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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.
K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, When 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, whe'r they will or no ? 0! 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.
K. Hen. 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.
K. Hen. 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.
K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.
SCENE I.-Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover.
Firing heard at Sea. They enter from a Boat, a Captain,
a Master, a Master's Mate, WALTER WHITMORE, and Others; with them SUFFOLK, and other Gentlemen; 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 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. i 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
i Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. 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. How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affright?
Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death.
Whit. Gualtier, or Walter, which it is, I care not;
[Lays hold on Suffolk. Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole.
Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags !
Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke; Jove sometime 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,
Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain ?
Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's side Strike off his head.
Suf. Thou dar’st not for thy own.
Cap. Poole? Sir Poole? lord ?