The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

bloodless, 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 cheek 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 one that grasp’d And tugg’d for life, and was by strength subdu’d.

Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; His well-proportion’d beard made rough and rugged, Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged.

It cannot be but he was murd’red here: The least of all these signs were probable.

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

Myself and Beaufort had him in protection; And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.

WARWICK. 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.

QUEEN. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen As guilty of Duke Humphrey’s timeless death.

WARWICK. 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.

QUEEN. Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where’s your knife?

Is Beaufort term’d a kite? Where are his talons?

SUFFOLK. 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 badge.

Say if thou dar’st, proud Lord of Warwickshire, That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey’s death.

Exeunt CARDINAL, SOMERSET, and others WARWICK. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?

QUEEN. He dares not calm his contumelious spirit, Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.

WARWICK. Madam, be still-with reverence may I say; For every word you speak in his behalf Is slander to your royal dignity.

SUFFOLK. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour, 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 crab-tree slip, whose fruit thou art, And never of the Nevils’ noble race.

WARWICK. 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 murd’rous 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, Pernicious blood-sucker of sleeping men.

SUFFOLK. Thou shalt be waking while I shed thy blood, If from this presence thou dar’st go with me.

WARWICK. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence.

Unworthy though thou art, I’ll cope with thee, And do some service to Duke Humphrey’s ghost.

Exeunt SUFFOLK and WARWICK

KING HENRY. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?

Thrice is he arm’d that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though lock’d up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

[A noise within]

QUEEN. What noise is this?

 

Re-enter SUFFOLK and WARWICK, with their weapons drawn KING. Why, how now, lords, your wrathful weapons drawn Here in our presence! Dare you be so bold?

Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here?

SUFFOLK. The trait’rous Warwick, with the men of Bury, Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.

 

Re-enter SALISBURY

 

SALISBURY. [To the Commons within] Sirs, stand apart, the King shall know your mind.

Dread lord, the commons send you word by me Unless Lord 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’er 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!

SUFFOLK. ‘Tis like the commons, rude unpolish’d hinds, Could send such message to their sovereign; But you, my lord, were glad to be employ’d, To show 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 will all break in!

KING HENRY. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me I thank them for their tender loving care; And had I not been cited so by them,

Yet did I purpose as they do 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

QUEEN. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk!

KING HENRY. 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 ransom for thy life.

Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me; I have great matters to impart to thee.

Exeunt all but QUEEN and SUFFOLK

QUEEN. Mischance and sorrow go along with you!

Heart’s discontent and sour affliction Be playfellows to keep you company!

There’s two of you; the devil make a third, And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps!

SUFFOLK. Cease, gentle Queen, these execrations, And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.

QUEEN. Fie, coward woman and soft-hearted wretch, Has thou not spirit to curse thine enemy?

SUFFOLK. 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, Mine hair be fix’d an 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 prospect murd’ring basilisks!

Their softest touch as smart as lizards’ stings!

Their music frightful as the serpent’s hiss, And boding screech-owls make the consort full!

all the foul terrors in dark-seated hell-QUEEN. Enough, sweet Suffolk, thou torment’st thyself; And these dread curses, like the sun ‘gainst glass, Or like an overcharged gun, recoil,

And turns the force of them upon thyself.

SUFFOLK. 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.

QUEEN. 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, 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 whiles 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 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!

SUFFOLK. 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 thence; 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

 

QUEEN. Whither goes Vaux so fast? What news, I prithee?

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.

QUEEN. 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 my sorrows?

Now get thee hence: the King, thou know’st, is coming; If thou be found by me; thou art but dead.

SUFFOLK. 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 dug between its 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 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.

O, let me stay, befall what may befall!

QUEEN. Away! Though parting be a fretful corrosive, It is applied to a deathful wound.