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Thou baleful messenger, out of my fight!
Upon thy eye-balls murd'rous 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 fight:
For in the shade of death I shall find joy;
In life, but double death, now Glo'ster's dead.

Q. Mar. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus?
Although the Duke was enemy to him,
Yet he most christian-like laments his death.
As for my self, foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming fighs recall his life;
I would be blind with weeping, fick 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 Thall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And Princes Courts be filled with reproach:
This get I by his death : ah me unhappy!
To be a Queen, and crown'd with infamy.

K. Henry. Ah, woe is me for Gloʻster, wretched man!

Q. Mar. 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 pois’nous too, and kill thy forlorn Queen. Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb? Why then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy. Erect his statue, and do worship to it, And make my image but an ale-house sign. Was I for this nigh wreckt upon the sea, And twice by adverse winds from England's bank Drove back again unto my native clime ? What boaded this? but well fore-warning winds

Did seem to say, seek not a scorpion's nest, Nor set thy footing on this unkind foar. What did I then, but curse the gentle gusts, And ? 'him that loos'd them from their brazen caves, And bid them blow towards England's blessed shoar, Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock? Yet Æolus would not be a murtherer, He left that hateful office unto thee. a The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking fands, And would not dash me with their ragged sides ; Because thy finty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy Palace perilh Margaret. As far as I could ken the chalky cliffs, When from thy shoar 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 the land's view, I took a costly jewel from my neck, (A heart it was, bound in with diamonds,) And threw it tow'rds thy land ; the sea receiv'd it, And so I wish'd thy body might my heart. And ev'n 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 inconftancy) To fit and 3 ', as Ascanius did, When he to madding Dido would unfold His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy! Am I not witcht like her? 4 'art' thou not falle like him? Ah me, I can no more: die, Margaret! For Henry weeps that thou didst live so long.

Noise (a) -- Uffice unto thee. The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me, Knowing that thou wouldst have me drown'd on shoar With tears as salt as sea, through thy unkindness. The splitting rocks &c.

3 watch ... old odit. Theob. emend.

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4 or

Noise within. Enter Warwick, Salisbury, and many


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War. It is reported, mighty Sovereign,
That good Duke Humphry traiterously is murther'd
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 +/whom they sting in their revenge.
My felf have calm'd their spleenfui mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.

K. Henry. That he is dead, good Warrick, 'tis too true;
But how he died, God knows, not Henry:
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corps,
And comment then upon his sudden death.

War. That I shall do, my Liege: stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, 'till I return. (Warwick goes in.

K.Henry.Othou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts!
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphry'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 unfeeling:
But all in vain are these mean obfequies.

[Bed with Gloucester's body put forth.
And to survey his dead and earthly image,
What were it but to make my forrow greater?

War. Come hither, gracious Sovereign, view this body.

K. Henry. That is to see how deep my grave is made:
For with his soul fled all my worldly folace;
For seeing him, I see my life is death.

War. As furely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King that took our state upon him,
Vol. IV.



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.

Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?

War. See how the blood is settled in his face. Oft have I seen a timely parted ghost Of ashy semblance, meager, pale, and s'blood-left,' Being all descended to the lab'ring 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 up-rear'd, his nostrils ítretch'd with struggling, His hands abroad display'd, as one that graspt 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 lodg’d; It cannot be but he was murther's here: The least of all these signs were probable.

Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death? My self and Beaufort had him in protection, And we, I hope, Sirs, are no murtherers.

War. But both of you had vow'd Duke Humphry's death, 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.

Q. Mar. Then you belike suspect these Noblemen, As guilty of Duke Humphry's timeless death.

War. 'Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh, And fees fast by a butcher with an ax, But will suspect 'twas he that made the Naughter? Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest,

But 5 bloodless,

But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite foar with unbloodied beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk ? where's the knife' Is Beaufort term’d a kite? where are his talons ?

Suf. I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men,
But here's a 'vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be fcoured in his ranc'rous heart,
That Nanders me with murther's crimson badge.
Say if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphry's death.

War. What dares notWarwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

War. Madam, be still; with rev’rence may I say;
For ev'ry word you speak in his behalf,
Is Nander to your royal dignity.

Suf. Blunt-witted Lord, ignoble in demeanour,
If ever Lady wrong'd her Lord so much,
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some ftern untutor'd churl; and noble stock
Was graft with crab-tree Nip, whose fruit thou art,
And never of the Nevills' noble race.

War. But that the guilt of murther bucklers thee,
And I should rob the death's-man 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 knce
Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,
And say it was thy mother that thou meant'st;
That thou thy self was born in bastardy:
And after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious blood-fucker of sleeping men!

Suf. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood,
If from this presence thou dar’st go with me.
War. Away ! ev'n now, or I will drag thee hence:


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