Suf. 'Tis like, the Commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, Could fend fuch meffage to their Sovereign: But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, To fhew how queint an orator you are. But all the honour Salisbury hath won, Is, that he was the lord Ambaffador Sent from a fort of tinkers to the King.
Within. An answer from the King, or we will all break in.
K. Henry. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from
I thank them for their tender loving care;
And had I not been cited fo by them,
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
For, fure, my thoughts do hourly prophefie
Mifchance unto my State by Suffolk's means.
And therefore by his Majefty I fwear,
Whose far unworthy Deputy I am,
He fhall not breathe infection in this air
But three days longer, on the pain of death.
Q. Mar. Oh Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk.
K. Henry. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle
Suffolk.
No more, I fay: if thou doft plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but faid, I would have kept my word;
But, when I fwear it is irrevocable;
If after three days fpace thou here be'ft found,
On any ground that I am ruler of,
The world fhall not be ranfom for thy life.
Come, Warwick; come, good Warwick; go with
I have great matters to impart to thee.
[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, &c.
Manent Suffolk, and Queen.
Q. Mar. Mifchance and forrow go along with you! Heart's Difcontent and four Affliction
Be play-fellows to keep you company!
There's two of you, the devil make a third,
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
Suf. Ceafe, gentle Queen, thefe execrations;
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.
Q. Mar. Fie, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch,
Haft thou not spirit to curfe thine enemy?
Suf. A plague upon them! Wherefore fhould I
Would curfes kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter fearching terms,
As curft, as harfh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver❜d ftrongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many figns of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd envy in her loathfome cave.
My tongue should ftumble in mine earnest words,
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint,
Mine hair be fixt on end like one distract:
Ay, ev'ry joint fhould feem to curfe and ban.
And even now my burthen'd heart would break,
Should I not curfe them. Poifon be their drink!
Gall, worse than gall, the daintieft meat they tafte!
Their fweeteft fhade a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefeft profpect murd'ring bafilisks!
Their fofteft touch, as fmart as lizards' ftings!
Their mufick frightful as the ferpent's hifs!
And boading fcreech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-feated hell-
Q. Mar. Enough, fweet Suffolk, thou torment'st thyfelf;
And these dread curfes, like the fun 'gainst glass,
Or like an over-charged gun, recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thyself.
Suf. You bad me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banifh'd from, Well could I curfe away a winter's night, Though standing naked on a mountain top, Where biting Cold would never let grafs grow, And think it but a minute spent in fport.
Q. Mar. Oh, let me entreat thee ceafe; 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 woful monuments.
Oh, could this kifs be printed in thy hand,
That thou might'ft think upon thefe, by the feal, Through whom a thousand fighs are breath'd for thee.
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
'Tis but furmis'd, whilft thou art standing by:
As one that furfeits, thinking on a Want.
I will repeal thee, or, be well affur'd,
Adventure to be banished myself:
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go, fpeak not to me; even now be gone
Oh, go not yet-Ev'n thus two friends condemn'd Embrace and kifs, and take ten thoufand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die:
Yet now farewel, and farewel life with thee!
Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
Once by the King and three times thrice by thee.
'Tis not the Land I care for, wert thou hence;
A wilderness is populous enough,
So Suffolk had thy heav'nly company.
For where thou art, there is the World itself,
With ev'ry fev❜ral pleasure in the world:
And where thou art not, Defolation.
I can no more-Live thou to joy thy life;
Myfelf no joy in aught but that thou liv'ft.
SCE N E IX.
Enter Vaux.
Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux fo faft? what news, I pr'ythee?
Vaux. To fignifie unto his Majefty,
That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death:
For fuddenly a grievous sickness took him,
That makes him gafp, and ftare, and catch the air,
Blafpheming God, and curfing men on earth,
Sometimes he talks, as if Duke Humphry's ghoft
Were by his fide; fometimes, he calls the King;
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
The fecrets of his over-charged foul:
And I am fent to tell his Majefty,
That even now he cries aloud for him.
Q. Mar. Go tell this heavy meffage 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 foul's treasure?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
And with the fouthern clouds contend in tears?
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my forrows.
Now, get thee hence; the King, thou know'ft, is
coming;
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live;
And in thy fight to die, what were it elfe,
But like a pleasant flumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my foul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe
Dying with mother's dug between its lips.
Where, from thy fight, I fhould be raging ma1,
And cry out for thee to clofe up
To have thee with thy lips to ftop my mouth:
So, fhouldst thou either turn my flying foul;
Or I fhould breathe it fo into thy body;
And then it liv'd in fweet Elyfium.
To die by thee, were but to die in jeft:
From thee to die, were torture more than death;
Oh! let me ftay, befal what may befal.
Q. Mar. Away; though Parting be a fretful corrofive,
It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, fweet Suffolk; let me hear from thee:
For wherefo'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris, that fhall find thee out.
Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee.
Suf. A jewel lock'd into the woful'st casket
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, fo funder we;
This way fall I to death.
Q. Mar. This way for me.
The Cardinal's Bedchamber.
Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the Cardinal in Bed.
K. Henry. HOW fares my lord? speak, Beauford, to thy Sovereign.
Car. If thou beeft Death, I'll give thee England's treasure,
Enough to purchase such another Island,
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
K. Henry. Ah, what a fign it is of evil life,
Where death's approach is feen fo terrible!
War. Beauford, it is thy Sovereign fpeaks to thee.
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