Part 17

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 Embassador, 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 space 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 hell - Q. Enough sweet Suffolke, thou torment'st thy selfe, And these dread curses like the Sunne 'gainst glasse, Or like an ouer-charged Gun, recoile, And turnes the force of them vpon thy selfe

Suf. You bad me ban, and will you bid me leaue? Now by the ground that I am banish'd from, Well could I curse away a Winters night, Though standing naked on a Mountaine top, Where byting cold would neuer let grasse grow, And thinke it but a minute spent in sport

Qu. Oh, let me intreat thee cease, giue me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournfull teares: Nor let the raine of heauen wet this place, To wash away my wofull Monuments. Oh, could this kisse be printed in thy hand, That thou might'st thinke vpon these by the Seale, Through whom a thousand sighes are breath'd for thee. So get thee gone, that I may know my greefe, 'Tis but surmiz'd, whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfets, thinking on a want: I will repeale thee, or be well assur'd, Aduenture to be banished my selfe: And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speake not to me; euen now be gone. Oh go not yet. Euen thus, two Friends condemn'd, Embrace, and kisse, and take ten thousand leaues, Loather a hundred times to part then dye; Yet now farewell, and farewell Life with thee

Suf. Thus is poore Suffolke ten times banished, Once by the King, and three times thrice by thee. 'Tis not the Land I care for, wer't thou thence, A Wildernesse is populous enough, So Suffolke had thy heauenly company: For where thou art, there is the World it selfe, With euery seuerall pleasure in the World: And where thou art not, Desolation. I can no more: Liue thou to ioy thy life; My selfe no ioy in nought, but that thou liu'st. Enter Vaux.

Queene. Whether goes Vaux so fast? What newes I prethee? Vaux. To signifie vnto his Maiesty, That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death: For sodainly a greeuous sicknesse tooke him, That makes him gaspe, and stare, and catch the aire, Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Sometime he talkes, as if Duke Humfries Ghost Were by his side: Sometime, he calles the King, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his ouer-charged soule, And I am sent to tell his Maiestie, That euen now he cries alowd for him

Qu. Go tell this heauy Message to the King.

Exit

Aye me! What is this World? What newes are these? But wherefore greeue I at an houres poore losse, Omitting Suffolkes exile, my soules Treasure? Why onely Suffolke mourne I not for thee? And with the Southerne clouds, contend in teares? Theirs for the earths encrease, mine for my sorrowes. Now get thee hence, the King thou know'st is comming, If thou be found by me, thou art but dead

Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot liue, And in thy sight to dye, what were it else, But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap? Heere could I breath my soule into the ayre, As milde and gentle as the Cradle-babe, Dying with mothers dugge betweene it's lips. Where from thy sight, I should be raging mad, And cry out for thee to close vp mine eyes: To haue thee with thy lippes to stop my mouth: So should'st thou eyther turne my flying soule, Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it liu'd in sweete Elizium. To dye by thee, were but to dye in iest, From thee to dye, were torture more then death: Oh let me stay, befall what may befall

Queen. Away: Though parting be a fretfull corosiue, It is applyed to a deathfull wound. To France sweet Suffolke: Let me heare from thee: For wheresoere thou art in this worlds Globe, Ile haue an Iris that shall finde thee out

Suf. I go

Qu. And take my heart with thee

Suf. A Iewell lockt into the wofulst Caske, That euer did containe a thing of worth, Euen as a splitted Barke, so sunder we: This way fall I to death

Qu. This way for me.

Exeunt.

Enter the King, Salisbury, and Warwicke, to the Cardinal in bed.