William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (51 page)
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Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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SUFFOLK
Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banishèd—
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 naught but that thou liv’st.
Enter Vaux
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 naught but that thou liv’st.
Enter Vaux
QUEEN MARGARET
Whither 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.
Sometime 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 over-charged soul;
And I am sent to tell his majesty
That even now he cries aloud for him.
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.
Sometime 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 over-charged 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 sorrow’s?
Now get thee hence. The King, thou know’st, is
coming. 390
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
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 sorrow’s?
Now get thee hence. The King, thou know’st, is
coming. 390
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 his 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 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 his 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—
⌈
He kisseth her
⌉
And then it lived in sweet Elysium.
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!
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.
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
3.3Enter 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
)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation.
Exeunt, ⌈drawing the curtains. The bed is
removed
⌉
4.1removed
⌉
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.
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.
Walter
Whitmore)
The other (
pointing to Suffolk),
Walter Whitmore, is
thy share.
FIRST GENTLEMAN (
to the Master
)
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
)
to the Second Gentleman
)
And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
CAPTAIN (
to both the Gentlemen
)
to both the Gentlemen
)
What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen?
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.
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
)
to the Master
)
I’ll give it, sir, and therefore spare my life.
SECOND GENTLEMAN (
to the Mate
)
to the Mate
)
And so will,I, and write home for it straight.
WHITMORE
(to Suffolk)
(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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
timor
occupat
artus—
It is thee I fear.
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