ACT IV.

SCENE, the Coast of Kent.

Alarum. Fight at fea. Ordnance goes off. Enter Captain, Whitmore, and other Pirates, with Suffolk and others Prisoners.

T

CAPTAIN.

HE gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day
Is crept into the bofom of the sea:

And now loud howling wolves aroufe the jades, That drag the tragick melancholy night;

Who with their drowfie, flow, and flagging wings Clip dead mens' graves; and from their misty jaws - Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.

Therefore bring forth the foldiers of our prize:
For whilft our Pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here fhall they make their ransom on the fand;
Or with their blood ftain this difcolour'd shore.
Mafter, this prifoner freely give I thee;
And thou, that art his mate, make boot of this:
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy fhare.

i Gent. What is my ransom, mafter, let me know.
Maft. A thoufand crowns, or elfe lay down your head.
Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
Whit. 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 fhall:
Nor can those lives, which we have loft in fight,
Be counter-pois'd with fuch a petty fum.

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 so should these, if I might have my will.

Cap.

Cap. Be not fo rafh, take ransom, let him live.
Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman;
Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.—
Whit. And fo am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
How now? why ftart'ft thou? what, doth death affright?
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:
Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded,
Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly founded.
Whit. Gualtier or Walter, which it is, I care not
Ne'er yet did bafe Dishonour blur our name,
But with our fword we wip'd away the blot.
Therefore, when merchant-like I fell revenge,
Broke be my fword, my arms torn and defac'd,
And I proclaim'd a Coward through the world!
Suf. Stay, Whitmore; for thy prifoner is a Prince;
The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.

Whit. The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags ?
Suf. Ay, but thefe rags are no part of the Duke.
Jove fometimes went difguis'd, and why not I?
Cap. But Jove was never flain, as thou fhalt 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?
Bare-headed, plodded by my foot-cloth mule,

And thought thee happy when I fhook my head?
How often haft thou waited at my cup,

Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,
When I have feafted with Queen Margaret?
Remember it, and let it make thee creft-fal'n;
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride.
How in our voiding lobby haft thou ftood,
And duly waited for my coming forth?
This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
And therefore fhall it charm thy riotous tongue.

Whit. Speak, Captain, fhall I ftab the forlorn fwain ?
Cap. Firft let my words ftab him, as he hath me,
Suf Bafe flave, thy words are blunt; and fo art thou.

Cap.

Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's fide, Strike off his head.

Suf. Thou dar'ft not for thy own.

Cap. Poole, Sir Poole lord?

Ay, kennel-puddle-fink, whose filth and dirt
Troubles the filver Spring where England drinks :
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth,
For fwallowing up the treafure of the Realm;
Thy lips, that kifs'd the Queen, fhall fweep the ground;
And thou, that fmil'dft at good Duke Humphry's death,
Against the fenfelefs winds fhalt grin in vain,
Who in contempt fhall hifs at thee again.
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,
For daring to affie a mighty lord
Unto the daughter of a worthlefs King,
Having nor Subject, Wealth, nor diadem!
By devilish policy art thou grown great,
And, like ambitious Sylla, over-gorg'd
With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
By thee Anjou and Maine were fold to France;
The falfe revolting Normans, thorough thee,
Difdain to call us lord; and Picardie
Hath flain their Governors, furpriz'd our Forts,
And fent the ragged foldiers wounded home.
The princely Warwick, and the Nevills all,
(Whofe dreadful fwords were never drawn in vain)
As hating thee, are rifing up in arms.

And now the Houfe of York (thruft from the Crown
By shameful murther of a guiltless King,
And lofty proud incroaching tyranny,)

Burns with revenging fire; whofe hopeful Colours
Advance a 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 fhoot forth thunder
Upon these paultry, fervile, abject drudges!

Small things make bafe men proud. This villain here,

Being captain of a pinnace, threatens
Than Bargulus the ftrong Illyrian Pi
Drones fuck not eagles' blood, but r
It is impoffible that I should die
By fuch a lowly vaffal as thy felf.
Thy words move rage, and not rem
I go of meffage from the Queen to Fr
I charge thee waft me safely cross the
Cap. Walter-

Whit. Come, Suffolk, I muft waft Suf.Pana gelidus timor occupat artus Whit. Thou fhalt have caufe to fear, What, are ye daunted now? now will 1 Gent. My gracious lord, intreat hi Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is fter Us'd to command, untaught to plead Far be it, we should honour fuch as th With humble fuit; no; rather let my Stoop to the block, than these knees b Save to the God of heav'n, and to my And fooner dance upon a bloody pole, Than ftand uncover'd to the vulgar gr True Nobility is exempt from fear: More can I bear, than you dare execut

Cap. Hale him away, and let him Come, foldiers, fhew what cruelty ye Suf. That this my death may never Great men oft die by vile Bezonians. A Roman fworder and Bandetto slave Murther'd sweet Tully; Brutus' bastard Stabb'd Julius Cæfar; favage Iflanders Pompey the Great: And Suffolk dies by [Exit Walter Whitm Cap. And as for thefe, whofe ranfon

(10) Pine gelidus timor occupat artus.] Thus preffion. Whence the Poet glean'd this H know. 'Tis certain, the firft Word is corru I have reftor'd it, as it ought to be. Suffolk w of that Punishment, that Revenge, they were him, put his Limbs into a cold trembling,

It is our pleasure one of them depart;
Therefore come you with us, and let him

go.

[Ex. Captain and the reft.

Manet the firft Gent. Enter Whitmore, with the body.

Whit. There let his head and liveless body lye, Until the Queen his mistress bury it. [Exit Whit.

1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle! 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.

SCENE changes to Southwark.

C

Enter Bevis and John Holland.

NOME, and get thee a fword though made of a lath; they have been up these two days. Hol. They have the more need to fleep now then. Bevis. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to drefs the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap upon it.

Hol. So he had need, for 'tis thread-bare. Well, I say, it was never merry world in England fince Gentle

men came up.

Bevis. Omiferable age! virtue is not regarded in handy-crafts-men.

Hol. The Nobility think scorn 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 should 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.

Bevis. He fhall have the skins of our enemies to make dog's leather of.

Hol. And Dick the butcher :