| ACT IV SCENE I | The coast of Kent. | |
| [
Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a
Captain, a Master, a Master's-mate, WALTER WHITMORE,
and others; with them SUFFOLK, and others, prisoners
] |
| Captain | The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day |
| Is crept into the bosom of the sea; |
| And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades |
| That drag the tragic melancholy night; |
| Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings, | 5 |
| 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 ransom on the sand, | 10 |
| 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, Walter Whitmore, is thy share. |
| First Gentleman | What is my ransom, master? let me know. | 15 |
| Master | A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. |
| Master's-Mate | And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. |
| Captain | What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns, |
| And bear the name and port of gentlemen? |
| Cut both the villains' throats; for die you shall: | 20 |
| The lives of those which we have lost in fight |
| Be counterpoised with such a petty sum! |
| First Gentleman | I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. |
| Second Gentleman | And so will I and write home for it straight. |
| WHITMORE | I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, | 25 |
| And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die; |
[To SUFFOLK] |
| And so should these, if I might have my will. |
| Captain | Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. |
| SUFFOLK | Look on my George; I am a gentleman: |
| Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. | 30 |
| WHITMORE | And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. |
| How now! why start'st thou? what, doth |
| death affright? |
| SUFFOLK | Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. |
| A cunning man did calculate my birth | 35 |
| 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. |
| WHITMORE | Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not: |
| Never yet did base dishonour blur our name, | 40 |
| But with our sword we wiped away the blot; |
| Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, |
| Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, |
| And I proclaim'd a coward through the world! |
| SUFFOLK | Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, | 45 |
| The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole. |
| WHITMORE | The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags! |
| SUFFOLK | Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke: |
| Jove sometimes went disguised, and why not I? |
| Captain | But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be. | 50 |
| SUFFOLK | 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? |
| Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule | 55 |
| 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, | 60 |
| 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. | 65 |
| WHITMORE | Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain? |
| Captain | First let my words stab him, as he hath me. |
| SUFFOLK | Base slave, thy words are blunt and so art thou. |
| Captain | Convey him hence and on our longboat's side |
| Strike off his head. | 70 |
| SUFFOLK | Thou darest not, for thy own. |
| Captain | Yes, Pole. |
| SUFFOLK | Pole! |
| Captain | Pool! Sir Pool! lord! |
| Ay, kennel, puddle, sink; whose filth and dirt | 75 |
| 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 smiledst at good Duke Humphrey's death, | 80 |
| Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain, |
| Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again: |
| And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, |
| For daring to affy a mighty lord |
| Unto the daughter of a worthless king, | 85 |
| Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. |
| By devilish policy art thou grown great, |
| And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged |
| With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. |
| By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France, | 90 |
| The false revolting Normans thorough thee |
| Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy |
| Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts, |
| And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. |
| The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all, | 95 |
| 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, | 100 |
| Burns with revenging fire; whose hopeful colours |
| Advance our half-faced 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 | 105 |
| Is crept into the palace of our king. |
| And all by thee. Away! convey him hence. |
| SUFFOLK | 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, | 110 |
| Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more |
| Than Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate. |
| Drones suck not eagles' blood but rob beehives: |
| It is impossible that I should die |
| By such a lowly vassal as thyself. | 115 |
| 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. |
| Captain | Walter,-- |
| WHITMORE | Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. | 120 |
| SUFFOLK | Gelidus timor occupat artus it is thee I fear. |
| WHITMORE | Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee. |
| What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? |
| First Gentleman | My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair. |
| SUFFOLK | Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough, | 125 |
| Used 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; | 130 |
| 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. |
| Captain | Hale him away, and let him talk no more. | 135 |
| SUFFOLK | 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 | 140 |
| Stabb'd Julius Caesar; savage islanders |
| Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates. |
| [Exeunt Whitmore and others with Suffolk] |
| Captain | And as for these whose ransom we have set, |
| It is our pleasure one of them depart; |
| Therefore come you with us and let him go. | 145 |
| [Exeunt all but the First Gentleman] |
| [Re-enter WHITMORE with SUFFOLK's body] |
| WHITMORE | There let his head and lifeless body lie, |
| Until the queen his mistress bury it. |
| [Exit] |
| First Gentleman | O barbarous and bloody spectacle! |
| His body will I bear unto the king: |
| If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; | 150 |
| So will the queen, that living held him dear. |
| [Exit with the body] |
The Essential Student History Quiz (with answers and illustrations)