of them upon thyself. Suff. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banished from, Well could I curse away a winter's night, 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 woful monuments. O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand; [Kisses his hand. That thou might'st 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 whilst thou art standing by, As one that surfeits thinking on a want. I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, And banished I am, if but from thee. O, go not yet!-Even thus two friends condemned Suff. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, So Suffolk had thy heavenly company. I can no more.-Live thou to joy thy life; Enter VAUX. 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, 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, And with the southern clouds contend in tears; Suff. If I depart from thee, I cannot live; 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 cor'sive, It is applied to a deathful wound. To France, sweet Suffolk; let me hear from thee; Suff. I go. Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. Q. Mar. This way for me. [Exeunt, severally. SCENE III. London. Cardinal Beaufort's Bed-chamber. Enter KING HENRY, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and others. K. Hen. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy 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, When death's approach is seen so terrible! - War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 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. 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 WHITMORE, 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 Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws 1 Gent. What is my ransom, master? Let me know. 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 SUFF. And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom; let him liye. Suff. 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? Suff. 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. [Lays hold on SUFFOLK. Suff. 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! Suff. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke; Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I? Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. |