* Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd on shore

With tears as salt as sea through thy unkind

ness:

The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands, And would not dash me with their ragged sides, Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, Might in thy palace perish Margaret.

And far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs,' * When from the shore the tempest beat us back, I stood upon the hatches in the storm: *And when the dusky sky began to rob

My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, * I took a costly jewel from my neck,

A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, And threw it towards thy land; the sea receiv'd it;

And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart: * And even with this, I lost fair England's view, * And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart; And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles,

*For loosing ken of Albion's wished coast.
*How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
(The agent of thy foul inconstancy,)

To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did,

* When he to madding Dido, would unfold

* His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy? * Am I not witch'd like her? or thou not false like him?

Ah me, I can no more! Die, Margaret!

* For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long.

Noise within. Enter WARWICK and SALISBURY. The Commons press to the door.

'War. It is reported, mighty Sovereign,

That good Duke Humphrey traitorously is
murder'd

By Suffolk and the Cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees,
That want their leader, scatter up and down,
And care not who they sting in his revenge.
Myself have calm'd their splendid mutiny,
Until they hear the order of Lis death.
K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis

too true;

But how he died, God knows, not Henry:
Enter his chambér, view his breathless corpse,
And comment then upon his sudden death.
War. That I shall do, my Liege:

Salisbury,

Stay,

With the rude multitude, till I return. [Warwick goes into an inner room, and Salisbury retires.

* K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts;

My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul, * Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's

life!

If my suspect be false, forgive me, God; For judgement only doth belong to thee! *Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips

With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears;

*To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
*And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling:
But all in vain are these mean obsequies;
* And, to survey his dead and earthy image,
* What were it but to make my sorrow greater?

The folding doors of an inner chamber are thrown open, and GLOSTER, is discovered dead in his bed: WARWICK and Others standing by it.

*

* War. Come hither, gracious Sovereign, view, this body.

K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made:

For, with his soul, fled all my worldly solace; *For seeing him, I see my life in death.

state

War. As surely as my soul intends to live With that dread King, that took our upon him

To free us from his Father's wrathful curse,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed Duke.
Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn
tongue!

What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow? War. See, how the blood is settled in his face!

Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,

Of ashy semblance, meager, pale, and blood

less,

Being all descended to the labouring heart;
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er
returneth

To blush and beautify the ckeek again.
But, see, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eyeballs further out than when he liv'd,
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man:

His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;

His hands abroad display'd, as on that grasp'd Aud tugg'd for life, and was by strength

subdu'd.

Look on the sheets, his hair,

sticking;

you see, is

His well-proportion'd beard made rough and

rugged,

Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd.
It cannot be, but he was murder'd here;
The least of all these signs were probable.

Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the
Duke to death?

Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection; And we, I hope, Sir, are no murderers. ' War. But both of you were vow'd Duke Humphrey's foes;

And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep: 'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend; ' And 'tis well seen, he found an enemy.

Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen

As guilty of Duke Humphrey's timeless death. War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh,

And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,

But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.

Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? where's
your knife?

Is Beaufort term'd a kite? where are his talons?

Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping

men;

But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart,
That slanders me with murder's crimson badges -
Say, if thou dar'st, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey's death. 1

[Exeunt Cardinal, Som, and Others. War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dares hin?

Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious

spirit,

Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,

Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.
War. Madam, be still; with reverence may
I sayi

For every word, you speak in his behalf,
Is slander to your royal dignity.

Suf. Blunt-witted Lord, ignoble in demean

our!

If ever lady wrong'd her Lord so much,
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble' stock
Was graft with crabtree slip; whose fruit thou art,
And never of the Nevils' noble race.

War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee,

And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, And that my Sovereign's presence makes me mild, I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee Make thee beg pardon for thy passed speech,

And say
it was thy mother that thou meant'st,
That thou thyself was born in bastardy:
And, after all this fearful homage done,
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,