King Henry VI, Part 2 · Chapter 3Part 3
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Her. I summon your Grace to his Maiesties Parliament, Holden at Bury, the first of this next Moneth
Glost. And my consent ne're ask'd herein before? This is close dealing. Well, I will be there. My Nell, I take my leaue: and Master Sherife, Let not her Penance exceede the Kings Commission
Sh. And't please your Grace, here my Commission stayes: And Sir Iohn Stanly is appointed now, To take her with him to the Ile of Man
Glost. Must you, Sir Iohn, protect my Lady here? Stanly. So am I giuen in charge, may't please your Grace
Glost. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray You vse her well: the World may laugh againe, And I may liue to doe you kindnesse, if you doe it her. And so Sir Iohn, farewell
Elianor. What, gone my Lord, and bid me not farewell? Glost. Witnesse my teares, I cannot stay to speake.
Exit Gloster.
Elianor. Art thou gone to? all comfort goe with thee, For none abides with me: my Ioy, is Death; Death, at whose Name I oft haue beene afear'd, Because I wish'd this Worlds eternitie. Stanley, I prethee goe, and take me hence, I care not whither, for I begge no fauor; Onely conuey me where thou art commanded
Stanley. Why, Madame, that is to the Ile of Man, There to be vs'd according to your State
Elianor. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach: And shall I then be vs'd reproachfully? Stanley. Like to a Duchesse, and Duke Humfreyes Lady, According to that State you shall be vs'd
Elianor. Sherife farewell, and better then I fare, Although thou hast beene Conduct of my shame
Sherife. It is my Office, and Madame pardon me
Elianor. I, I, farewell, thy Office is discharg'd: Come Stanley, shall we goe? Stanley. Madame, your Penance done, Throw off this Sheet, And goe we to attyre you for our Iourney
Elianor. My shame will not be shifted with my Sheet: No, it will hang vpon my richest Robes, And shew it selfe, attyre me how I can. Goe, leade the way, I long to see my Prison.
Exeunt.
Sound a Senet. Enter King, Queene, Cardinall, Suffolke, Yorke, Buckingham, Salisbury, and Warwicke, to the Parliament.
King. I muse my Lord of Gloster is not come: 'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man, What e're occasion keepes him from vs now
Queene. Can you not see? or will ye not obserue The strangenesse of his alter'd Countenance? With what a Maiestie he beares himselfe, How insolent of late he is become, How prowd, how peremptorie, and vnlike himselfe. We know the time since he was milde and affable, And if we did but glance a farre-off Looke, Immediately he was vpon his Knee, That all the Court admir'd him for submission. But meet him now, and be it in the Morne, When euery one will giue the time of day, He knits his Brow, and shewes an angry Eye, And passeth by with stiffe vnbowed Knee, Disdaining dutie that to vs belongs. Small Curres are not regarded when they grynne, But great men tremble when the Lyon rores, And Humfrey is no little Man in England. First note, that he is neere you in discent, And should you fall, he is the next will mount. Me seemeth then, it is no Pollicie, Respecting what a rancorous minde he beares, And his aduantage following your decease, That he should come about your Royall Person, Or be admitted to your Highnesse Councell. By flatterie hath he wonne the Commons hearts: And when he please to make Commotion, 'Tis to be fear'd they all will follow him. Now 'tis the Spring, and Weeds are shallow-rooted, Suffer them now, and they'le o're-grow the Garden, And choake the Herbes for want of Husbandry. The reuerent care I beare vnto my Lord, Made me collect these dangers in the Duke. If it be fond, call it a Womans feare: Which feare, if better Reasons can supplant, I will subscribe, and say I wrong'd the Duke. My Lord of Suffolke, Buckingham, and Yorke, Reproue my allegation, if you can, Or else conclude my words effectuall
Suff. Well hath your Highnesse seene into this Duke: And had I first beene put to speake my minde, I thinke I should haue told your Graces Tale. The Duchesse, by his subornation, Vpon my Life began her diuellish practises: Or if he were not priuie to those Faults, Yet by reputing of his high discent, As next the King, he was successiue Heire, And such high vaunts of his Nobilitie, Did instigate the Bedlam braine-sick Duchesse, By wicked meanes to frame our Soueraignes fall. Smooth runnes the Water, where the Brooke is deepe, And in his simple shew he harbours Treason. The Fox barkes not, when he would steale the Lambe. No, no, my Soueraigne, Glouster is a man Vnsounded yet, and full of deepe deceit
Card. Did he not, contrary to forme of Law, Deuise strange deaths, for small offences done? Yorke. And did he not, in his Protectorship, Leuie great summes of Money through the Realme, For Souldiers pay in France, and neuer sent it? By meanes whereof, the Townes each day reuolted
Buck. Tut, these are petty faults to faults vnknowne, Which time will bring to light in smooth Duke Humfrey
King. My Lords at once: the care you haue of vs, To mowe downe Thornes that would annoy our Foot, Is worthy prayse: but shall I speake my conscience, Our Kinsman Gloster is as innocent, From meaning Treason to our Royall Person, As is the sucking Lambe, or harmelesse Doue: The Duke is vertuous, milde, and too well giuen, To dreame on euill, or to worke my downefall
Qu. Ah what's more dangerous, then this fond affiance? Seemes he a Doue? his feathers are but borrow'd, For hee's disposed as the hatefull Rauen. Is he a Lambe? his Skinne is surely lent him, For hee's enclin'd as is the rauenous Wolues. Who cannot steale a shape, that meanes deceit? Take heed, my Lord, the welfare of vs all, Hangs on the cutting short that fraudfull man. Enter Somerset
Som. All health vnto my gracious Soueraigne
King. Welcome Lord Somerset: What Newes from France? Som. That all your Interest in those Territories, Is vtterly bereft you: all is lost
King. Cold Newes, Lord Somerset: but Gods will be done
Yorke. Cold Newes for me: for I had hope of France, As firmely as I hope for fertile England. Thus are my Blossomes blasted in the Bud, And Caterpillers eate my Leaues away: But I will remedie this geare ere long, Or sell my Title for a glorious Graue. Enter Gloucester.
Glost. All happinesse vnto my Lord the King: Pardon, my Liege, that I haue stay'd so long
Suff. Nay Gloster, know that thou art come too soone, Vnlesse thou wert more loyall then thou art: I doe arrest thee of High Treason here
Glost. Well Suffolke, thou shalt not see me blush, Nor change my Countenance for this Arrest: A Heart vnspotted, is not easily daunted. The purest Spring is not so free from mudde, As I am cleare from Treason to my Soueraigne. Who can accuse me? wherein am I guiltie? Yorke. 'Tis thought, my Lord, That you tooke Bribes of France, And being Protector, stay'd the Souldiers pay, By meanes whereof, his Highnesse hath lost France
Glost. Is it but thought so? What are they that thinke it? I neuer rob'd the Souldiers of their pay, Nor euer had one penny Bribe from France. So helpe me God, as I haue watcht the Night, I, Night by Night, in studying good for England. That Doyt that ere I wrested from the King, Or any Groat I hoorded to my vse, Be brought against me at my Tryall day. No: many a Pound of mine owne proper store, Because I would not taxe the needie Commons, Haue I dis-pursed to the Garrisons, And neuer ask'd for restitution
Card. It serues you well, my Lord, to say so much
Glost. I say no more then truth, so helpe me God
Yorke. In your Protectorship, you did deuise Strange Tortures for Offendors, neuer heard of, That England was defam'd by Tyrannie
Glost. Why 'tis well known, that whiles I was Protector, Pittie was all the fault that was in me: For I should melt at an Offendors teares, And lowly words were Ransome for their fault: Vnlesse it were a bloody Murtherer, Or foule felonious Theefe, that fleec'd poore passengers, I neuer gaue them condigne punishment. Murther indeede, that bloodie sinne, I tortur'd Aboue the Felon, or what Trespas else
Suff. My Lord, these faults are easie, quickly answer'd: But mightier Crimes are lay'd vnto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge your selfe. I doe arrest you in his Highnesse Name, And here commit you to my Lord Cardinall To keepe, vntill your further time of Tryall
King. My Lord of Gloster, 'tis my speciall hope, That you will cleare your selfe from all suspence, My Conscience tells me you are innocent
Glost. Ah gracious Lord, these dayes are dangerous: Vertue is choakt with foule Ambition, And Charitie chas'd hence by Rancours hand; Foule Subornation is predominant, And Equitie exil'd your Highnesse Land. I know, their Complot is to haue my Life: And if my death might make this Iland happy, And proue the Period of their Tyrannie, I would expend it with all willingnesse. But mine is made the Prologue to their Play: For thousands more, that yet suspect no perill, Will not conclude their plotted Tragedie. Beaufords red sparkling eyes blab his hearts mallice, And Suffolks cloudie Brow his stormie hate; Sharpe Buckingham vnburthens with his tongue, The enuious Load that lyes vpon his heart: And dogged Yorke, that reaches at the Moone, Whose ouer-weening Arme I haue pluckt back, By false accuse doth leuell at my Life. And you, my Soueraigne Lady, with the rest, Causelesse haue lay'd disgraces on my head, And with your best endeuour haue stirr'd vp My liefest Liege to be mine Enemie: I, all of you haue lay'd your heads together, My selfe had notice of your Conuenticles, And all to make away my guiltlesse Life. I shall not want false Witnesse, to condemne me, Nor store of Treasons, to augment my guilt: The ancient Prouerbe will be well effected, A Staffe is quickly found to beat a Dogge
Card. My Liege, his rayling is intollerable. If those that care to keepe your Royall Person From Treasons secret Knife, and Traytors Rage, Be thus vpbrayded, chid, and rated at, And the Offendor graunted scope of speech, 'Twill make them coole in zeale vnto your Grace
Suff. Hath he not twit our Soueraigne Lady here With ignominious words, though Clarkely coucht? As if she had suborned some to sweare False allegations, to o'rethrow his state
Qu. But I can giue the loser leaue to chide
Glost. Farre truer spoke then meant: I lose indeede, Beshrew the winners, for they play'd me false, And well such losers may haue leaue to speake
Buck. Hee'le wrest the sence, and hold vs here all day. Lord Cardinall, he is your Prisoner
Card. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure
Glost. Ah, thus King Henry throwes away his Crutch, Before his Legges be firme to beare his Body. Thus is the Shepheard beaten from thy side, And Wolues are gnarling, who shall gnaw thee first. Ah that my feare were false, ah that it were; For good King Henry, thy decay I feare.
Exit Gloster.
King. My Lords, what to your wisdomes seemeth best, Doe, or vndoe, as if our selfe were here
Queene. What, will your Highnesse leaue the Parliament? King. I Margaret: my heart is drown'd with griefe, Whose floud begins to flowe within mine eyes; My Body round engyrt with miserie: For what's more miserable then Discontent? Ah Vnckle Humfrey, in thy face I see The Map of Honor, Truth, and Loyaltie: And yet, good Humfrey, is the houre to come, That ere I prou'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. What lowring Starre now enuies thy estate? That these great Lords, and Margaret our Queene, Doe seeke subuersion of thy harmelesse Life. Thou neuer didst them wrong, nor no man wrong: And as the Butcher takes away the Calfe, And binds the Wretch, and beats it when it strayes, Bearing it to the bloody Slaughter-house; Euen so remorselesse haue they borne him hence: And as the Damme runnes lowing vp and downe, Looking the way her harmelesse young one went, And can doe naught but wayle her Darlings losse; Euen so my selfe bewayles good Glosters case With sad vnhelpefull teares, and with dimn'd eyes; Looke after him, and cannot doe him good: So mightie are his vowed Enemies. His fortunes I will weepe, and 'twixt each groane, Say, who's a Traytor? Gloster he is none. Enter.
Queene. Free Lords: Cold Snow melts with the Sunnes hot Beames: Henry, my Lord, is cold in great Affaires, Too full of foolish pittie: and Glosters shew Beguiles him, as the mournefull Crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers; Or as the Snake, roll'd in a flowring Banke, With shining checker'd slough doth sting a Child, That for the beautie thinkes it excellent. Beleeue me Lords, were none more wise then I, And yet herein I iudge mine owne Wit good; This Gloster should be quickly rid the World, To rid vs from the feare we haue of him
Card. That he should dye, is worthie pollicie, But yet we want a Colour for his death: 'Tis meet he be condemn'd by course of Law
Suff. But in my minde, that were no pollicie: The King will labour still to saue his Life, The Commons haply rise, to saue his Life; And yet we haue but triuiall argument, More then mistrust, that shewes him worthy death
Yorke. So that by this, you would not haue him dye
Suff. Ah Yorke, no man aliue, so faine as I
Yorke. 'Tis Yorke that hath more reason for his death. But my Lord Cardinall, and you my Lord of Suffolke, Say as you thinke, and speake it from your Soules: Wer't not all one, an emptie Eagle were set, To guard the Chicken from a hungry Kyte, As place Duke Humfrey for the Kings Protector? Queene. So the poore Chicken should be sure of death
Suff. Madame 'tis true: and wer't not madnesse then, To make the Fox surueyor of the Fold? Who being accus'd a craftie Murtherer, His guilt should be but idly posted ouer, Because his purpose is not executed. No: let him dye, in that he is a Fox, By nature prou'd an Enemie to the Flock, Before his Chaps be stayn'd with Crimson blood, As Humfrey prou'd by Reasons to my Liege. And doe not stand on Quillets how to slay him: Be it by Gynnes, by Snares, by Subtletie, Sleeping, or Waking, 'tis no matter how, So he be dead; for that is good deceit, Which mates him first, that first intends deceit
Queene. Thrice Noble Suffolke, 'tis resolutely spoke
Suff. Not resolute, except so much were done, For things are often spoke, and seldome meant, But that my heart accordeth with my tongue,
Seeing the deed is meritorious, And to preserue my Soueraigne from his Foe, Say but the word, and I will be his Priest
Card. But I would haue him dead, my Lord of Suffolke, Ere you can take due Orders for a Priest: Say you consent, and censure well the deed, And Ile prouide his Executioner, I tender so the safetie of my Liege
Suff. Here is my Hand, the deed is worthy doing
Queene. And so say I
Yorke. And I: and now we three haue spoke it, It skills not greatly who impugnes our doome. Enter a Poste.
Post. Great Lords, from Ireland am I come amaine, To signifie, that Rebels there are vp, And put the Englishmen vnto the Sword. Send Succours (Lords) and stop the Rage betime, Before the Wound doe grow vncurable; For being greene, there is great hope of helpe
Card. A Breach that craues a quick expedient stoppe. What counsaile giue you in this weightie cause? Yorke. That Somerset be sent as Regent thither: 'Tis meet that luckie Ruler be imploy'd, Witnesse the fortune he hath had in France
Som. If Yorke, with all his farre-fet pollicie, Had beene the Regent there, in stead of me, He neuer would haue stay'd in France so long
Yorke. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done. I rather would haue lost my Life betimes, Then bring a burthen of dis-honour home, By staying there so long, till all were lost. Shew me one skarre, character'd on thy Skinne, Mens flesh preseru'd so whole, doe seldome winne
Qu. Nay then, this sparke will proue a raging fire, If Wind and Fuell be brought, to feed it with: No more, good Yorke; sweet Somerset be still. Thy fortune, Yorke, hadst thou beene Regent there, Might happily haue prou'd farre worse then his
Yorke. What, worse then naught? nay, then a shame take all
Somerset. And in the number, thee, that wishest shame
Card. My Lord of Yorke, trie what your fortune is: Th' vnciuill Kernes of Ireland are in Armes, And temper Clay with blood of Englishmen. To Ireland will you leade a Band of men, Collected choycely, from each Countie some, And trie your hap against the Irishmen? Yorke. I will, my Lord, so please his Maiestie
Suff. Why, our Authoritie is his consent, And what we doe establish, he confirmes: Then, Noble Yorke, take thou this Taske in hand
Yorke. I am content: Prouide me Souldiers, Lords, Whiles I take order for mine owne affaires
Suff. A charge, Lord Yorke, that I will see perform'd. But now returne we to the false Duke Humfrey
Card. No more of him: for I will deale with him, That henceforth he shall trouble vs no more: And so breake off, the day is almost spent, Lord Suffolke, you and I must talke of that euent
Yorke. My Lord of Suffolke, within foureteene dayes At Bristow I expect my Souldiers, For there Ile shippe them all for Ireland
Suff. Ile see it truly done, my Lord of Yorke.
Exeunt.
Manet Yorke.
Yorke. Now Yorke, or neuer, steele thy fearfull thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution; Be that thou hop'st to be, or what thou art; Resigne to death, it is not worth th' enioying: Let pale-fac't feare keepe with the meane-borne man, And finde no harbor in a Royall heart. Faster the[n] Spring-time showres, comes thoght on thoght, And not a thought, but thinkes on Dignitie. My Brayne, more busie then the laboring Spider, Weaues tedious Snares to trap mine Enemies. Well Nobles, well: 'tis politikely done, To send me packing with an Hoast of men: I feare me, you but warme the starued Snake, Who cherisht in your breasts, will sting your hearts. 'Twas men I lackt, and you will giue them me; I take it kindly: yet be well assur'd, You put sharpe Weapons in a mad-mans hands. Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mightie Band, I will stirre vp in England some black Storme, Shall blowe ten thousand Soules to Heauen, or Hell: And this fell Tempest shall not cease to rage, Vntill the Golden Circuit on my Head, Like to the glorious Sunnes transparant Beames, Doe calme the furie of this mad-bred Flawe. And for a minister of my intent, I haue seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman, Iohn Cade of Ashford, To make Commotion, as full well he can, Vnder the title of Iohn Mortimer. In Ireland haue I seene this stubborne Cade Oppose himselfe against a Troupe of Kernes, And fought so long, till that his thighes with Darts Were almost like a sharpe-quill'd Porpentine: And in the end being rescued, I haue seene Him capre vpright, like a wilde Morisco, Shaking the bloody Darts, as he his Bells. Full often, like a shag-hayr'd craftie Kerne, Hath he conuersed with the Enemie, And vndiscouer'd, come to me againe, And giuen me notice of their Villanies. This Deuill here shall be my substitute; For that Iohn Mortimer, which now is dead, In face, in gate, in speech he doth resemble. By this, I shall perceiue the Commons minde, How they affect the House and Clayme of Yorke. Say he be taken, rackt, and tortured; I know, no paine they can inflict vpon him, Will make him say, I mou'd him to those Armes. Say that he thriue, as 'tis great like he will, Why then from Ireland come I with my strength, And reape the Haruest which that Rascall sow'd. For Humfrey; being dead, as he shall be, And Henry put apart: the next for me. Enter.
Enter two or three running ouer the Stage, from the Murther of Duke Humfrey.
1. Runne to my Lord of Suffolke: let him know We haue dispatcht the Duke, as he commanded
2. Oh, that it were to doe: what haue we done? Didst euer heare a man so penitent? Enter Suffolke.
1. Here comes my Lord
Suff. Now Sirs, haue you dispatcht this thing? 1. I, my good Lord, hee's dead
Suff. Why that's well said. Goe, get you to my House, I will reward you for this venturous deed: The King and all the Peeres are here at hand. Haue you layd faire the Bed? Is all things well, According as I gaue directions? 1. 'Tis, my good Lord
Suff. Away, be gone.
Exeunt.
Sound Trumpets. Enter the King, the Queene, Cardinall, Suffolke, Somerset, with Attendants.
King. Goe call our Vnckle to our presence straight: Say, we intend to try his Grace to day, If he be guiltie, as 'tis published
Suff. Ile call him presently, my Noble Lord. Enter
King. Lords take your places: and I pray you all Proceed no straiter 'gainst our Vnckle Gloster, Then from true euidence, of good esteeme, He be approu'd in practise culpable
Queene. God forbid any Malice should preuayle, That faultlesse may condemne a Noble man: Pray God he may acquit him of suspition
King. I thanke thee Nell, these wordes content mee much. Enter Suffolke.
How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou? Where is our Vnckle? what's the matter, Suffolke? Suff. Dead in his Bed, my Lord: Gloster is dead
Queene. Marry God forfend
Card. Gods secret Iudgement: I did dreame to Night, The Duke was dumbe, and could not speake a word.
King sounds.
Qu. How fares my Lord? Helpe Lords, the King is dead
Som. Rere vp his Body, wring him by the Nose
Qu. Runne, goe, helpe, helpe: Oh Henry ope thine eyes
Suff. He doth reuiue againe, Madame be patient
King. Oh Heauenly God
Qu. How fares my gracious Lord? Suff. Comfort my Soueraigne, gracious Henry comfort
King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolke comfort me? Came he right now to sing a Rauens Note, Whose dismall tune bereft my Vitall powres: And thinkes he, that the chirping of a Wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceiued sound? Hide not thy poyson with such sugred words, Lay not thy hands on me: forbeare I say, Their touch affrights me as a Serpents sting. Thou balefull Messenger, out of my sight: Vpon thy eye-balls, murderous Tyrannie Sits in grim Maiestie, to fright the World. Looke not vpon me, for thine eyes are wounding; Yet doe not goe away: come Basiliske, And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight: For in the shade of death, I shall finde ioy; In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead
Queene. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolke thus? Although the Duke was enemie to him, Yet he most Christian-like laments his death: And for my selfe, Foe as he was to me, Might liquid teares, or heart-offending groanes, Or blood-consuming sighes recall his Life; I would be blinde with weeping, sicke with grones, Looke pale as Prim-rose with blood-drinking sighes, And all to haue the Noble Duke aliue. What know I how the world may deeme of me? For it is knowne we were but hollow Friends: It may be iudg'd I made the Duke away, So shall my name with Slanders tongue be wounded, And Princes Courts be fill'd with my reproach: This get I by his death: Aye me vnhappie, To be a Queene, and Crown'd with infamie
King. Ah woe is me for Gloster, wretched man
Queen. Be woe for me, more wretched then he is. What, Dost thou turne away, and hide thy face? I am no loathsome Leaper, looke on me. What? Art thou like the Adder waxen deafe? Be poysonous too, and kill thy forlorne Queene. Is all thy comfort shut in Glosters Tombe? Why then Dame Elianor was neere thy ioy. Erect his Statue, and worship it, And make my Image but an Ale-house signe. Was I for this nye wrack'd vpon the Sea, And twice by aukward winde from Englands banke Droue backe againe vnto my Natiue Clime. What boaded this? but well fore-warning winde Did seeme to say, seeke not a Scorpions Nest, Nor set no footing on this vnkinde Shore. What did I then? But curst the gentle gusts, And he that loos'd them forth their Brazen Caues, And bid them blow towards Englands blessed shore, Or turne our Sterne vpon a dreadfull Rocke: Yet aeolus would not be a murtherer, But left that hatefull office vnto thee. The pretty vaulting Sea refus'd to drowne me, Knowing that thou wouldst haue me drown'd on shore With teares as salt as Sea, through thy vnkindnesse. The splitting Rockes cowr'd in the sinking sands, And would not dash me with their ragged sides, Because thy flinty heart more hard then they, Might in thy Pallace, perish Elianor. As farre as I could ken thy Chalky Cliffes, When from thy Shore, the Tempest beate vs backe, I stood vpon the Hatches in the storme: And when the duskie sky, began to rob My earnest-gaping-sight of thy Lands view, I tooke a costly Iewell from my necke, A Hart it was bound in with Diamonds, And threw it towards thy Land: The Sea receiu'd it, And so I wish'd thy body might my Heart: And euen with this, I lost faire Englands view, And bid mine eyes be packing with my Heart, And call'd them blinde and duskie Spectacles, For loosing ken of Albions wished Coast. How often haue I tempted Suffolkes tongue (The agent of thy foule inconstancie) To sit and watch me as Ascanius did, When he to madding Dido would vnfold His Fathers Acts, commenc'd in burning Troy. Am I not witcht like her? Or thou not false like him? Aye me, I can no more: Dye Elinor, For Henry weepes, that thou dost liue so long.
Noyse within. Enter Warwicke, and many Commons.
War. It is reported, mighty Soueraigne, That good Duke Humfrey Traiterously is murdred By Suffolke, and the Cardinall Beaufords meanes: The Commons like an angry Hiue of Bees That want their Leader, scatter vp and downe, And care not who they sting in his reuenge. My selfe haue calm'd their spleenfull mutinie, Vntill they heare the order of his death
King. That he is dead good Warwick, 'tis too true, But how he dyed, God knowes, not Henry: Enter his Chamber, view his breathlesse Corpes, And comment then vpon his sodaine death
War. That shall I do my Liege; Stay Salsburie With the rude multitude, till I returne
King. O thou that iudgest all things, stay my thoghts: My thoughts, that labour to perswade my soule, Some violent hands were laid on Humfries life: If my suspect be false, forgiue me God, For iudgement onely doth belong to thee: Faine would I go to chafe his palie lips, With twenty thousand kisses, and to draine Vpon his face an Ocean of salt teares, To tell my loue vnto his dumbe deafe trunke, And with my fingers feele his hand, vnfeeling: But all in vaine are these meane Obsequies,
Bed put forth.
And to suruey his dead and earthy Image: What were it but to make my sorrow greater? Warw. Come hither gracious Soueraigne, view this body
King. That is to see how deepe my graue is made, For with his soule fled all my worldly solace: For seeing him, I see my life in death
War. As surely as my soule intends to liue With that dread King that tooke our state vpon him, To free vs from his Fathers wrathfull curse, I do beleeue that violent hands were laid Vpon the life of this thrice-famed Duke
Suf. A dreadfull Oath, sworne with a solemn tongue: What instance giues Lord Warwicke for his vow
War. See how the blood is setled in his face. Oft haue I seene a timely-parted Ghost, Of ashy semblance, meager, pale, and bloodlesse, Being all descended to the labouring heart, Who in the Conflict that it holds with death, Attracts the same for aydance 'gainst the enemy, Which with the heart there cooles, and ne're returneth, To blush and beautifie the Cheeke againe. But see, his face is blacke, and full of blood: His eye-balles further out, than when he liued, Staring full gastly, like a strangled man: His hayre vprear'd, his nostrils stretcht with strugling: His hands abroad display'd, as one that graspt And tugg'd for Life, and was by strength subdude. Looke on the sheets his haire (you see) is sticking, His well proportion'd Beard, made ruffe and rugged, Like to the Summers Corne by Tempest lodged: It cannot be but he was murdred heere, The least of all these signes were probable