What louring star now envies thy estate, That these great lords, and Margaret our queen, Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong: And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays, (87) Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence: His fortunes I will weep; and, 'twixt each groan, Say, *(88) [Exit. Q. Mar. Fair lords, (89) cold snow melts with the sun's hot beams. Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster's show Car. That he should die is worthy policy; Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy: More than mistrust, that shows him worthy death. York. So that, by this, you would not have him die. York. [aside] 'Tis York that hath more reason for his death. But, my lord cardinal, and you, my Lord of Suffolk, Say as you think, and speak it from your souls,— To guard the chicken from a hungry kite, As place Duke Humphrey for the king's protector? Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood, (92) Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke. For things are often spoke, and seldom meant: Seeing the deed is meritorious, And to preserve my sovereign from his foe,- Say but the word, and I will be his priest. Car. But I would have him dead, my Lord of Suffolk, Ere you can take due orders for a priest: Say you consent, and censure well the deed, And I'll provide his executioner,— I tender so the safety of my liege. Suf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing. Q. Mar. And so say I. York. And I and now we three have spoken (93) it, It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I come amain, To signify that rebels there are up, And put the Englishmen unto the sword: Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, Before the wound do grow uncurable; For, being green, there is great hope of help. Car. A breach that craves a quick-expedient stop! What counsel give you in this weighty cause? York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither: 'Tis meet that lucky ruler be employ'd; Witness the fortune he hath had in France. Had been the regent there instead of me, He never would have stay'd in France so long. York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done : I rather would have lost my life betimes Than bring a burden of dishonour home By staying there so long, till all were lost. Show me one scar charácter'd on thy skin: Q. Mar. Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire, Might happily have prov'd far worse than his. York. What, worse than naught? nay, then, a shame take Som. And, in the number, thee that wishest shame! Th' uncivil kerns of Ireland are in arms, And temper clay with blood of Englishmen :(95) York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. And what we do establish he confirms: Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand. York. I am content: provide me soldiers, lords, Suf. A charge, Lord York, that I will see perform'd. For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. Suf. I'll see it truly done, my Lord of York. [Exeunt all except York. York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful thoughts, And change misdoubt to resolution: Be that thou hop'st to be; or what thou art Resign to death,-it is not worth th' enjoying: Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man, And find no harbour in a royal heart. Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought; And not a thought but thinks on dignity. My brain, more busy than the labouring spider, Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done, To send me packing with an host of men: I fear me you but warm the starvèd snake, Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts. 'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me: I take it kindly; yet be well assur'd You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. I have seduc'd a headstrong Kentishman, To make commotion, as full well he can, In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts I know no pain they can inflict upon him [Exit. SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state. Enter certain Murderers, hastily. First Mur. Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded. Sec. Mur. O that it were to do!-What have we done? Didst ever hear a man so penitent? First Mur. Here comes my lord. Enter SUFFOlk. Suf. Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing? |