Shakespeare's First Folio Part 377

Suf. You bad me ban, and will you bid me leaue?

Now by the ground that I am banish'd from, Well could I curse away a Winters night, Though standing naked on a Mountaine top, Where byting cold would neuer let gra.s.se grow, And thinke it but a minute spent in sport

Qu. Oh, let me intreat thee cease, giue me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournfull teares: Nor let the raine of heauen wet this place, To wash away my wofull Monuments.

Oh, could this kisse be printed in thy hand, That thou might'st thinke vpon these by the Seale, Through whom a thousand sighes are breath'd for thee.

So get thee gone, that I may know my greefe, 'Tis but surmiz'd, whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfets, thinking on a want: I will repeale thee, or be well a.s.sur'd, Aduenture to be banished my selfe: And banished I am, if but from thee.

Go, speake not to me; euen now be gone.

Oh go not yet. Euen thus, two Friends condemn'd, Embrace, and kisse, and take ten thousand leaues, Loather a hundred times to part then dye; Yet now farewell, and farewell Life with thee

Suf. Thus is poore Suffolke ten times banished, Once by the King, and three times thrice by thee.

'Tis not the Land I care for, wer't thou thence, A Wildernesse is populous enough, So Suffolke had thy heauenly company: For where thou art, there is the World it selfe, With euery seuerall pleasure in the World: And where thou art not, Desolation.

I can no more: Liue thou to ioy thy life; My selfe no ioy in nought, but that thou liu'st.

Enter Vaux.

Queene. Whether goes Vaux so fast? What newes I prethee?

Vaux. To signifie vnto his Maiesty, That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death: For sodainly a greeuous sicknesse tooke him, That makes him gaspe, and stare, and catch the aire, Blaspheming G.o.d, and cursing men on earth.

Sometime he talkes, as if Duke Humfries Ghost Were by his side: Sometime, he calles the King, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his ouer-charged soule, And I am sent to tell his Maiestie, That euen now he cries alowd for him

Qu. Go tell this heauy Message to the King.

Exit

Aye me! What is this World? What newes are these?

But wherefore greeue I at an houres poore losse, Omitting Suffolkes exile, my soules Treasure?

Why onely Suffolke mourne I not for thee?

And with the Southerne clouds, contend in teares?

Theirs for the earths encrease, mine for my sorrowes.

Now get thee hence, the King thou know'st is comming, If thou be found by me, thou art but dead

Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot liue, And in thy sight to dye, what were it else, But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?

Heere could I breath my soule into the ayre, As milde and gentle as the Cradle-babe, Dying with mothers dugge betweene it's lips.

Where from thy sight, I should be raging mad, And cry out for thee to close vp mine eyes: To haue thee with thy lippes to stop my mouth: So should'st thou eyther turne my flying soule, Or I should breathe it so into thy body, And then it liu'd in sweete Elizium.

To dye by thee, were but to dye in iest, From thee to dye, were torture more then death: Oh let me stay, befall what may befall

Queen. Away: Though parting be a fretfull corosiue, It is applyed to a deathfull wound.

To France sweet Suffolke: Let me heare from thee: For wheresoere thou art in this worlds Globe, Ile haue an Iris that shall finde thee out

Suf. I go

Qu. And take my heart with thee

Suf. A Iewell lockt into the wofulst Caske, That euer did containe a thing of worth, Euen as a splitted Barke, so sunder we: This way fall I to death

Qu. This way for me.

Exeunt.

Enter the King, Salisbury, and Warwicke, to the Cardinal in bed.

King. How fare's my Lord? Speake Beauford to thy Soueraigne

Ca. If thou beest death, Ile giue thee Englands Treasure, Enough to purchase such another Island, So thou wilt let me liue, and feele no paine

King. Ah, what a signe it is of euill life, Where death's approach is seene so terrible

War. Beauford, it is thy Soueraigne speakes to thee

Beau. Bring me vnto my Triall when you will.

Dy'de he not in his bed? Where should he dye?

Can I make men liue where they will or no?

Oh torture me no more, I will confesse.

Aliue againe? Then shew me where he is, Ile giue a thousand pound to looke vpon him.

He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.

Combe downe his haire; looke, looke, it stands vpright, Like Lime-twigs set to catch my winged soule: Giue me some drinke, and bid the Apothecarie Bring the strong poyson that I bought of him

King. Oh thou eternall mouer of the heauens, Looke with a gentle eye vpon this Wretch, Oh beate away the busie medling Fiend, That layes strong siege vnto this wretches soule, And from his bosome purge this blacke dispaire

War. See how the pangs of death do make him grin

Sal. Disturbe him not, let him pa.s.se peaceably

King. Peace to his soule, if G.o.ds good pleasure be.

Lord Card'nall, if thou think'st on heauens blisse, Hold vp thy hand, make signall of thy hope.

He dies and makes no signe: Oh G.o.d forgiue him

War. So bad a death, argues a monstrous life

King. Forbeare to iudge, for we are sinners all.

Close vp his eyes, and draw the Curtaine close, And let vs all to Meditation.

Exeunt.

Alarum. Fight at Sea. Ordnance goes off.

Enter Lieutenant, Suffolke, and others.

Lieu. The gaudy blabbing and remorsefull day, Is crept into the bosome of the Sea: And now loud houling Wolues arouse the Iades That dragge the Tragicke melancholy night: Who with their drowsie, slow, and flagging wings Cleape dead-mens graues, and from their misty Iawes, Breath foule contagious darknesse in the ayre: Therefore bring forth the Souldiers of our prize, For whilst our Pinnace Anchors in the Downes, Heere shall they make their ransome on the sand, Or with their blood staine this discoloured sh.o.r.e.

Maister, this Prisoner freely giue I thee, And thou that art his Mate, make boote of this: The other Walter Whitmore is thy share

1.Gent. What is my ransome Master, let me know

Ma. A thousand Crownes, or else lay down your head Mate. And so much shall you giue, or off goes yours

Lieu. What thinke you much to pay 2000. Crownes, And beare the name and port of Gentlemen?

Cut both the Villaines throats, for dy you shall: The liues of those which we haue lost in fight, Be counter-poys'd with such a pettie summe

1.Gent. Ile giue it sir, and therefore spare my life