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Though standing naked on a mountain top
Where biting Cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport.
Q. Mar, Oh, let me entreat thee ceale. 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 kiss be printed in thy hand,

(Kising his hand,
* That thou might'st think upon these by the seal,
Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee.
-So-Get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
'Tis but surmis’d, whilst thou art standing by,
As one that surfeits, thinking on a Want.
I will repeal thee, or, be well assur’d,
Adventure to be banished myself;
And banished I am, if but from thee,
-Go, speak not to me; even now be gane
Oh, go not yet --Ev'n thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves,
Loathes a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewel, and farewel life with thee!

Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished,
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 sev'ral pleasure in the world,
And where thou art not, Desolation.
I can no more-Live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in avght but that thou liv'st.

* That thou might llink ufan thy hand thou mightest think od these hy the jeal,

those lips through which a thou. Through which a thousand lighs, fand fighs will be breathed for &c.] That by the impresion of thee. my kifs for ever remaining on

SCENE

SCENE

IX.

Enter Vaux.
Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so faft? what news, I

pr’ythee?
Vaux. To signify unto his Majesty,
That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death,
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
That makes him gasp, and stare, and carch the air,
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth,
Sometimes he talks, as if Duke Humphry's ghost
Were by his side ; sometimes, he calls the King,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
The secrets of his over-charged soul;
And I am sent to tell his Majesty,
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 loss,
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
And with the southern clouds contend in tears?
Theirs for the earth's increase ; mine for

niy

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 sight to die, what were ir else,
But like a pleasant Number in thy lap ?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle babe
Dying with mother's dug between its lips.
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,

- at an hour's poor loss.] She supply. Or perbaps she may means, I believe, at a loss which call the sickness of the cardinal any hour spent in contrivance and the loss of an hour, as it may deliberation will enable her to put some top to her schem“s.

F4

And

And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,
Or I should breathe it so into thy body,
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee were but to die in jest,
From thee to die were torture more than death.
Oh! let me stay, befal what may befal.
Q. Mer. Away. Though parting be a fretful cor-

rofive, , It is applied to a deathful wound. To France, sweet 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.

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 splitted bark, so funder we;
This way fall I to death.
Q. Mar. This
way

[Exeunt severally.

for me.

S CE N E X.

The Cardinal's Bedchamber.

HOW

Enter King Henry, Salisbury, and Warwick, to the

Cardinal in Bed, . OW fares my Lord ? speak, Beauford,

to thy Sovereign. Car. If thou beest Death, I'll give thee England's

treafure, Enough to purchase such another Isand, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain,

K. Henry. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, Where death's approach is seen fo terrible ! War. Beauford, it is thy Sovereign speaks to thee.

I'll have an Iris] Iris was the messenger of Juko.

Cer,

Car. Bring me unto my Trial when you will. Dy'd he not in his bed ? where should he die? Can I make men live whether they will or no? -Oh, torture me no more, I will confess _Alive again ? then shew me where he is, l'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 th' apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Henry. O thou eternal Mover of the heav'ns,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch;
Oh, beat away the busy, medling, fiend,
That lays strong fiege 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. Henry. Peace to his soul, if God's good plealure 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. Henry. 3 Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all, Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, And let us all to meditation.

[Exeunt.

bimur omnes,

3 Forbear 10 judge, &c. --] tinue to be admired when pre. Peccantes culpare cave, nam la- judice shall cease, and bigotry

give way to impartial examinaAut fumus, aut fuimus, vel pof- tion. These are beauties that

tumus elle quod hic eft. rise out of nature and of truth

This is one of the scenes the superficial reader cannot miss which have been applauded by them, the profound can image the criticks, and which will con- nothing beyond them.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Coast of Kent. Alerm. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter Cap

lain Whitmore, and other Pirates, with Suffolk,
and other Prisoners.

CAPTAIN.
HE gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day *

Is crept into the bolom of the sea;
And now loud howling wolves arouse the jades, s
That drag the tragick melancholy night,
Who with their drowsy, Now, and Aagging 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, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

[Pointing to Suffolk. 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. Whit. What, think you much to pay two thousand

crowns,

+ The gaudy, blabbing,-day] That drag the tragick melancholing The epithet blabbing applied to night, the day by a man about to com Wbo with their drowsy, flow, mit murder, is exquisitely beau and flagging wings, tiful. Guilt is afraid of light, Clip dead men's graves ; J considers darkness as a natural The wings of the jades that drag Shelter, and makes night the night appears an unnaturalimage, confidante of those actions which till it is remembered that the cannot be truited to the tell-tale chariot of the night is supposed, day.

by Shakespeare, to be drawn by ibe jades dragons.

And

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