Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

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. 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.

Suf. I go.

Queen. And take my heart with thee.
Suf. 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.

This way for me.

400

410

[Exeunt severally.

Scene III.

A bedchamber.

Enter the King, Salisbury, Warwick, to the

Cardinal in bed.

King. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. Car. 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,

Where death's approach is seen so terrible. War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. Car. 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. 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!
War. See, how the pangs of death do make him grin !
Sal. Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.
King. 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!
War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.

Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
And let us all to meditation.

ΙΟ

20

30

[Exeunt.

ACT FOURTH.

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.

Cap. 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, this prisoner freely give I thee;

And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

ΙΟ

First Gent. What is my ransom, master? let me know.
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
Cap. 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 Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.
Sec. Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight.

20

Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die;

[To Suf.

And so should these, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. Suf. Look on my George; I am a gentleman :

Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.

30

How now! why start'st thou? what, doth death
affright?

Suf. 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.
Whit. 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 proclaim'd a coward through the world!
Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince.
The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
Whit. The Duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags!
Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke:

Jove sometime went disguised, and why not I?
Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
Suf. 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,

40

50

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. Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Suf. Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou. Cap. Convey him hence and on our long-boat's side Strike off his head.

[blocks in formation]

60

70

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.

80

« AnteriorContinuar »