The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
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And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
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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 lived in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee were but to die in jest;
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From thee to die were torture more than death.
O let me stay, befall what may befall!
QUEEN Though parting be a fretful corrosive
It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk! Let me hear from thee;
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For wheresoe’er thou art in this world’s globe,
I’ll have an Iris that shall find thee out.
Away!
SUFFOLK I go.
QUEEN And take my heart with thee. [Kisses him.]
SUFFOLK A jewel locked into the woefullest cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
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Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we:
This way fall I to death. Exit by one door.
QUEEN This way for me. Exit by another.
3.3 Enter the KING, SALISBURY and WARWICK, to the CARDINAL in bed, raving and staring as if he were mad.
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
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Where death’s approach is seen so terrible!
WARWICK Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
CARDINAL Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Died he not in his bed? Where should he die?
Can I make men live whe’er they will or no?
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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
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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 [Kneels.] O Thou eternal mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch.
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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.
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KING Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be.
Lord Cardinal, if thou thinkst on heaven’s bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
[Cardinal dies.]
He dies and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!
WARWICK So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
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KING [Rises.] Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation. Exeunt.
4.1 Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter Lieutenant, SUFFOLK disguised, a prisoner, the Master a nd Master’s Mate, and Walter WHITMORE, with two Gentlemen as prisoners and others.
LIEUTENANT 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
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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,
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Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore.
Master, this prisoner [Indicates First Gentleman.]
freely give I thee,
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
[Indicates Second Gentleman.]
The other, [Indicates Suffolk.]
Walter Whitmore, is thy share.
1 GENTLEMAN
What is my ransom, master? Let me know.
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MASTER
A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
MATE And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
LIEUTENANT
What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
WHITMORE
Cut both the villains’ throats! [to Suffolk] For die you shall.
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LIEUTENANT
The lives of those which we have lost in fight
Be counterpoised 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 [to Suffolk]
I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
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And therefore to revenge it shalt thou die,
And so should these, if I might have my will.
LIEUTENANT
Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
SUFFOLK Look on my George; I am a gentleman.
[Reveals his badge.]
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
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WHITMORE And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
How now! Why starts 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.
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Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded,
Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded.
WHITMORE Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not.
Never yet did base dishonour blur our name
But with our sword we wiped away the blot.
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Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced
And I proclaimed a coward through the world.
SUFFOLK Stay, Whitmore, for thy prisoner is a prince,
The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
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[Removes his cloak.]
WHITMORE The Duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags?
SUFFOLK Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke.
Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I?
LIEUTENANT But Jove was never slain as thou shalt be.
SUFFOLK
Obscure and lousy swain, King Henry’s blood,
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The honourable blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
Hast thou not kissed thy hand and held my stirrup?
And bare-head plodded by my foot-cloth mule,
And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
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How often hast thou waited at my cup,
Fed from my trencher, kneeled down at the board
When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
Remember it, and let it make thee crestfallen,
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride.
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How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
And duly waited for my coming forth?
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf
And therefore shall it charm
thy riotous tongue.
WHITMORE
Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?
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LIEUTENANT
First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
SUFFOLK
Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.
LIEUTENANT
Convey him hence, and on our longboat’s side
Strike off his head.
SUFFOLK Thou dar’st not for thy own.
LIEUTENANT Yes, poll!
SUFFOLK Pole!
LIEUTENANT Pool! Sir Pool! Lord!
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Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks;
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
For swallowing the treasure of the realm.
Thy lips that kissed the Queen shall sweep the ground;
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And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey’s death
Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain
Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again.
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell
For daring to affy a mighty lord
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Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
Having neither subject, wealth nor diadem.
By devilish policy art thou grown great
And, like ambitious Sulla, overgorged
With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart.
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By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France,
The false revolting Normans thorough thee
Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
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The princely Warwick, and the Nevilles all,
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
As hating thee, are rising up in arms.
And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
By shameful murder of a guiltless king
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And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny,
Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours
Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,
Under which is writ ‘Invitis nubibus’.
The commons here in Kent are up in arms;
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And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
Is crept into the palace of our King,
And all by thee. Away! Convey him hence.
SUFFOLK O, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
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Small things make base men proud: this villain here,
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate.
Drones suck not eagles’ blood, but rob beehives.
It is impossible that I should die
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By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.
LIEUTENANT Ay, but my deeds shall stay thy fury soon.
SUFFOLK I go of message from the Queen to France;
I charge thee waft me safely ’cross the Channel.
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LIEUTENANT Walter!
WHITMORE
Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
SUFFOLK Pene gelidus timor occupat artus:
It is thee I fear.
WHITMORE
Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
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What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?
1 GENTLEMAN
My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.
SUFFOLK Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough,
Used to command, untaught to plead for favour.
Far be it we should honour such as these
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With humble suit: no, rather let my head
Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
Save to the God of heaven and to my King;
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom.
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True nobility is exempt from fear;
More can I bear than you dare execute.
LIEUTENANT Hale him away, and let him talk no more.
SUFFOLK Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
That this my death may never be forgot.
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Great men oft die by vile Bezonians.
A Roman sworder and banditto slave
Murdered sweet Tully; Brutus’ bastard hand
Stabbed Julius Caesar; savage islanders
Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.
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