Shakespeare's First Folio Part 376

War. That shall I do my Liege; Stay Salsburie With the rude mult.i.tude, 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 G.o.d, 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

Suf. Why Warwicke, who should do the D[uke]. to death?

My selfe and Beauford had him in protection, And we I hope sir, are no murtherers

War. But both of you were vowed D[uke]. Humfries foes, And you (forsooth) had the good Duke to keepe: Tis like you would not feast him like a friend, And 'tis well seene, he found an enemy

Queen. Than you belike suspect these n.o.blemen, As guilty of Duke Humfries timelesse death

Warw. Who finds the Heyfer 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 Puttocks Nest, But may imagine how the Bird was dead, Although the Kyte soare with vnbloudied Beake?

Euen so suspitious is this Tragedie

Qu. Are you the Butcher, Suffolk? where's your Knife?

Is Beauford tearm'd a Kyte? where are his Tallons?

Suff. I weare no Knife, to slaughter sleeping men, But here's a vengefull Sword, rusted with ease, That shall be scowred in his rancorous heart, That slanders me with Murthers Crimson Badge.

Say, if thou dar'st, prowd Lord of Warwickshire, That I am faultie in Duke Humfreyes death

Warw. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolke dare him?

Qu. He dares not calme his contumelious Spirit, Nor cease to be an arrogant Controller, Though Suffolke dare him twentie thousand times

Warw. Madame be still: with reuerence may I say, For euery word you speake in his behalfe, Is slander to your Royall Dignitie

Suff. Blunt-witted Lord, ign.o.ble in demeanor, If euer Lady wrong'd her Lord so much, Thy Mother tooke into her blamefull Bed Some sterne vntutur'd Churle; and n.o.ble Stock Was graft with Crab-tree slippe, whose Fruit thou art, And neuer of the Neuils n.o.ble Race

Warw. But that the guilt of Murther bucklers thee, And I should rob the Deaths-man of his Fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my Soueraignes presence makes me milde, I would, false murd'rous Coward, on thy Knee Make thee begge pardon for thy pa.s.sed speech, And say, it was thy Mother that thou meant'st, That thou thy selfe wast borne in b.a.s.t.a.r.die; And after all this fearefull Homage done, Giue thee thy hyre, and send thy Soule to h.e.l.l, Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men

Suff. Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood, If from this presence thou dar'st goe with me

Warw. Away euen now, or I will drag thee hence: Vnworthy though thou art, Ile cope with thee, And doe some seruice to Duke Humfreyes Ghost.

Exeunt.

King. What stronger Brest-plate then a heart vntainted?

Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his Quarrell iust; And he but naked, though lockt vp in Steele, Whose Conscience with Iniustice is corrupted.

A noyse within.

Queene. What noyse is this?

Enter Suffolke and Warwicke, with their Weapons drawne.

King. Why how now Lords?

Your wrathfull Weapons drawne, Here in our presence? Dare you be so bold?

Why what tumultuous clamor haue we here?

Suff. The trayt'rous Warwick, with the men of Bury, Set all vpon me, mightie Soueraigne.

Enter Salisbury.

Salisb. Sirs stand apart, the King shall know your minde.

Dread Lord, the Commons send you word by me, Vnlesse Lord Suffolke straight be done to death, Or banished faire Englands Territories, They will by violence teare him from your Pallace, And torture him with grieuous lingring death.

They say, by him the good Duke Humfrey dy'de: They say, in him they feare your Highnesse death; And meere instinct of Loue and Loyaltie, Free from a stubborne opposite intent, As being thought to contradict your liking, Makes them thus forward in his Banishment.

They say, in care of your most Royall Person, That if your Highnesse should intend to sleepe, And charge, that no man should disturbe your rest, In paine of your dislike, or paine of death; Yet not withstanding such a strait Edict, Were there a Serpent seene, with forked Tongue, That slyly glyded towards your Maiestie, It were but necessarie you were wak't: Least being suffer'd in that harmefull slumber, The mortall Worme might make the sleepe eternall.

And therefore doe they cry, though you forbid, That they will guard you, where you will, or no, From such fell Serpents as false Suffolke is; With whose inuenomed and fatall sting, Your louing Vnckle, twentie times his worth, They say is shamefully bereft of life

Commons within. An answer from the King, my Lord of Salisbury

Suff. 'Tis like the Commons, rude vnpolisht Hindes, Could send such Message to their Soueraigne: But you, my Lord, were glad to be imploy'd, To shew how queint an Orator you are.

But all the Honor Salisbury hath wonne, Is, that he was the Lord Emba.s.sador, Sent from a sort of Tinkers to the King

Within. An answer from the King, or wee will all breake in

King. Goe Salisbury, and tell them all from me, I thanke them for their tender louing care; And had I not beene cited so by them, Yet did I purpose as they doe entreat: For sure, my thoughts doe hourely prophecie, Mischance vnto my State by Suffolkes meanes.

And therefore by his Maiestie I sweare, Whose farre-vnworthie Deputie I am, He shall not breathe infection in this ayre, But three dayes longer, on the paine of death

Qu. Oh Henry, let me pleade for gentle Suffolke

King. Vngentle Queene, to call him gentle Suffolke.

No more I say: if thou do'st pleade for him, Thou wilt but adde encrease vnto my Wrath.

Had I but sayd, I would haue kept my Word; But when I sweare, it is irreuocable: If after three dayes s.p.a.ce thou here bee'st found, On any ground that I am Ruler of, The World shall not be Ransome for thy Life.

Come Warwicke, come good Warwicke, goe with mee, I haue great matters to impart to thee.

Enter.

Qu. Mischance and Sorrow goe along with you, Hearts Discontent, and sowre Affliction, Be play-fellowes to keepe you companie: There's two of you, the Deuill make a third, And three-fold Vengeance tend vpon your steps

Suff. Cease, gentle Queene, these Execrations, And let thy Suffolke take his heauie leaue

Queen. Fye Coward woman, and soft harted wretch, Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy

Suf. A plague vpon them: wherefore should I cursse them?

Would curses kill, as doth the Mandrakes grone, I would inuent as bitter searching termes, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to heare, Deliuer'd strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signes of deadly hate, As leane-fac'd enuy in her loathsome caue.

My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words, Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten Flint, Mine haire be fixt an end, as one distract: I, euery ioynt should seeme to curse and ban, And euen now my burthen'd heart would breake Should I not curse them. Poyson be their drinke.

Gall, worse then Gall, the daintiest that they taste: Their sweetest shade, a groue of Cypresse Trees: Their cheefest Prospect, murd'ring Basiliskes: Their softest Touch, as smart as Lyzards stings: Their Musicke, frightfull as the Serpents hisse, And boading Screech-Owles, make the Consort full.

All the foule terrors in darke seated h.e.l.l - Q. Enough sweet Suffolke, thou torment'st thy selfe, And these dread curses like the Sunne 'gainst gla.s.se, Or like an ouer-charged Gun, recoile, And turnes the force of them vpon thy selfe