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CARDINAL.

Bring me unto my trial when you will.

Died he not in his bed? where should he die?

Can I make men live, whether 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.

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.

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!

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 Captain, a Master, a Master's Mate, WALTER WHITMORE, and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners.]

CAPTAIN.

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 discolour'd 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.

1 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.

CAPTAIN.

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!

1 GENTLEMAN. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

2 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.

CAPTAIN.

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 Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

WHITMORE.

Gaultier 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?

CAPTAIN.

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