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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 mightest 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;

'T is 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.

'T is 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.

SUFFOLK.

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.

QUEEN.

This way for me.

[Exeunt severally.]

SCENE III. A Bedchamber.

[Enter the KING, SALISBURY, and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed.]

KING.

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.

Ah, what a sign it is of evil life

Where death's approach is seen so terrible!

WARWICK.

Beaufort, it is thy sovereign