Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead; for that is good deceit
Which mates him first, that first intends deceit.
Q. Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.
Suff. Not resolute, except so much were done;
For things are often spoke, and seldom meant:
But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue,-
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.

Suff. Here is my hand; the deed is worthy doing. Q. Mar. And so say I.

York. And I; and now we three have spoke 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 succors, lords, and stop the rage betime,
Before the wound do grow incurable;

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 employed;
Witness the fortune he hath had in France.

Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy,
Had been the regent there instead of me,
He never would have staid 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 dishonor home,
By staying there so long, till all were lost.

Show me one scar charáctered on thy skin;
Men's flesh preserved so whole, do seldom win.

Q. Mar. Nay, then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with:-
No more, good York:-sweet Somerset, be still:-
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there,
Might happily have proved far worse than his.

York. What, worse than naught? nay, then a shame

take all!

Som. And in the number, thee, that wishest shame! Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is. The uncivil kernes of Ireland are in arms, And temper clay with blood of Englishmen; To Ireland will you lead a band of men, Collected choicely, from each county some, And try your hap against the Irishmen? York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty. Suff. Why, our authority is his consent; And what we do establish, he confirms: Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.

York. I am content. Provide me soldiers, lords, Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.

Suff. A charge, lord York, that I will see performed. But now return we to the false duke Humphrey. Car. No more of him; for I will deal with him, That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. And so break off; the day is almost spent: Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event. York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days, At Bristol I expect my soldiers;

For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.

Suff. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York.

[Exeunt all but 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 the enjoying.

Let pale-faced fear keep with the mean-born man,

And find no harbor 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 laboring spider,

Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done,

To send me packing with a host of men;

I fear me, you but warm the starved snake,

Who, cherished in your breasts, will sting your hearts. 'Twas men I lacked, and you will give them me;

I take it kindly; yet, be well assured

You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm,
Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell;

And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head,
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams,
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw.
And, for a minister of my intent,

I have seduced a headstrong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,

To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.

In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kernes;

And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quilled porcupine;
And, in the end being rescued, I have seen him
Caper upright like a wild Morisco,

Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-haired crafty kerne,
Hath he conversed with the enemy;
And undiscovered come to me again,
And given me notice of their villanies.
This devil here shall be my substitute;
For that John Mortimer which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble;
"By this I shall perceive the commons' mind,
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say, he be taken, racked, and tortured;
I know no pain they can inflict upon him,
Will make him say-I moved him to those arms.
Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,)
Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength,
And reap the harvest which that rascal sowed;
For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
And Henry put apart, the next for me.

SCENE II. Bury. A Room in the Palace.

Enter certain Murderers, hastily.

[Exit.

1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk; let him know, We have despatched the duke, as he commanded.

2 Mur. O, that it were to do!-What have we done? Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Enter SUFFOLK.

1 Mur. Here comes my lord.

Suff.

Despatched this thing?

Now, sirs, have you

1 Mur.

Ay, my good lord; he's dead. Suff. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house; I will reward you for this venturous deed.

The king and all the peers are here at hand.—
Have you laid fair the bed? Are all things well,
According as I gave directions?

1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lord.

Suff. Away, be gone!

[Exeunt Murderers.

Enter KING HENRY, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL BEAUFORT, SOMERSET, Lords, and others.

K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence straight.. Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,

If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

Suff. I'll call him presently, my noble lord.

[Exit.

K. Hen. Lords, take your places;-and, I pray you all, Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster,

Than from true evidence, of good esteem,

He be approved in practice culpable,

Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a nobleman!

Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion !

K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words content me much.

Re-enter SUFFOLK.

How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou? Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk ? Suff. Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloster is dead. Q. Mar. Marry, God forefend!

Car. God's secret judgment; - I did dream to-night, The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word.

[The King swoons. Q. Mar. How fares my lord?—Help, lords! the king is

dead.

Som. Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help!-0 Henry, ope thine eyes!
Suff. He doth revive again;-madam, be patient.
K. Hen. O heavenly God!

Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord?

Suff. Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort! K. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a raven's note, Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast,

Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugared words;
Lay not thy hands on me; forbear, I say;
Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight!
Upon thy eyeballs murderous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding ;-
Yet do not go away.-Come, basilisk,

And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight;
For in the shade of death I shall find joy;

In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead!

Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus? Although the duke was enemy to him,

Yet he, most Christianlike, laments his death;
And for myself,-foe as he was to me,
Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs, recall his life,

I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs,
And all to have the noble duke alive.

What know I how the world may deem of me?
For it is known we were but hollow friends.

It may be judged I made the duke away;

So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes' courts be filled with my reproach.
This get I by his death. Ah me, unhappy!
To be a queen, and crowned with infamy!

K. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man!
Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is.
What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?
I am no loathsome leper; look on me.

What, art thou, like the adder, waxen deaf?
Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen.
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb?
Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy;
Erect his statue then, and worship it,
And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I, for this, nigh wrecked upon the sea;
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime?
What boded this, but well forewarning wind
Did seem to say,-Seek not a scorpion's nest,
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore?
What did I then, but cursed the gentle gusts,

And he that loosed them from their brazen caves;