Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
They fay is fhamefully bereft of life.

Commons within.] An answer from the King, my
Lord of Salisbury.

Suf. 'Tis like, the Commons, rude unpolifh'd hinds, Could fend fuch meffage to their Sovereign; But you, my Lord, were glad to be employ'd, To fhew how queint an orator you are. But all the honour Salisbury hath won,. Is, that he was the Lord Ambaffador Sent from a fort of tinkers to the King.

Within. An anfwer from the King, or we will all break in.

K. Henry. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care;
And had I not been cited fo by them,
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat;
For, fure, my thoughts do hourly prophefy
Mifchance unto my ftate by Suffolk's means.
And therefore by his Majefty I fwear
Whofe far unworthy Deputy I am,

He fhall not breathe infection in this air
But three days longer, on the pain of death.
Q. Mar. Oh Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk...
K. Henry. Ungentle Queen, to call him gentle
Suffolk.

No more, I fay. If thou doft plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but faid, I would have kept my word;
But when I fwear, it is irrevocable.

-If after three days fpace thou here be'st found,
On any ground that I am ruler of,

The world fhall not be ranfom for thy life.

-Come, Warwick; come, good Warwick; go with. I have great matters to impart to thee.

[me;

[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, &c.

SCENE

VIII.

Manent Suffolk and Queen.

Q. Mar. Milchance and forrow go along with you!

Heart's difcontent and four affliction

Be play-fellows to keep you company!
There's two of you, the devil make a third,
And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!
Suf Ceafe, gentle Queen, these execrations,
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Q. Mar. Fy, coward woman, and foft-hearted Haft thou not fpirit to curfe thine enemy? [wretch. Suf. A plague upon them! Wherefore Thould E curse them?

Would curfes kill, as doth the mandrake's groan
I would invent as bitter-fearching terms,
As curft, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many figns of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathfome cave.
My tongue fhould stumble in mine earnest words,
Mine eyes fhould fparkle like the beaten flint,
Mine hair be fix'd on end like one distract;
Ay, ev'ry joint fhould feem to curfe and ban.
And ev'n now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curfe them. Poifon be their drink?
Gall, worse than gall, the daintieft meat they taste!"
Their sweetest fhade a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefeft profpect murd'ring bafilifks!
Their fofteft touch as fharp as lizards' ftings!
Their mufic frightful as the ferpent's hifs!

And boading fcreech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-feated hell-

Q. Mar. Enough, fweet Suffolk, thou torment't thyfelf;

And thefe dread curfes, like the fun 'gainst glafs, Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,

And turn the force of them upon thyself.

The fabulous accounts of the plant called a mandrake give it an inferior degree of animal life, and relate, that when it is torn from the ground it groans, and that this groan being certainly fatal to him that is offering fuch unwelcome violence, the practice of those who gather mandrakes is, to tie one end of a ftring to the plant and the other to a dog, upon whom the fatal groan. difcharges its malignity. Jobayon.

Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banifh'd from, Well could I curfe away a winter's night, Though ftanding naked on a mountain top Where biting cold would never let grafs grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport.

Q. Mar. Oh, let me entreat thee ceafe. Give me: thy hand,

That I may dew it with my mournful tears;
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place,
To wash away my woful monuments.
Oh, could this kids be printed in thy hand,

[Kiffing his hand.
That thou might'st think upon thefe by the feal,
Thro' whom a thousand fighs are breath'd for thee.
-So-get thee gone, that I may know my grief;,
'Tis but furmis'd, whilst thou art standing by,
As one that furfeits, thinking on a want.
-I will repeal thee, or, be well affur'd,
Adventure to be banished myfelf;

And banished I am if but from thee.

-Go, speak not to me; even now be gone-
Oh, go not yet. -Ev'n thus two friends condemn'd:
Embrace and kifs, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loather a hundred times to part than die.
-Yet now farewell, and farewell life with thee!
Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banifhed,
Once by the King, and three times thrice by thee.
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence;
A wilderness is populous enough,

So Suffolk had thy heav'nly company:
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With ev'ry fev'ral pleafure in the world;
And where thou art not, Defolation.

I can no more.— -Live thou to 'joy thy life;.
Myfelf no joy in aught, but that thou liv'st.

2. Mar. Whither goes Vaux fo faft? what news,

▲ pr'ythee?

Vaux. To fignify unto his Majesty,
That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death;
For fuddenly a grievous ficknefs took him,

That makes him gafp and ftare, and catch the an,
Blafpheming God, and curfing men on earth.
Sometimes he talks as if Duke Humphry's ghoft
Were by his fide; fometimes he calls the King,
And whifpers to his pillow as to him,

The fecrets of his overcharged foul;
And I am fent to tell his Majefty,
That even now he cries aloud for him.

Q.Mar. 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 lofs,
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my foul's treasure?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
And with the fouthern clouds contend in tears?
Theirs for the earth's increafe, mine for my forrows.
-Now, get thee hence.-The King, thou know'st,
is coming;

If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
Suf. If I depart from thee I cannot live;
And in thy fight to die, what were it elfe,
But like a pleafant flumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my foul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-bábe
Dying with mother's dug between its lips.
Where, from thy fight, I fhould be raging mad,
And cry out for thee to clofe up mine eyes,
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
So fhouldst thou either turn my flying foul,
Or I fhould breathe it fo into thy body,
And then it liv'd in fweet Elyfium.
To die by thee were but to die in jest,
From thee to die were torture more than death.
-Oh! let me ftay, befal what may befal.

2. Mar. Away. Though parting be a fretful [corrofive, To France, fweet Suffolk. Let me hear from thee; For wherefoe'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.

Suf. I go.

Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee.

Suf. A jewel lock'd into the woful'st casket
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a fplitted bark, fo funder we;
This way fall I to death.

Q. Mar. This way for me.

SCENE

[Exeunt feverally.

X.

The Cardinal's Bedchamber.

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the Cardinal in bed.

K. Henry. How fares my Lord? fpeak, Beauford, to thy Sovereign.

Car. If thou beeft Death, I'll give thee England's Enough to purchase fuch another island, [treasure, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

K. Henry. Ah, what a fign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is feen so terrible! War. Beauford, it is thy Sovereign fpeaks to thee. Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will. Dy'd he not in his bed? where fhould he die? Can I make men live whether they will or no? -Oh, torture me no more, I will confefs. ---Alive again? then fhew me where he is, I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. -He hath no eyes, the duft hath blinded them. -Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands up

right,

Like lime-twigs fet to catch my winged foul.
-Give me fome drink, and bid th' apothecary.
Bring the ftrong poison that I bought of him.

K. Henry. O thou eterhal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch;
Oh, beat away the bufy, meddling fiend,
That lays ftrong fiege unto this wretch's foul,
And from his bofom purge this black despair!
War. See how the pangs of death do make him
grin!

Sal. Difturb him not; let him pafs peaceably. K. Henry. Peace to his foul, if God's good plea fure be !