r the bed? Is all things well, According as I gave directions? FIRST MURDERER. 'Tis, my good lord. SUFFOLK. Away! be gone. Exeunt MURDERERS Sound trumpets. Enter the KING, the QUEEN, CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with attendants KING HENRY. Go call our uncle to our presence straight; Say we intend to try his Grace to-day, If he be guilty, as 'tis published. SUFFOLK. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. Exit KING HENRY. 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 approv'd in practice culpable. QUEEN. God forbid any malice should prevail That faultless may condemn a nobleman! Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion! KING HENRY. 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? SUFFOLK. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead. QUEEN. Marry, God forfend! CARDINAL. God's secret judgment! I did dream to-night The Duke was dumb and could not speak a word. [The KING swoons] QUEEN. How fares my lord? Help, lords! The King is dead. SOMERSET. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose. QUEEN. Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes! SUFFOLK. He doth revive again; madam, be patient. KING. O heavenly God! QUEEN. How fares my gracious lord? SUFFOLK. Comfort, my sovereign! Gracious Henry, comfort! KING HENRY. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a raven's note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs; 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 sug'red 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. QUEEN. 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 judg'd 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 HENRY. Ah, woe is me for Gloucester, wretched man! QUEEN. 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 statue 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, Nor set no footing on this unkind shore'? What did I then but curs'd the gentle gusts, And he that loos'd them forth their brazen caves; And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore, Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? Yet Aeolus would not be a murderer, But left that hateful office unto thee. The pretty-vaulting sea refus'd 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 cow'r'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. 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 receiv'd 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 commenc'd 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 WARWICK. It is reported, mighty sovereign, That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is murd'red 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 HENRY. 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. WARWICK. That shall I do, my liege. Stay, Salisbury, With the rude multitude till I return. Exit Exit SALISBURY with the commons KING HENRY. 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 un-feeling; 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? Bed put forth with the body. Enter WARWICK WARWICK. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body. KING HENRY. 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. WARWICK. 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. SUFFOLK. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue! What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow? WARWICK. 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 returneth 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 liv'd, Staring full ghastly like a strangled man; His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling; His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. 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 murd'red here: The least of all these signs were probable. SUFFOLK. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death? Myself and Beaufort had him in protection; And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. WARWICK. 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. QUEEN. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. WARWICK. 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 unbloodied beak? Even so suspicious is this tragedy. QUEEN. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where's your knife? Is Beaufort term'd a kite? Where are his talons? SUFFOLK. 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 dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire, That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him? QUEEN. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times. WARWICK. Madam, be still- with reverence may I say; For every word you speak in his behalf Is slander to your royal dignity. SUFFOLK. 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 Nevils' noble race. WARWICK. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, I would, false murd'rous 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 was 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. SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood, If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, And do some service to Duke Humphrey's ghost. Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted? Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. [A noise within] QUEEN. What noise is this? Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with 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? SUFFOLK. The trait'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury, Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. Re-enter SALISBURY SALISBURY. [To the Commons within] 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 ling'ring 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 wak'd, 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, whe'er 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! SUFFOLK. '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 HENRY. 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 QUEEN. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk! KING HENRY. 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. Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; I have great matters to impart to thee. Exeunt all but QUEEN and SUFFOLK QUEEN. 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! SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave. QUEEN. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch, Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemy? SUFFOLK. 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-fac'd 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 an end, as one distract; Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban; And even now my burden'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 murd'ring basilisks! Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings! Their music frightful as the serpent's hiss, And boding screech-owls make the consort full! all the foul terrors in dark-seated hell- QUEEN. Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyself; And these dread curses, like the sun 'gainst glass, Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, And turns the force of them upon thyself. SUFFOLK. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? 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. QUEEN. 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 woeful monuments. O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, That thou might'st think upon these by the seal, Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee! So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief; 'Tis but surmis'd whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfeits thinking on a want. I will repeal thee or, be well assur'd, 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, Loather a hundred times to part than die. Yet now, farewell; and farewell life with thee! SUFFOLK. 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 liv'st. Enter VAUX QUEEN. 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 now he cries aloud for him. QUEEN. 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. SUFFOLK. 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! QUEEN. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive, It is applied to a deathful wound. To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee; For whereso'er thou art in this world's globe I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. SUFFOLK. I go. QUEEN. And take my heart with thee. [She kisses him] SUFFOLK. 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. QUEEN. This way for me. Exeunt severally SCENE III. London. CARDINAL BEAUFORT'S bedchamber Enter the KING, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed KING HENRY. How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. CARDINAL. 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. KING HENRY. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life Where death's approach is seen so terrible! WARWICK. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. CARDINAL. Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he not in his bed? Where should he die? Can I make men live, whe'er 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. KING HENRY. 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! WARWICK. See how the pangs of death do make him grin SALISBURY. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. KING HENRY. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be! Lord Card'nal, 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! WARWICK. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. KING HENRY. 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. The coast of Kent Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a LIEUTENANT, a SHIPMASTER and his MATE, and WALTER WHITMORE, with sailors; SUFFOLK and other GENTLEMEN, as prisoners LIEUTENANT. 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 discoloured 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. FIRST GENTLEMAN. What is my ransom, master, let me know? MASTER. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. MATE. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. LIEUTENANT. 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 Be counterpois'd with such a petty sum! FIRST GENTLEMAN. I'll give it, sir: and therefore spare my life. SECOND GENTLEMAN. And so will I, and write home for it straight. WHITMORE. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, [To SUFFOLK] And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; And so should these, if I might have my will. LIEUTENANT. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. SUFFOLK. Look on my George, I am a gentleman: Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. WHITMORE. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore. How now! Why start'st thou? What, doth death affright? SUFFOLK. 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 Gualtier, being rightly sounded. WHITMORE. Gualtier 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. SUFFOLK. Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince, The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. WHITMORE. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags? SUFFOLK. Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke: Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I? LIEUTENANT. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. SUFFOLK. 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 crestfall'n, Ay, and allay thus 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. WHITMORE. Speak, Captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? LIEUTENANT. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. SUFFOLK. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou. LIEUTENANT. Convey him hence, and on our longboat's side Strike off his head. SUFFOLK. Thou dar'st not, for thy own. LIEUTENANT. Poole! SUFFOLK. Poole? LIEUTENANT. 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. SUFFOLK. 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 beehives. 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. LIEUTENANT. Walter- WHITMORE. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. SUFFOLK. Gelidus timor occupat artus: it is thee I fear. WHITMORE. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop? FIRST GENTLEMAN. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. SUFFOLK. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stem and rough, Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it we should honour such as these With humble suit: no, rather let my head Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any Save to the God of heaven and to my king; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear: More can I bear than you dare execute. LIEUTENANT. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. SUFFOLK. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot- Great men oft die by vile bezonians: A Roman sworder and banditto slave Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. Exit WALTER with SUFFOLK LIEUTENANT. And as for these, whose ransom we have set, It is our pleasure one of them depart; Therefore come you with us, and let him go. Exeunt all but the FIRST GENTLEMAN Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK'S body WHITMORE. There let his head and lifeless body lie, Until the Queen his mistress bury it. Exit FIRST GENTLEMAN. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! His body will I bear unto the King. If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; So will the Queen, that living held him dear. Exit with the body SCENE II. Blackheath Enter GEORGE BEVIS and JOHN HOLLAND GEORGE. Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have been up these two days. JOHN. They have the more need to sleep now, then. GEORGE. I tell thee Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it. JOHN. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up. GEORGE. O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen. JOHN. The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons. GEORGE. Nay, more, the King's Council are no good workmen. JOHN. True; and yet it is said 'Labour in thy vocation'; which is as much to say as 'Let the magistrates be labouring men'; and therefore should we be magistrates. GEORGE. Thou hast hit it; for there's no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand. JOHN. I see them! I see them! There's Best's son, the tanner of Wingham- GEORGE. He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's leather of. JOHN. And Dick the butcher- GEORGE. Then is sin struck down, like an ox, and iniquity's throat cut like a calf. JOHN. And Smith the weaver- GEORGE. Argo, their thread of life is spun. JOHN. Come, come, let's fall in with them. Drum. Enter CADE, DICK THE BUTCHER, SMITH THE WEAVER, and a SAWYER, with infinite numbers CADE. We John Cade, so term'd of our supposed father- DICK. [Aside] Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. CADE. For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes- command silence. DICK. Silence! CADE. My father was a Mortimer- DICK. [Aside] He was an honest man and a good bricklayer. CADE. My mother a Plantagenet- DICK. [Aside] I knew her well; she was a midwife. CADE. My wife descended of the Lacies- DICK. [Aside] She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and sold many laces. SMITH. [Aside] But now of late, not able to travel with her furr'd pack, she washes bucks here at home. CADE. Therefore am I of an honourable house. DICK. [Aside] Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and there was he born, under a hedge, for his father had never a house but the cage. CADE. Valiant I am. SMITH. [Aside] 'A must needs; for beggary is valiant. CADE. I am able to endure much. DICK. [Aside] No question of that; for I have seen him whipt three market days together. CADE. I fear neither sword nor fire. SMITH. [Aside] He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof. DICK. [Aside] But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being burnt i' th' hand for stealing of sheep. CADE. Be brave, then, for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny; the three-hoop'd pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And when I am king- as king I will be ALL. God save your Majesty! CADE. I thank you, good people- there shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers and worship me their lord. DICK. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. CADE. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That parchment, being scribbl'd o'er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings; but I say 'tis the bee's wax; for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now! Who's there? Enter some, bringing in the CLERK OF CHATHAM SMITH. The clerk of Chatham. He can write and read and cast accompt. CADE. O monstrous! SMITH. We took him setting of boys' copies. CADE. Here's a villain! SMITH. Has a book in his pocket with red letters in't. CADE. Nay, then he is a conjurer. DICK. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand. CADE. I am sorry for't; the man is a proper man, of mine honour; unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee. What is thy name? CLERK. Emmanuel. DICK. They use to write it on the top of letters; 'twill go hard with you. CADE. Let me alone. Dost thou use to write thy name, or hast thou a mark to thyself, like a honest plain-dealing man? CLERK. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up that I can write my name. ALL. He hath confess'd. Away with him! He's a villain and a traitor. CADE. Away with him, I say! Hang him with his pen and inkhorn about his neck. Exit one with the CLERK Enter MICHAEL MICHAEL. Where's our General? CADE. Here I am, thou particular fellow. MICHAEL. Fly, fly, fly! Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are hard by, with the King's forces. CADE. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down. He shall be encount'red with a man as good as himself. He is but a knight, is 'a? MICHAEL. No. CADE. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently. [Kneels] Rise up, Sir John Mortimer. [Rises] Now have at him! Enter SIR HUMPHREY STAFFORD and WILLIAM his brother, with drum and soldiers STAFFORD. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, Mark'd for the gallows, lay your weapons down; Home to your cottages, forsake this groom; The King is merciful if you revolt. WILLIAM STAFFORD. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood, If you go forward; therefore yield or die. CADE. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not; It is to you, good people, that I speak, O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign; For I am rightful heir unto the crown. STAFFORD. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not? CADE. And Adam was a gardener. WILLIAM STAFFORD. And what of that? CADE. Marry, this: Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, Married the Duke of Clarence' daughter, did he not? STAFFORD. Ay, sir. CADE. By her he had two children at one birth. WILLIAM STAFFORD. That's false. CADE. Ay, there's the question; but I say 'tis true. The elder of them being put to nurse, Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away, And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, Became a bricklayer when he came to age. His son am I; deny it if you can. DICK. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king. SMITH. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; therefore deny it not. STAFFORD. And will you credit this base drudge's words That speaks he knows not what? ALL. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone. WILLIAM STAFFORD. Jack Cade, the Duke of York hath taught you this. CADE. [Aside] He lies, for I invented it myself- Go to, sirrah, tell the King from me that for his father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns, I am content he shall reign; but I'll be Protector over him. DICK. And furthermore, we'll have the Lord Say's head for selling the dukedom of Maine. CADE. And good reason; for thereby is England main'd and fain to go with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you that that Lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth and made it an eunuch; and more than that, he can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. STAFFORD. O gross and miserable ignorance! CADE. Nay, answer if you can; the Frenchmen are our enemies. Go to, then, I ask but this: can he that speaks with the tongue of an enemy be a good counsellor, or no? ALL. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. WILLIAM STAFFORD. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail, Assail them with the army of the King. STAFFORD. Herald, away; and throughout every town Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; That those which fly before the battle ends May, even in their wives'and children's sight, Be hang'd up for example at their doors. And you that be the King's friends, follow me. Exeunt the TWO STAFFORDS and soldiers CADE. And you that love the commons follow me. Now show yourselves men; 'tis for liberty. We will not leave one lord, one gentleman; Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon, For they are thrifty honest men and such As would- but that they dare not- take our parts. DICK. They are all in order, and march toward us. CADE. But then are we in order when we are most out of order. Come, march forward. Exeunt SCENE III. Another part of Blackheath Alarums to the fight, wherein both the STAFFORDS are slain. Enter CADE and the rest CADE. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford? DICK. Here, sir. CADE. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house; therefore thus will I reward thee- the Lent shall be as long again as it is, and thou shalt have a licence to kill for a hundred lacking one. DICK. I desire no more. CADE. And, to speak truth, thou deserv'st no less. [Putting on SIR HUMPHREY'S brigandine] This monument of the victory will I bear, and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels till I do come to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us. DICK. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols and let out the prisoners. CADE. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards London. Exeunt SCENE IV. London. The palace Enter the KING with a supplication, and the QUEEN with SUFFOLK'S head; the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, and the LORD SAY QUEEN. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind And makes it fearful and degenerate; Think therefore on revenge and cease to weep. But who can cease to weep, and look on this? Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast; But where's the body that I should embrace? BUCKINGHAM. What answer makes your Grace to the rebels' supplication? KING HENRY. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat; For God forbid so many simple souls Should perish by the sword! And I myself, Rather than bloody war shall cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade their general. But stay, I'll read it over once again. QUEEN. Ah, barbarous villains! Hath this lovely face Rul'd like a wandering planet over me, And could it not enforce them to relent