And bear the name and port of gentlemen? 1 Gent. I'll give it, Sir, and therefore spare my life. 2. Gent. And fo will I, and write home for it straight. Whit. I loft mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore, to revenge it, fhalt thou die; [To Suffolk, And fo fhould thefe, if I might have my will. Cap. Be not fo rafh, take ranfom, let him live. Suf. Look on my George, I am a Gentleman; Rate me at what thou wilt, thou fhalt be paid Whit. And fo am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. How now? why start'ft thou? what, doth death af fright? Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whofe found is death.. A cunning man did calculate my birth, And told me, that by Water I should die, Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags ? Look on my George.] In the firft Edition it is my ring. WARB. 7 Jove fometimes went dif guis'd, &c.] This verfe is amitted in all but the first old Edition, without which what follows is not fenfe. The next Obfure and lowly fwain, King Henry's blood, was falfly put in the captain's mouth, РОРЕ, Cap. Cap. But Jove was never flain, as thou shalt be. Suf. Obfcure and lowly fwain, King Henry's blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, Muft not be shed by fuch a jaded groom. Haft thou not kifs'd thy hand, and held my stirrop? 8 Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board, Suf. Thou dar'ft not for thy own. Ay, kennel-puddle-fink, whofe filth and dirt 3 abortive pride.] Pride we should read with a kind of that has had birth too foon, pride iffuing before its time. Poole? Sir Poole? Lord?] The diffonance of this broken line makes it almost certain that ludicrous climax, Poole Sir Poole? Lord Poole? He then plays upon the name Poole, kennel, puddle. For For daring to affie a mighty Lord And now the House of York, thrust from the Crown Burns with revenging fire; whofe hopeful Colours Suf. O, that I were a God, to fhoot forth thunder Drones fuck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. By such a lowly vaffal as thyself. Thy words move, rage, and not remorse, in me : go of meffage from the Queen to France; I I charge thee waft me fafely cross the channel. Whit Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. What, are ye daunted now? now will ye stoop? 1 Gent. My gracious Lord, intreat him; fpeak him fair. Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is ftern and rough, Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it, we should honour fuch as these With humble fuit; no, rather let my head Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, Save to the God of heav'n, and to my King And fooner dance upon a bloody pole, Than ftand uncover'd to the vulgar groom. True Nobility is exempt from fear : More can I bear, than you dare execute. Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more; Come, foldiers, fhew what cruelty ye can. Suf. That this my death may never be forgot!Great men oft die by vile Bezonians. A Roman fworder and Banditto flave Murder'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand Pompey the Great: And Suffolk dies by Pirates. [Exit Walter Whitmore with Suffolk, Cap. And as for thefe, whofe ransom we have fet, It is our pleasure one of them depart; Therefore come you with us, and let him go. [Exit Captain and the rest. The poet feems to have confounded the story of Pompey with fome other. Manet Manet the firft Gent. Enter Whitmore with the body. Whit. There let his head and liveless body lie, Until the Queen his mistress bury it. [Exit Whit. 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody fpectacle! His body will I bear unto the King; If he revenge it not, yet will his friends; So will the Queen, that living held him dear. [Exit. Bevis. days. OME, and get thee a fword though made of a lath; they have been up these two Hol. They have the more need to fleep now then. Bevis. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and fet a new nap upon it. Hol. So he had need, for 'tis thread-bare. Well, I fay, it was never merry world in England fince Gentle men came up. Bevis. O miferable age! virtue is not regarded in handy-crafts-men. Hol. The Nobility think fcorn to go in leather aprons. Bevis. Nay more, the King's Council are no good workmen. Hol. True, and yet it is faid, Labour in thy vocation; which is as much as to fay, let the magiftrates be labouring men; and therefore fhould we be magiftrates. Bevis. Thou haft hit it; for there's no better fign of a brave mind than a hard hand. Hol. I fee them, I fee them. There's Beft's fon, the Tanner of Wingham. |