Dread lord, the commons send you word by me,
Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death,
Or banished fair England's territories,
They will by violence tear him from your palace,
And torture him with grievous ling'ring death.
They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died;
They say, in him they fear your highness' death:
And mere instinct of love, and loyalty,-
Free from a stubborn opposite intent,
As being thought to contradict your liking,-
Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
They say, in care of your most royal person,
That, if your highness should intend to sleep,
And charge-that no man should disturb your rest,
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death;
Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict,
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue,
That slily glided towards your majesty,
It were but necessary, you were wak'd;
Lest, being suffer'd in that harmful slumber,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal:
And therefore do they cry, though you forbid,
That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no,
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is;
With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
They say, is shamefully bereft of life.

Commons. (Within.) An answer from the king,
my lord of Salisbury.
[hinds,
Suf. 'Tis like, the commons, rude unpolish'd
Could send such message to their sovereign:
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd,
To shew how quaint an orator you are:
But all the honour Salisbury hath won,
Is that he was the lord ambassador,
Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king.
Commons. (Within.) An answer from the king,
or we'll all break in.

K. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care:
And had not been cited so by them,
Yet did I purpose as they so entreat;
For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means.
And therefore-by His majesty I swear,
Whose far unworthy deputy I am,-
He shall not breathe infection in this air
But three days longer, on the pain of death.
[Exit Salisbury.
Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!
K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle
Suffolk.

No more, I say; if thou dost plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but said, I would have kept my word;
But, when I swear, it is irrevocable:-

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

The world shall not be ransome for thy life.Coine, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; I have great matters to impart to thee.

[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, &c. Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, [you! Be playfellows to keep you company! There's two of you; the devil make a third, And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps! Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

Q. Mar. Fy, coward woman, and soft-hearted
wretch!

Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies?
Suf. A plague upon them! wherefore should I

curse them?

Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many signs of deadly hate,

As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave:
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban:
And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink!
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste!
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees!
Their chiefest prospects, murdering basilisks!
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings!
Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss;
And boding screech-owls make the concert full!
All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell-

Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk; thou torment'st
thyself;
And these dread curses-like the sun 'gainst glass,
Or like an overcharged, gun,-recoil,
And turn the force of them upon thyself.

Suf. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, Well could I curse away a winter's night, 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. O, let me entreat thee, cease! 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 woeful monuments.
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand;

(Kisses 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 assured,
Adventure to be banished myself:

And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go, speak not to me; even now be gone.-
O, go not yet!-Even thus two friends, condemn'd,
Embrace, and kiss, 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 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 heavenly company:
For where thou art, there is the world itself,
With every several pleasure in the world;
And where thou art not, desolation.

I can no more:-Live thou to joy thy life;
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st.
Enter VAUX.

Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast? what news,
I pr'ythee?

Vaux. To signify unto his majesty,

That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death:
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him,
That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.
Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost
Were by his side; sometime, he calls the king,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
The secrets of his overcharged 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.
Ah 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 my sorrows?

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 it else,
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe,
Dying with mother's dugs between his lips:
Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes,
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth;
So should'st 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:
O, let me stay, befall what may befall.

Q. Mar. Away! though parting be a fretful corIt is applied to a deathful wound.

[rosive, To France, sweet Suffolk: Let me hear from thee; For wheresoe'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 woeful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we;
This way fall I to death.

Q. Mar. This way for me. [Exeunt, severally. SCENE III.-London. Cardinal Beaufort's bedchamber.

Enter King HENRY, SALISBURY, WARWICK, and others. The Cardinal in bed; Attendants with him. K. Hen. How fares my lord? speak, Beaufort, to thy sovereign. [treasure, Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.

K. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life,
When death's approach is seen so terrible!
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Died he not in his bed? where should he die?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no?-
O! torture me no more, I will confess.-
Alive again? then shew me where he is;

I'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 the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.

K. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens,
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch!
O, beat away the busy meddling fiend,
That lays strong siege 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. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure he!

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. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.-
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close;
And let us all to meditation.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover. Firing heard at sea. Then enter from a boat, a Captain, a Master, a Master's-Male, WALTER WHITMORE, and others; with them SUFFOLK, and other Gentlemen, prisoners.

Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day

And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades,
That drag the tragic melancholy night;
Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging 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 ransome 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, (pointing to Suffolk) Walter Whitmore,
is thy share.

yours.

1 Gent. What is my ransome, master? let me know. [head. Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes [crowns, Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand And bear the name and port of gentlemen?Cut both the villains' throats;-for die you shall; The lives of those, which we have lost in fight, Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 1 Gent. I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. [straight. 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die ; (To Suffolk.)

more.

And so should these, if I might have my will.
Cap. Be not so rash; take ransome, let him live.
Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman;
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.
Whit. And so am I; my name is-Walter Whit-
[affright?
How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death
Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is
A cunning man did calculate my birth, [death.
And told me that by Water I should die:
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded;
Thy name is-Gaultier, being rightly sounded.

Whit. Gaultier, or Walter, which it is, I care not;
Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name,
But with our sword we wip'd away the blot;
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defac'd,
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world!
(Lays hold on Suffolk.)
Suf. Stay, Whitmore: for thy prisoner is a prince,
The duke of Suffolk, William de la Poole.

Whit. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags! Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke; Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I? Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. Suf. Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's The honourable blood of Lancaster, [blood, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom, Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup? Bare-headed plodded by my foot cloth mule, And thought thee happy when I shook my head? How often hast thou waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, When I have feasted with queen Margaret? Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fall'n; Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride: How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, And duly waited for my coming forth? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf, And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue. Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn

swain?

Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. Suf. Base slave! thy words are blunt, and so art thou. [side Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's Strike off his head. Suf. Cap. Yes, Poole.

Thou dar'st not for thy own.

fire, being burnt i'the hand for stealing of sheep.

(Aside.)

Cade. Be brave then; for your captain is brave, and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny; the threehooped pot shall have ten hoops; and I will make it felony, to drink small beer: all the realm shall be in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry go to grass. And when I am king, (as king I will be)— All. God save your majesty!

Cade. I thank you, good people:--there shall be no money; all shall eat and drink on my score; and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.

Some

Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb should be made parchment? that parchment, being scribbled o'er, should undo a man? say, the bee stings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax, for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own man since. How now? who's there?

Enter some, bringing in the Clerk of CHATHAM. Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and read, and cast accompt.

Cade. O monstrous!

Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters; -"Twill go hard with you.

Cade. Let me alone:-Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest plain-dealing man?

Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well brought up, that I can write my name.

All. He hath confessed: away with him; he's a villain, and a traitor.

Cade. Away with him, I say: hang him with his pen and inkhorn about his neck.

[Exeunt some with the Clerk.

Enter MICHAEL.

Mich. Where's our general?

Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. Mich. Fly, fly, fly! sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother are hard by, with the king's forces. Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down: He shall be encountered with a man as good as himself: He is but a knight, is 'a?

Mich. No.

Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight presently; Rise up, sir John Mortimer. Now have at him.

Enter Sir HUMPHREY STAFFORD, and WILLIAM
his brother, with drum and Forces.
Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
Mark'd for the gallows,-lay your weapons down,
Home to your cottages, forsake this groom;-
The king is merciful, if you revolt.

[blood,
W. Staf. But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to
If you go forward: therefore yield, or die. [not;
Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass
It is to you, good people, that I speak,
O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign;
For I am rightful heir unto the crown.

Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer; And thou thyself a shearman, art thou not?

Cade. And Adam was a gardener. W. Staf. And what of that?

Cade. Marry, this :-Edmund Mortimer, earl of March,

[not?

Married the duke of Clarence' daughter; Did he W. Staf. Ay, sir.

Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth. W. Staf. That's false. [true: Cade. Ay, there's the question; but, I say, 'tis The elder of them, being put to nurse, Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away; And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, Became a bricklayer, when he came to age: His son am I; deny it, if you can.

Dick. Nay, 'tis too true; therefore he shall be king.

Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it; therefore, deny it not.

Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words, That speaks he knows not what?

All. Ay, marry, will we; therefore get ye gone. W. Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath taught you this.

Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. (Aside.) Go to, sirrah, Tell the king from me, that-for his father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys went to span-counter for French crowns,—I am content he shall reign, but I'll be protector over him.

Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's head, for selling the dukedom of Maine.

Cade. And good reason; for thereby is England maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, that that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and made it an eunuch: and more than that, he can speak French, and therefore he is a traitor.

Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance! Cade. Nay, answer, if you can: The Frenchmen are our enemies: go to then, I ask but this; Can he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good counsellor, or no?

All. No, no; and therefore we'll have his head. W. Staf. Well, seing gentle words will not preAssail them with an army of the king.

[vail,

Staf. Herald, away: and, throughout every town, Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade; That those, which fly before the battle ends, May, even in their wives' and children's sight, Be hang'd up for example at their doors :And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. [Exeunt the two Staffords, and Forces. Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow

me.

Now shew yourselves men, 'tis for liberty.
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman:
Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon;
For they are thrifty honest men, and such
As would (but that they dare not,) take our parts.
Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us.
Cade. But then are we in order, when we are
most out of order. Come, march forward. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. Another part of Blackheath.
Alarums. The two parties enter, and fight, and both
the STAFFORDS are slain.

Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford?
Dick. Here, sir.

Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in thine own slaughter-house: therefore thus will I reward thee, The Lent shall be as long again as it is; and thou shalt have a license to kill for a hundred lacking one.

Dick. I desire no more.

Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This monument of the victory will I bear; and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do

come to London, where we will have the mayor's sword borne before us.

Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break open the gaols, and let out the prisoners. Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards London. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-London. A Room in the Palace. Enter King HENRY, reading a supplication; the Duke of BUCKINGHAM, and Lord SAY, with him ; at a distance, Queen MARGARET, mourning over SUFFOLK's head.

Q. Mar. Oft have I heard-that grief softens the And makes it fearful and degenerate; [mind, Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. But who can cease to weep, and look on this? Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: But where's the body that I should embrace? Buck. What answer makes your grace to the rebels' supplication?

K. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to entreat: For God forbid, so many simple souls Should perish by the sword! And I myself, Rather than bloody war should cut them short, Will parley with Jack Cade, their general.But stay, I'll read it over once again.

[face Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains! hath this lovely Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me; And could it not enforce them to relent, That were unworthy to behold the same? K. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have thy head.

Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his. K. Hen. How now, madam? Still Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death? I fear, my love, if that I had been dead,

Thou wouldst not have mourn'd so much for me. Q. Mar. No, my love, I should not mourn, but die for thee.

Enter a Messenger.

K. Hen. How now! what news? why com'st
thou in such haste?
[lord!
Mess. The rebels are in Southwark; Fly, my
Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer,
Descended from the duke of Clarence' house;
And calls your grace usurper, openly,
And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
His army is a ragged multitude

Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless :
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
Hath given them heart and courage to proceed:
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
They call-false caterpillars, and intend their death.
K. Hen. O graceless men! they know not what
they do.

Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, Until a power be rais'd to put them down.

Q. Mar. Ah! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. K. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, Therefore away with us to Kenel worth.

Say. So might your grace's person be in danger; The sight of me is odious in their eyes: And therefore in this city will I stay, And live alone as secret as

may.

SCENE V.-The same. The Tower. Enter Lord SCALES, and others, on the walls. Then enter certain Citizens, below.

Scales. How now? is Jack Cade slain?

1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain; for they have won the bridge, killing all those that withstand them: The lord mayor craves aid of your honour from the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. [mand; Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall comBut I am troubled here with them myself, The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower. But get you to Smithfield, and gather head, And thither I will send you Matthew Gough: Fight for your king, your country, and your lives; And so farewell, for I must hence again. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. The same. Cannon-street. Enter JACK CADE, and his Followers. He strikes his staff on London-stone.

Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command, that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. And now, henceforward, it shall be treason any that calls me other than-lord Mortimer. Enter a Soldier, running,

for

Sold. Jack Cade! Jack Cade! Cade. Knock him down there. (They kill him.) Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call you Jack Cade more; I think he hath a very fair warning. [in Smithfield. Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them: But, first, go and set London-bridge on fire; and, if you can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away. [Exeunt.

Smithfield.

SCENE VII.-The same. Alarum. Enter, on one side, CADE and his company;. on the other, Citizens, and the King's Forces, headed by MATTHEW GOUGH. They fight; the Citizens are routed, and MATTHEW GOUGH is slain.

Cade. So, sirs:-Now, go some and pull down the Savoy; others to the inns of court; down with them all.

Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship.

Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that word.

Dick. Only, that the laws of England may come out of your mouth.

John. Mass, 'twill be sore law then; for he was thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet. (Aside.) his breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law; for

(Aside.) Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, burn all the records of the realm; my mouth shall be the parliament of England.

unless his teeth be pulled out. John. Then we are like to have biting statutes, (Aside.) Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in

common.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize! here's the lord Say, which sold the towns in France; he that made us pay one-and-twenty fifteens, and one shilling to the pound, the last subsidy.

Enter GEORGE BEVIS, with the Lord SAY. Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times..