By thee to die were but to die in jest;
From thee to die were torture more than death.
O, let me stay, befall what may befall!
QUEEN MARGARET
Away. Though parting be a fretful corrosive,
It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee.
For wheresoe’er thou art in this world’s Globe
I’ll have an Iris that shall find thee out.
SUFFOLK
I go.
QUEEN MARGARET And take my heart with thee.
⌈She kisseth him⌉
SUFFOLK
A jewel, locked into the woefull’st cask That ever did contain a thing of worth. Even as a splitted barque, so sunder we—This way fall I to death.
QUEEN MARGARET This way for me.
Exeunt severally
3.3 Enter King Henry and the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick. Then the curtains be drawn revealing Cardinal Beaufort in his bed raving and staring as if he were mad
KING HENRY (to Cardinal Beaufort)
How fares my lord? Speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign.
CARDINAL BEAUFORT
If thou beest 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 HENRY
Ah, what a sign it is of evil life
Where death’s approach is seen so terrible.
WARWICK
Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
CARDINAL BEAUFORT
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?
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 HENRY
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 HENRY
Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be.
Lord Card‘nal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
Cardinal Beaufort dies
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, ⌈drawing the curtains. The bed is
removed⌉
4.1 Alarums within, and the chambers be discharged like as it were a fight at sea. And then enter the Captain of the ship, the Master, the Master’s Mate, Walter Whitmore, ⌈and others⌉. With them, as their prisoners, the Duke of Suffolk, disguised, and two Gentlemen
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 discoloured shore.
Master, (pointing to the First Gentleman) this prisoner
freely give I thee,
(To the Mate)
And thou, that art his mate, make boot of this.
He points to the Second Gentleman
(To Walter Whitmore)
The other (pointing to Suffolk), Walter Whitmore, is
thy share.
FIRST GENTLEMAN (to the Master)
What is my ransom, Master, let me know.
MASTER
A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
MATE (to the Second Gentleman)
And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
CAPTAIN (to both the Gentlemen)
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.
The lives of those which we have lost in fight
⌈ ⌉
Be counterpoised with such a petty sum.
FIRST GENTLEMAN (to the Master)
I’ll give it, sir, and therefore spare my life.
SECOND GENTLEMAN (to the Mate)
And so will,I, and write home for it straight.
WHITMORE (to Suffolk)
I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
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.
Suffolk starteth
How now—why starts thou? What doth thee 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 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.
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.
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?
CAPTAIN
But Jove was never slain as thou shalt be.
SUFFOLK
Obscure and lousy swain, King Henry’s blood,
The honourable blood of Lancaster,
Must not be shed by such a jady groom.
Hast thou not kissed thy hand and held my stirrup?
Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mute
And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
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 crestfall’n,
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride,
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?
CAPTAIN
First let my words stab him as he hath me.
SUFFOLK
Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou.
CAPTAIN
Convey him hence and, on our longboat’s side, Strike off his head.
SUFFOLK Thou dar’st not for thy own.
CAPTAIN
Pole—
⌈SUFFOLK⌉ Pole?
CAPTAIN 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,
And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey’s
death
Against the senseless winds shalt 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
Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
By devilish policy art thou grown great,
And like ambitious Sylla, overgorged
With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart.
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.
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
And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny,
Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colours
Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,
Under the which is writ, ‘Invitis nubibus’.
The commons here in Kent are up in arms,
And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
Is crept into the palace of our King,
And all by thee. (To Whitmore) Away, convey him
hence.
SUFFOLK
O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges.
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
By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
Thy words move rage, and not remorse in me.
⌈CAPTAIN⌉
But my deeds, Suffolk, soon shall stay thy rage.
SUFFOLK
I go of message from the Queen to France—
I charge thee, waft me safely cross the Channel!
CAPTAIN Walter—
WHITMORE
Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
SUFFOLK
Paene gelidus timor occupat artus—
It is thee I fear.
WHITMORE
Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?
FIRST GENTLEMAN (to Suffolk)
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
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.
True nobility is exempt from fear;
More can I bear than you dare execute.
CAPTAIN
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.
Great men oft die by vile Besonians;
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.
Exit Whitmore with Suffolk
CAPTAIN
And as for these whose ransom we have set,
It is our pleasure one of them depart.
(To the Second Gentleman)
Therefore, come you with us and (to his men, pointing
to the First Gentleman) let him go.
Exeunt all but the First Gentleman
Enter Whitmore with Suffolk’s head and body
WHITMORE
There let his head and lifeless body lie,
Until the Queen his mistress bury it. Exit
FIRST GENTLEMAN
O barbarous and bloody spectacle!
His body will I bear unto the King.
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends;
So will the Queen, that living held him dear.
Exit with Suffolk’s head and body
4.2 Enter two Rebels ⌈with long staves⌉
FIRST REBEL Come and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have been up these two days.
SECOND REBEL They have the more need to sleep now then.
FIRST REBEL I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.
SECOND REBEL So he had need, for ‘tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.
FIRST REBEL O, miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in handicraftsmen.
SECOND REBEL The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.
FIRST REBEL Nay more, the King’s Council are no good workmen.
SECOND REBEL True; and yet it is said ‘Labour in thy vocation’; which is as much to say as ‘Let the magistrates be labouring men’; and therefore should we be magistrates.
FIRST REBEL Thou hast hit it; for there’s no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.
SECOND REBEL I see them! I see them! There’s Best’s son, the tanner of Wingham—
FIRST REBEL He shall have the skins of our enemies to make dog’s leather of. SECOND REBEL And Dick the butcher—
FIRST REBEL Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniquity’s throat cut like a calf.
SECOND REBEL And Smith the weaver—
FIRST REBEL Argo, their thread of life is spun.
SECOND REBEL Come, come, let’s fall in with them.
Enter Jack Cade, Dick the Butcher, Smith the
Weaver, a sawyer, ⌈and a drummer,⌉ with infinite
numbers, fall with long staves⌉
CADE We, John Cade, so termed of our supposed father—BUTCHER (to his fellows) Or rather of stealing a cade of herrings.
CADE For our enemies shall fall before us, inspired with the spirit of putting down kings and princes—command silence!
BUTCHER Silence!
CADE My father was a Mortimer—
BUTCHER (to his fellows) He was an honest man and a good bricklayer.
CADE My mother a Plantagenet—
BUTCHER (to his fellows) I knew her well, she was a midwife. CADE My wife descended of the Lacys—
BUTCHER (to his fellows) She was indeed a pedlar’s daughter and sold many laces.
WEAVER (to his fellows) But now of late, not able to travel with her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home. CADE Therefore am I of an honourable house.
/> BUTCHER (to his fellows) Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable, and there was he born, under a hedge; for his father had never a house but the cage.
CADE Valiant I am—
WEAVER (to his fellows) A must needs, for beggary is valiant.
CADE I am able to endure much—
BUTCHER (to his fellows) No question of that, for I have seen him whipped three market days together.
CADE I fear neither sword nor fire.
WEAVER (to his fellows) He need not fear the sword, for his coat is of proof.
BUTCHER (to his fellows) But methinks he should stand in fear of fire, being burned i’th’ hand for stealing of sheep.
CADE Be brave, then, for your captain is brave and vows reformation. There shall be in England seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny, the three-hooped pot shall have ten hoops, and I will make it felony to drink small beer. All the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfrey go to grass. And when I am king, as king I will be—
ALL CADE’S FOLLOWERS God save your majesty!
CADE I thank you good people!—there shall be no money. All shall eat and drink on my score, and I will apparel them all in one livery that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord.
BUTCHER The first thing we do let’s kill all the lawyers.
CADE Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? That parchment, being scribbled o‘er, should undo a man? Some say the bee stings, but I say ‘tis the bee’s wax. For I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now? Who’s there? Enter some bringing forth the Clerk of Chatham
WEAVER The Clerk of Chatham—he can write and read and cast account.
CADE O, monstrous!
WEAVER We took him setting of boys’ copies.
CADE Here’s a villain.
WEAVER He’s a book in his pocket with red letters in’t. CADE Nay, then he is a conjuror!
BUTCHER Nay, he can make obligations and write court hand.
CADE I am sorry for’t. The man is a proper man, of mine honour. Unless I find him guilty, he shall not die. Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee. What is thy name?
CLERK Emmanuel.
BUTCHER They use to write that on the top of letters—‘twill go hard with you.
CADE Let me alone. (To the Clerk) Dost thou use to write thy name? Or hast thou a mark to thyself like an honest plain-dealing man?
CLERK Sir, I thank God I have been so well brought up that I can write my name.
ALL CADE’S FOLLOWERS He hath confessed—away with him He’s a villain and a traitor.
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 35