* That drag the tragick 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. 'I Gent. What is my ransome, 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, * Cap. What, think you much to pay two thou sand crowns, *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. * 2 Gent. And so will I, and write home for it straight. 'Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, ' And therefore, to revenge it, shalt thou die; [TO SUF. ' And so should these, if I might have my will. the jades That drag the tragick melancholy night; Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings Clip dead men's graves,] The wings of the jades that drag night appears an unnatural image, till it is remembered that the chariot of the night is supposed, by Shakspeare, to be drawn by dragons. * 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 Whitmore. 'How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death affright? Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth, ' And told me that by Water I should die: 'Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded; 'Thy name is-Gualtier, being rightly sounded. 'Whit. Gualtier, 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 Pole. • 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 blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, • Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.* Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup? a jaded groom.] Jaded groom, may mean a groom whom all men treat with contempt; as worthless as the most paltry kind of horse; or a groom who has hitherto been treated with no greater ceremony than a horse. '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. Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's Cap. Thou dar'st not for thy own. Poole? Poole? Sir Poole? lord? 'Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks. 'Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth, "For swallowing the treasure of the realm: Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground; And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's death, Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, * Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again: abortive pride:] Pride that has had birth too soon, pride issuing before its time. * And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, * Unto the daughter of a worthless king, * With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. *Hath slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts, * And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. *The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,— *Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,* As hating thee, are rising up in arms: *And now the house of York-thrust from the crown, * By shameful murder of a guiltless king, * And lofty proud encroaching tyranny, * Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours * Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine, * Under the which is writ—Invitis nubibus. * The commons here in Kent are up in arms: * And, to conclude, reproach, and beggary, *Is crept into the palace of our king, * And all by thee:-Away! convey him hence. *Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder * Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges! * Small things make base men proud: this villain here, Being captain of a pinnace," threatens more 'Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. 'Drones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. 6 to affy] To affy is to betroth in marriage. 7 Being captain of a pinnace,] A pinnace did not anciently signify, as at present, a man of war's boat, but a ship of small burthen. 6 It is impossible, that I should die By such a lowly vassal as thyself. Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me: "I go of message from the queen to France; I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel. 'Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. *Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus:-'tis thee I fear. 'Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave thee. What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. 'Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, 'Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it, we should honour such as these • With humble suit: no, rather let my head Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, Save to the God of heaven, and to my king; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole, Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. * True nobility is exempt from fear:— 'More can I bear, than you dare execute, 6 Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can, That this my death may never be forgot! 'Great men oft die by vile bezonians: 'A Roman sworder and banditto slave, 'Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand 'Stabb'd Julius Cæsar; savage islanders, 'Pompey the great:' and Suffolk dies by pirates. [Exit Sur. with WHIT. and Others. bezonians:] Bisognoso, is a mean low man. 9 A Roman sworder, &c.] i. e. Herennius a centurion, and Popilius Laenas, tribune of the soldiers. |