Henry vi part 2, p.17
Henry VI, Part 2,
p.17
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The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
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WHITMORE
The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags?
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SUFFOLK
Ay, but these rags are no part of the Duke.
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LIEUTENANT
But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
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Obscure and lousy swain, King Henry’s blood,
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The honorable blood of Lancaster,
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Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
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Hast thou not kissed thy hand and held my stirrup?
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Bareheaded plodded by my footcloth mule,
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And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
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How often hast thou waited at my cup,
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Fed from my trencher, kneeled down at the board,
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When I have feasted with Queen Margaret?
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Remember it, and let it make thee crestfall’n,
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Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride.
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How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
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And duly waited for my coming forth?
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This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
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And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
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WHITMORE
Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?
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LIEUTENANT
First let my words stab him as he hath me.
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SUFFOLK
Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.
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LIEUTENANT
Convey him hence, and on our longboat’s side,
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Strike off his head.
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SUFFOLK Thou dar’st not for thy own.
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Yes, Pole.
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SUFFOLK Pole!>
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LIEUTENANT Pole! Sir Pole! Lord!
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Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt
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Troubles the silver spring where England drinks!
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Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
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For swallowing the treasure of the realm.
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Thy lips that kissed the Queen shall sweep the
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ground,
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And thou that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey’s
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death
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Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain,
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Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again.
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And wedded be thou to the hags of hell
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For daring to affy a mighty lord
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Unto the daughter of a worthless king,
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Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
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By devilish policy art thou grown great,
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And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged
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With gobbets of thy
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By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France.
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The false revolting Normans thorough thee
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Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
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Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts,
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And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
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The princely Warwick, and the Nevilles all,
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Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
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As hating thee,
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And now the house of York, thrust from the crown
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By shameful murder of a guiltless king
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And lofty, proud, encroaching tyranny,
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Burns with revenging fire, whose hopeful colors
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Advance our half-faced sun, striving to shine,
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Under the which is writ “Invitis nubibus.”
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The commons here in Kent are up in arms,
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And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
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Is crept into the palace of our king,
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And all by thee.—Away! Convey him hence.
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SUFFOLK
O, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
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Upon these paltry, servile, abject drudges!
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Small things make base men proud. This villain
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here,
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Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
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Than Bargulus, the strong Illyrian pirate.
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Drones suck not eagles’ blood, but rob beehives.
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It is impossible that I should die
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By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
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Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.
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I go of message from the Queen to France.
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I charge thee waft me safely cross the Channel.
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LIEUTENANT
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WHITMORE
Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
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SUFFOLK
Paene gelidus timor occupat artus.
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It is thee I fear.
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WHITMORE
Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
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What, are you daunted now? Now will you stoop?
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FIRST GENTLEMAN
My gracious lord, entreat him; speak him fair.
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SUFFOLK
Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough,
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Used to command, untaught to plead for favor.
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Far be it we should honor such as these
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With humble suit. No, rather let my head
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Stoop to the block than these knees bow to any
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Save to the God of heaven and to my king;
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And sooner dance upon a bloody pole
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Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom.
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True nobility is exempt from fear.—
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More can I bear than you dare execute.
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LIEUTENANT
Hale him away, and let him talk no more.
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Come, soldiers, show what cruelty you can,
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That this my death may never be forgot!
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Great men oft die by vile bezonians:
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A Roman sworder and banditto slave
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Murdered sweet Tully; Brutus’ bastard hand
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Stabbed Julius Caesar; savage islanders
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Pompey the Great, and Suffolk dies by pirates.
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Suffolk
LIEUTENANT
And as for these whose ransom we have set,
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It is our pleasure one of them depart.
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149
and let him go.
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Lieutenant and the rest exit.
The First Gentleman remains.
Enter Walter
WHITMORE
There let his head and lifeless body lie,
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Until the Queen his mistress bury it.
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Walter
FIRST GENTLEMAN
O, barbarous and bloody spectacle!
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His body will I bear unto the King.
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If he revenge it not, yet will his friends.
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So will the Queen, that living held him dear.
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Enter Bevis and John Holland
BEVIS Come, and get thee a sword, though made of a
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lath. They have been up these two days.
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HOLLAND They have the more need to sleep now, then.
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BEVIS I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to dress
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the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new nap
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upon it.
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HOLLAND So he had need, for ’tis threadbare. Well, I
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say, it was never merry world in England since
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gentlemen came up.
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BEVIS O miserable age! Virtue is not regarded in
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handicraftsmen.
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HOLLAND The nobility think scorn to go in leather
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aprons.
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BEVIS Nay, more, the King’s Council are no good
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workmen.
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HOLLAND True, and yet it is said “Labor in thy voca-
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tion,” which is as much to say as “Let the magis-
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trates be laboring men.” And therefore should we
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be magistrates.
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BEVIS Thou hast hit it, for there’s no better sign of a
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brave mind than a hard hand.
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HOLLAND I see them, I see them! There’s Best’s son, the
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tanner of Wingham—
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BEVIS He shall have the skins of our enemies to make
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dog’s leather of.
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HOLLAND And Dick the butcher—
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BEVIS Then is sin struck down like an ox, and iniq-
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uity’s throat cut like a calf.
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HOLLAND And Smith the weaver.
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BEVIS Argo, their thread of life is spun.
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HOLLAND Come, come, let’s fall in with them.
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Drum. Enter Cade, Dick
weaver, and a Sawyer, with infinite numbers,
CADE We, John Cade, so termed of our supposed
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father—
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DICK,
