Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;

  Mine hair be fixed on end, as one distract;

  Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:

  And even now my burthen’d heart would break,

  Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!

  Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!

  Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees!

  Their chiefest prospect murdering basilisks!

  Their softest touch as smart as lizards’ sting!

  Their music frightful as the serpent’s hiss,

  And boding screech-owls make the concert full!

  All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell —

  Queen Margaret

  Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment’st thyself;

  And these dread curses, like the sun ’gainst glass,

  Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,

  And turn the force of them upon thyself.

  Suffolk

  You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave?

  Now, by the ground that I am banish’d from,

  Well could I curse away a winter’s night,

  Though standing naked on a mountain top,

  Where biting cold would never let grass grow,

  And think it but a minute spent in sport.

  Queen Margaret

  O, let me entreat thee cease. 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.

  O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand,

  That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,

  Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee!

  So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;

  ’Tis but surmised whiles thou art standing by,

  As one that surfeits thinking on a want.

  I will repeal thee, or, be well assured,

  Adventure to be banished myself:

  And banished I am, if but from thee.

  Go; speak not to me; even now be gone.

  O, go not yet! Even thus two friends condemn’d

  Embrace and kiss and take ten thousand leaves,

  Loather a hundred times to part than die.

  Yet now farewell; and farewell life with thee!

  Suffolk

  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 thence;

  A wilderness is populous enough,

  So Suffolk had thy heavenly company:

  For where thou art, there is the world itself,

  With every several pleasure in the world,

  And where thou art not, desolation.

  I can no more: live thou to joy thy life;

  Myself no joy in nought but that thou livest.

  Enter Vaux

  Queen Margaret

  Wither goes Vaux so fast? what news, I prithee?

  Vaux

  To signify unto his majesty

  That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death;

  For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,

  That makes him gasp and stare and catch the air,

  Blaspheming God and cursing men on earth.

  Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphrey’s ghost

  Were by his side; sometime he calls the king,

  And whispers to his pillow, as to him,

  The secrets of his overcharged soul;

  And I am sent to tell his majesty

  That even now he cries aloud for him.

  Queen Margaret

  Go tell this heavy message 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 soul’s treasure?

  Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,

  And with the southern clouds contend in tears,

  Theirs for the earth’s increase, mine for my sorrows?

  Now get thee hence: the king, thou know’st, is coming;

  If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.

  Suffolk

  If I depart from thee, I cannot live;

  And in thy sight to die, what were it else

  But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?

  Here could I breathe my soul into the air,

  As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe

  Dying with mother’s dug between its lips:

  Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,

  And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,

  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;

  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.

  Suffolk

  A jewel, lock’d into the wofull’st cask

  That ever did contain a thing of worth.

  Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we

  This way fall I to death.

  Queen Margaret

  This way for me.

  Exeunt severally

  SCENE III. A BEDCHAMBER.

  Enter the King, Salisbury, Warwick, to the Cardinal in bed

  King Henry VI

  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 Henry VI

  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

  Bring me unto my trial when you will.

  Died he not in his bed? where should he die?

  Can I make men live, whether 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 VI

  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 VI

  Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be!

  Lord cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss,

  Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.

  He dies, and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!

  Warwick

  So bad a death argues a monstrous life.

  King Henry VI

  Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.

&nb
sp; Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;

  And let us all to meditation.

  Exeunt

  ACT IV

  SCENE I. THE COAST OF KENT.

  Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a Captain, a Master, a Master’s-mate, Walter Whitmore, and others; with them Suffolk, and others, prisoners

  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 discolour’d shore.

  Master, this prisoner freely give I thee;

  And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;

  The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

  First Gentleman

  What is my ransom, master? let me know.

  Master

  A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

  Master’s-Mate

  And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

  Captain

  What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,

  And bear the name and port of gentlemen?

  Cut both the villains’ throats; for die you shall:

  The lives of those which we have lost in fight

  Be counterpoised with such a petty sum!

  First Gentleman

  I’ll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

  Second Gentleman

  And so will I and write home for it straight.

  Whitmore

  I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,

  And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;

  To Suffolk

  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.

  How now! why start’st 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:

  Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;

  Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

  Whitmore

  Gaultier 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 proclaim’d 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 sometimes went disguised, and why not I?

  Captain

  But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

  Suffolk

  Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry’s blood,

  The honourable blood of Lancaster,

  Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.

  Hast thou not kiss’d thy hand and held my stirrup?

  Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule

  And thought thee happy when I shook my head?

  How often hast thou waited at my cup,

  Fed from my trencher, kneel’d down at the board.

  When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?

  Remember it and let it make thee crest-fall’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 darest not, for thy own.

  Captain

  Yes, Pole.

  Suffolk

  Pole!

  Captain

  Pool! Sir Pool! lord!

  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 kiss’d 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 Nevils 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. 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:

  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

  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

  My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.

  Suffolk

  Suffolk’s imperi
al 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 uncover’d 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 bezonians:

  A Roman sworder and banditto slave

  Murder’d sweet Tully; Brutus’ bastard hand

  Stabb’d Julius Caesar; savage islanders

  Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.

  Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk

  Captain

  And as for these whose ransom we have set,

  It is our pleasure one of them depart;

  Therefore come you with us and let him go.

  Exeunt all but the First Gentleman

  Re-enter Whitmore with Suffolk’s 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 the body

  SCENE II. BLACKHEATH.

  Enter George Bevis and John Holland

  Bevis

  Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a lath; they have been up these two days.

  Holland

  They have the more need to sleep now, then.

  Bevis

  I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.

  Holland

  So he had need, for ’tis threadbare. Well, I say it was never merry world in England since gentlemen came up.

  Bevis

  O miserable age! virtue is not regarded in handicrafts-men.

  Holland

  The nobility think scorn to go in leather aprons.

  Bevis

  Nay, more, the king’s council are no good workmen.

  Holland

  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.

  Bevis

  Thou hast hit it; for there’s no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.

  Holland

  I see them! I see them! there’s Best’s son, the tanner of Wingham,—

  Bevis

  He shall have the skin of our enemies, to make dog’s-leather of.