Listen to Act 4. LibriVox volunteers recorded “Act 4” as one track, so it runs past this scene and includes stage directions this page leaves out. LibriVox catalog.
LIEUTENANT
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 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, Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore. Master, this prisoner freely give I , And that art his mate, make boot of this; The other, Walter Whitmore, is share.
1 GENTLEMAN
What is my ransom, master? Let me know.
MASTER
A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.
MATE
And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.
LIEUTENANT
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. The lives of those which we have lost in fight Be counterpoised with such a petty sum!
1 GENTLEMAN
I’ll give it, sir, and therefore spare my life.
2 GENTLEMAN
And so will I, and write home for it straight.
WHITMORE
I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, And therefore to revenge it die; And so should these, if I might have my will.
LIEUTENANT
Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.
SUFFOLK
Look on my George; I am a gentleman. Rate me at what wilt, be paid.
WHITMORE
And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. How now! Why starts ? What, death affright?
SUFFOLK
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 be bloody-minded; name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded.
WHITMORE
Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not. Never yet did base dishonour blur our name 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 proclaimed a coward through the world!
SUFFOLK
Stay, Whitmore, for prisoner is a prince, 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 sometime went disguised, and why not I?
LIEUTENANT
But Jove was never slain, as be.
SUFFOLK
Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry’s blood, The honourable blood of Lancaster, Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. not kissed hand and held my stirrup? Bareheaded plodded by my foot-cloth mule, And thought happy when I shook my head? How often waited at my cup, Fed from my trencher, kneeled down at the board, When I have feasted with Queen Margaret? Remember it, and let it make crestfallen, Ay, and allay thus abortive pride. How in our voiding lobby stood And duly waited for my coming forth? This hand of mine writ in behalf, And therefore shall it charm riotous tongue.
WHITMORE
Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?
LIEUTENANT
First let my words stab him, as he me.
SUFFOLK
Base slave, words are blunt, and so art .
LIEUTENANT
Convey him , and on our longboat’s side Strike off his head.
SUFFOLK
dar’st not, for own.
LIEUTENANT
Yes, poll!
SUFFOLK
Pole!
LIEUTENANT
Pool! Sir Pool! Lord! Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt Troubles the silver spring where England drinks; Now will I dam up this yawning mouth For swallowing the treasure of the realm. lips that kissed the Queen shall sweep the ground; And that smiledst at good Duke Humphrey’s death Against the senseless winds grin in vain, Who in contempt shall hiss at again. And wedded be to the hags of hell, For daring to affy a mighty lord Unto the daughter of a worthless king, Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. By devilish policy art grown great And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged With gobbets of mother’s bleeding heart. By Anjou and Maine were sold to France, The false revolting Normans thorough Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy slain their governors, surprised our forts, And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home. The princely Warwick, and the Nevilles all, Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, As hating 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-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 Is crept into the palace of our King, And all by thee.—Away! Convey him .
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, 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. words move rage and not remorse in me. I go of message from the Queen to France; I charge waft me safely ’cross the Channel.
LIEUTENANT
Walter.
WHITMORE
Come, Suffolk, I must waft to death.
SUFFOLK
Pene gelidus timor occupat artus. It is I fear.
WHITMORE
have cause to fear before I leave . What, are daunted now? Now will stoop?
1 GENTLEMAN
My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him fair.
SUFFOLK
Suffolk’s imperial tongue is stern and rough, 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; And sooner dance upon a bloody pole Than stand uncovered to the vulgar groom. True nobility is exempt from fear; More can I bear than you dare execute.
LIEUTENANT
Hale him away, and let him talk no more.
SUFFOLK
Come, soldiers, show what cruelty can, That this my death may never be forgot! Great men die by vile Bezonians. A Roman sworder and banditto slave Murdered sweet Tully; Brutus’ bastard hand Stabbed Julius Caesar; savage islanders Pompey the Great; and Suffolk dies by pirates.
LIEUTENANT
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.
WHITMORE
There let his head and lifeless body lie, Until the Queen his mistress bury it.
1 GENTLEMAN
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.