Kent. The Seashore near Dover. | |
| |
Firing heard at Sea. Then enter from a boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master’s-Mate, WALTER WHITMORE, and Others; with them SUFFOLK disguised, and other Gentlemen, prisoners. | |
| Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day | |
| Is crept into the bosom of the sea, | 4 |
| 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 | 8 |
| 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, | 12 |
| 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 [Pointing to SUFFOLK], Walter Whitmore, is thy share. | 16 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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 | |
| Cannot be counterpois’d with such a petty sum! | 24 |
| First Gent. I’ll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. | |
| Sec. Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. | |
| Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, | |
| [To SUFFOLK.] And therefore to revenge it shalt thou die; | 28 |
| 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. | 32 |
| Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. | |
| 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, | 36 |
| 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. | |
| Whit. Gaultier, or Walter, which it is I care not; | 40 |
| Never yet did base dishonour blur our name | |
| But with our sword we wip’d away the blot: | |
| Therefore, when merchant like I sell revenge, | |
| Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac’d, | 44 |
| And I proclaim’d a coward through the world! [Lays hold on SUFFOLK. | |
| 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! | 48 |
| Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke: | |
| Jove sometimes went disguis’d, and why not I? | |
| Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. | |
| Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry’s blood, | 52 |
| 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, | 56 |
| 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? | 60 |
| 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? | 64 |
| 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. | 68 |
| 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. | |
| Suf. Thou dar’st not for thy own. | 72 |
| Cap. Yes, Pole. | |
| Suf. Pole! | |
| Cap. Pool! Sir Pool! lord! | |
| Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt | 76 |
| 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; | 80 |
| And thou, that smil’dst at good Duke Humphrey’s death, | |
| Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain, | |
| Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again: | |
| And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, | 84 |
| 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, | 88 |
| And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorg’d | |
| With gobbets of thy mother’s bleeding heart. | |
| By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, | |
| The false revolting Normans thorough thee | 92 |
| Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy | |
| Hath slain their governors, surpris’d our forts, | |
| And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. | |
| The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, | 96 |
| 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, | 100 |
| And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, | |
| Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours | |
| Advance our half-fac’d sun, striving to shine, | |
| Under the which is writ Invitis nubibus. | 104 |
| 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. | 108 |
| Suf. 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 | 112 |
| 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. | 116 |
| 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. | |
| Cap. Walter! | 120 |
| Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. | |
| Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus: ’tis thee I fear. | |
| Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee. | |
| What! are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? | 124 |
| First Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. | |
| Suf. Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough, | |
| Us’d to command, untaught to plead for favour. | |
| Far be it we should honour such as these | 128 |
| 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 | 132 |
| Than stand uncover’d to the vulgar groom. | |
| True nobility is exempt from fear: | |
| More can I bear than you dare execute. | |
| Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. | 136 |
| Suf. 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 | 140 |
| Murder’d sweet Tully; Brutus’ bastard hand | |
| Stabb’d Julius Cæsar; savage islanders | |
| Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exit with SUFFOLK, WHITMORE and Others. | |
| Cap. And as for these whose ransom we have set, | 144 |
| It is our pleasure one of them depart: | |
| Therefore come you with us and let him go. [Exeunt all but first Gentleman. | |
| |
Re-enter WHITMORE, with SUFFOLK’S body. | |
| Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie, | 148 |
| Until the queen his mistress bury it. [Exit. | |
| First Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! | |
| His body will I bear unto the king: | |
| If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; | 152 |
| So will the queen, that living held him dear. [Exit with the body. | |
