University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

York. Salisbury.
York.
By Heaven, it makes me mad!—The Queen and Suffolk
Govern the King; and, Beaufort governs Them.

Salisb.

York.
May their Resentment
Burst, like avenging Thunder, on the Guilty;
And wake this bigotted, uxorious King,
Lull'd in a Dream of Love, and Superstition!

Salisb.
Once more (before we see the Lord Protectour)
Beware, how you inform him of the Dutchess:
For, should He know of my Request to Stanley;
It might divert his Thoughts, from—

York.
I am caution'd.
The Publick, now, must have his whole Attention.

Salisb.
If our Designs succeed; Her Banishment
May be repeal'd; and, her Accusers punish'd:—
If otherwise; a Day, or Two, is not
A mighty Trespass: And, the Blame shall rest
On Me, alone.

York.
Most Generous, and Wise!

Salisb.
But see;—the Council-Chamber opens:—And,
Beaufort moves this Way.—Do you discourse him;
While I confer with Gloucester, 'till You come.

York.
You know, I hate him.

Salisb.
Treat him with Contempt:
And try, if, in his Rage, he can dissemble.

SCENE II.

York, Beaufort.
York.
So!—Now, he aims a Smile of Treachery at me.

Beauf.
What?—My right-noble Friend; the Duke of York!—
And (or my Eye-sight fails) the Earl of Salisbury
Parted from you.—Why were you not at Council?

York.
Were we not, Both, shut out?—

Beauf.
You surprise me!

York.
Am I your Mirth?—I tell thee, Cardinal;
Had there been present, at the Board, One honest Man,
Gloucester had not been seised.

Beauf.
Had I been present;
What could a single Voice?—And That, not much, regarded?

York.
Most profligate Dissembler!—

[Half aside.
Beauf.
Nay, my Lord;
Were I not sway'd, like You, by Humfrey's Vertues;
Yet, would the Ties of Blood, alone, engage me,
On all Occasions, to support my Nephew.

York.
The Ties of Blood!—No, Winchester!—The Priesthood,
To Celibacy vow'd, are dead to all Endearments.—
What Ties have You?—Nor conjugal, nor filial Love,
Nor Brotherhood, nor Parents Griefs, or Joys,
Nor Friendship's generous Flame, nor Sympathies
Of any Kind, affect Your Hearts!—

Beauf.
Forbear:—
I must not hear you, thus inveigh against
Your Spiritual Guides.

York.
Our merciless Oppressers!—
In all your Interests, sever'd from the People,
Of worldly Wealth, and Pomp, and Power, you would
Ingross the Whole; And leave, to Us, the Cares,
The Servitude, the Penury, of Life:
Giving us empty Benedictions, in Exchange,
For the substantial Blessings, You enjoy.

Beauf.
Would you destroy the Authority of our Church?

York.
It's Tyranny.—A heavy Yoke, impos'd
Not upon Subjects only, but on Kings!—
Should One, of Your Distinction, be arrested;
Nay, an inferiour Priest;—And even by Law:
You, soon, would raise an Outcry, full of Tumult,
To shake, if not subvert, the establisht Throne.

Beauf.

York.
I know thee, for the mortal Foe of Gloucester!—
And,—but thou meditat'st some monstrous Mischief,
(What it may be, Time only can reveal!)
Thou would'st not, thus, smother thy Enmity,
To Me; who have mark'd thee, for the Worst of Men!

Beauf.
Opprobrious Rage!—What Hatred do I shew?

York.
True Malice, rankling deep within the Heart,
Holds not Communication with the Tongue.

Beauf.
Let me refrain from Anger still:—Though, York,
In his uncharitable Thoughts persisting,
Condemn my meek Forbearance.—

York.
In Forbearance,
Like the chill Snake, with inward Venom fraught;
That, coil'd, within the flowery Herbage lurks:
Sure Death to the unwary Tread.—

Beauf.
Enough!—
Nor think, the Dread of Thee, presuming York,
Checks our Displeasure.—But, we disdain to wrangle
With every peevish Duke.—I, here, renounce
Thy Friendship!—

York.
Thine, have I, long, renounced!—

Beauf.
Thou hast disclos'd such Rancour, in thy Soul;
That, were I innocent, as dying Saints,
And Gloucester,—not exempt from human Woes,
Should prove Unfortunate,—(Which Heaven forbid!)
Thy Malice would reflect the Blame, on Me.

York.
Beaufort;—I never lov'd thee; But;—for thy calm,
Thy steady Dissimulation,—Thou art, now,
My fix'd Abhorrence!—Happy, for Gloucester!
It is not in Thy Power to harm the Man,
Whose Vertues make him reverenced through the Land.

SCENE III.

Beaufort.
'Tis Time his Vertues, then, were canoniz'd:
Those Vertues, ever dangerous to Me!—
It must be done.—The War is, now, declar'd:—
Warwick and York have given us ample Warning.—
The Duke of Suffolk.—

SCENE IV.

Beaufort. Suffolk.
Beauf.
My Lord, it will be late,
Ere you can reach your House.—What, more have You
To say?—Or, know you not, You are expected
Early, to Morrow;—that you waste those Hours,
Which Sleep demands?

Suff.
Why are the Friends of Gloucester
Admitted to him?—I thought, you did propose,
By this Arrest, to disappoint their Meeting.

Beauf.
His meeting Them, at Warwick's.—There, indeed,
His Presence had prov'd fatal.

Suff.
Yet, methinks,
This Liberty should not have been allow'd.

Beauf.
I judged it otherwise: And, accordingly,
Instructed the Centinels; lest, it might seem
Too rigorous a Proceeding, in the King.
Beside; were his Confinement more severe,
It might create Suspicion—

Suff.
Suspicion?—Of What?

Beauf.
A Clamour,—I would say:—But, this Day's Hurry
Disjoints my Words.—

Suff.
Here comes the Queen!—What can it mean?—

SCENE V.

Beaufort. Suffolk. Queen.
Queen.
Oh, Suffolk!—Winchester!—I fear'd, you were
Retir'd to rest.—

Beauf.
What is it, thus, alarms
Your Majesty?

Queen.
'Tis said, the Londoners
Are, All, in Uproar;—that, they now prepare
To move, this Way; vowing, they will not Sleep,
Till they have set their Idol-Duke at Liberty.

Beauf.
Meer harmless Noise; an empty Crack of Thunder!

Suff.
My Lord, I fear, your Counsels are too rash.

Beauf.
Rather accuse the Rashness of Your Fears.

Queen.
Is this a Time, my Lords, to move Contention?

Suff.
To Me, I do confess, there is, in Life no Dread
Like that of popular Fury!—From it's Rage,
In vain we fly to Courage, or to Conduct.

Queen.
Let us, then weigh the Events, on either Side.—
Suppose,—We should release the Duke?—

Beauf.
And, let
Our Adversaries see, they can defeat
Your Resolutions, by the slightest Rumour.
Or,—grant it True:—What happier Incident
Could we expect, to assure us of Success?
You, Madam, can improve it, to the King:
For,—Who, but Gloucester, causes this Sedition?—
Shall Gloucester be Protectour, then?

Queen.
I see,
His Popularity is dangerous to the State.

Beauf.
Most ruinous!—And will your Majesty
(Whose dauntless Spirit is your envied Glory)
Be over-awed, by a tumultuous Rout,
To save the Man,—

Queen.
The Man, whom I detest!—
If, I but smile on Suffolk; He repines:
And thinks the whole Indulgence of the Court
Due to Himself, alone.

Suff.
Madam, the Man,
Distinguish'd by Your Smiles, may boast an Honour,
The foremost Princes of the Earth would prize:
And, thus distinguish'd, I look down on Gloucester!

Beauf.
I would intreat your Majesty to rest,
This Night, secure; and You, my good Lord Suffolk:
Remembring, still, if any Tumult should
Arise, to Morrow, that we all stand firm.—
The King, who yields to popular Commotions,
Is more the Slave, than Sovereign, of his People.

Queen.
My Lord of Winchester; I know, Your Thought
Must be fatigued.—Good Night.—The King resolves,
Early, to meet the Parliament.

Beauf.
By Noon,
If I compute aright, the Power of Gloucester
Ceases.—

SCENE VI.

Beaufort.
Beauf.
So far, we prosper,—unsuspected.—
Now, to my Two bold Hirelings;—Men, inur'd
To desperate Ills: Whose Livelyhood is Rapines,
And gainfull Murders; whom Gloucester's Power
Reduced to Want.—They wait for my Instructions;
And, may suspect me, wavering, in my Purpose.

SCENE VII.

The Lord Protectour's Apartment.
Gloucester. York. Salisbury.
Gloucest.
Not, that I should have given my Office up,
Without consulting You.—I, rather, meant
To try the Queen, and fathom their Intentions.

York.
Your Highness might, as well, give up your Life:
And leave the King, and People to these Spoilers.

Salisb.
The Peers (of their high Privileges jealous)
Will, never, condescend to hear of Business,
'Till You have taken your Seat in Parliament:
Nor, will We, assembled, suffer your Confinement
To be prolong'd, an Hour; ere we demand
The Cause of your Arrest.—When you appear;
With all your wonted Energy of Speech,
Boldly, in Presence of his Majesty
And Both the Houses, set forth your Innocence;
Demanding Reparation, for this Outrage.
Then,—openly assert the Power, you hold by Law;
The Trust committed to you.—Take the King
To your Protection;—And, seclude that female
Politician:—And, let her Paramour,
And Beaufort, abide the Justice of their Peers.

Gloucest.
What shall I say, my Lords?—By gentler Methods,
I would secure the Welfare of the State!—

York.
Must You forgive, and They offend, for ever?

Salisb.

Gloucest.
I think, my Breast did, never, nourish Malice.—
And yet,—so apt is Power to warp with Passion;
And, so over-prone is Censure; that, I wish
(While I discharge my Duty to my Countrey)
Keen-searching Envy might discern no Glimpse
Of secret Vengeance, in my publick Actions.

Salisb.
Rather, my Lord, suspect your Lenity;
Your too-long Suffering:—Lest, it be said;
You court Applause,—at the Expence of Justice.

York.

Gloucest.
O, speak it not!—To what a Pitch of Glory
Did our Late Leader, of immortal Memory,
Build up the Nation's Prowess?—That (like a Pyramid
Of Fire, high on a Mountain rais'd, to shine by Night)
Our Blaze of Valour drew the Admiration
Of the wide Continent!—

York.
Our yearly Harvest,
Conquest on Conquest!—And, the English Name
So much revered; that every private Subject,
Who travell'd far,—was an illustrious Stranger!

Gloucest.
Bitter Remembrance!—O, lasting Infamy!—
How have We squander'd our whole Treasure of Renown!—
Spendthrifts in Fame!—The Scorn of Those, We conquer'd!

Salisb.
And, shall this Suffolk live; who gave up France?—
The Purchase of our noblest Blood!—For Which,
Great Henry fought!—And, to maintain it Ours,
Bedford wore out his Life, in sore Fatigues!

Gloucest.
I have assur'd you, by the Earl of Warwick,
Of my Compliance; since the usual Forms
Of Law are ineffectual.

Salisb.
When Treasons, manifest,
Are so contriv'd (as Treasons, often, are)
That they defy the Force of Written Laws;
Or, when the Wealth, or Dignity, of Traitours
Sets them above the Reach of Common Justice:
Attainders are the Refuge of the State.—

SCENE VIII.

Gloucester. York. Salisbury. Warwick.
Salisb.
My Son,—what brings you hither, from your Guests?

Warw.
A suddain Insurrection, through the City.

Gloucest.
What prompts them to Sedition, at this late Hour?

Warw.
Scarce was the Warrant order'd against You,
But it is known in the remotest Streets.—
Murmur is rife.—All Occupation ceases.—
The Shops are clos'd.—Masters and Prentices,
Variously accouter'd, pour, from all Parts,
To swell the general Tumult!—And, now, the Torrent
Roars, near at Hand; and bears upon the Palace.

York.
Let it roar on!—

Gloucest.

Salisb.
Go, my Son:—
And, add from Me; that, if the Lord Protectour
Be not discharg'd, soon as the Parliament
Assembles,—

Gloucest.
There is no Fear.—

Salisb.
However;
Let us not over-damp their Spirits, till We
Have compass'd our Designs.—In a free Government,
The just Resentment of the Multitude,
Discreetly encouraged, is of mighty Force
To aid the Patriot, and to quell the Traitour.

Gloucest.
Haste, Warwick; ere they reach the Palace-Gates.

Warw.
I go:—And will intreat their Patience, till to Morrow.

SCENE IX.

Gloucester. York. Salisbury.
York.
Pardon me, noble Gloucester; when I say,
Your Tenderness, for this weak Prince, prevails
Too far.—

Gloucest.

York.
While You survive; and will exert your just
Authority: The Nation bears the Disappointment.

Salisb.
Nor, will they endure it, long, on other Terms.

Gloucest.
To each of You, kind Heaven has granted Sons,
Born to prolong your Vertues!—Wherefore, was that
Felicity deny'd to Henry's Memory?—
Or, must One Generation pass; or, more;
Ere Providence determines to renew
His Likeness; and distinguish, once again,
The Blood of Lancaster, and England's Glory!

Salisb.
Why was the Education of our Prince intrusted
To Beaufort? With whom, the Metropolitan
Of York conspir'd, to enfeeble his tender Mind
With Legendary Tales, and false Devotion;
That They might rule him, in his riper Years.

York.
When Superstition (Bane of manly Vertues!)
Strikes Root within the Soul; it over-runs,
And kills, the Power of Reason.

SCENE X.

Gloucester. York. Salisbury. Warwick.
Gloucest.
What Tidings, now?—

Warw.
The Tumult is appeas'd.

Gloucest.
Warwick,—thy free-giving Hand; thy Table,
Open to All; thy affable Deportment;
Thy pleasing Wit;—(Endearing Qualities!)
Conciliate to Thee, daily, such Good Will,
From all Degrees of Men: That, I foresee,
Thy Influence will prevail, throughout the Realm.

York.
Lest we intrude too far upon the Night;
Your Highness will appoint our Shares of Business:
That there be no Confusion, in our Measures.

Gloucest.
My Lords,—when I am justified; Let Salisbury
(Whose Gravity bespeaks Attention) open,
In general Terms, the heinous Crimes, long practiced
Against the King, and State: And dwell upon
The melancholy Prospect, now, before us.

Salisb.
I take My Part.

Gloucest.
Then; let the Duke of York
Unfold each Circumstance of Suffolk's Treason.

York.
Agreed.

Warw.
And, leave the Cardinal to Me.—
Methinks, I see vain Suffolk lower his Crest:—

York.
And Winchester's red, fiery Eyes betray
The Virulency of his festering Soul.

Salisb.
But, We forget your Highness; whose Eloquence,
Strengthen'd with Probity,—

Gloucest.
In the Debate,
Oft' as the Nation's Danger, and the King's,
Shall come in View, will I rise up to speak;
And shew my forward Zeal, at least, to rescue
The King, and Nation, trusted to my Care.

Salisb.
Thus, then, will We instruct our Friends; who wait,
Impatient, for Our final Resolutions.

Gloucest.
Yet, ere we part; grant One Request.

Warw.
You may
Command your Friends.

Gloucest.
My Lords, I offer not
To extenuate the Guilt of Beaufort; nor, am I
Ignorant of his up-lifted Pride,
Which renders him most hatefull to the Nobles:
But still, this hated, this obnoxious Prelate,—
Is he not my Uncle?—Then for My Sake,
Spare the Remainder of his Life.—His Father
Was a most worthy Prince; and his late Brother,
The Duke of Excester, a wise, a learned,
And an upright Counsellour.

York.
If he must live;
Let him have no Abode within the Palace.

Warw.
Confine him to his Diocese, for Life;
That he may not infest the Court: Nor, henceforward,
Embroil the State.

Salisb.
Nor, must he hold
A Seat, in Parliament:—For, what have We
To do with Cardinals? Whose whole Allegiance
The See of Rome usurps.

Gloucest.

Salisb.
At Your Desire, then, let him
Find that Mercy, he merits not.

York.
A Mercy,
Were You in need of it, He ne'er would grant.

Gloucest.
Though old in Vice; Retirement and Reflection
May, by Degrees, subdue his Heart to Vertue.

Warw.
Is there Aught, more; before we leave your Highness?

Gloucest.
My Lords;—Commend me to our Assembled Friends:
And give them full Assurance, in My Name;
That, as in War, the Fear of Death ne'er drove me
From Perils of the Field: I will, to Morrow,
Shew equal Resolution, in the Senate.
Nor, shall the Dread of Envy, or Detraction,
Nor, yet, the Frowns, nor the Conspiracies,
Of desperate Wicked Men, abate that Ardour,
With which Your friendly Counsels make me glow
To serve, at once, our Countrey, and our King!

SCENE XI.

Gloucester.
With Mildness, have I exercis'd my Power:—
But,—when the Times require Severity;
Forbearance is Injustice.—Beaufort's Life,—
If he employs it well, is well preserv'd.—
Sore with the Provocations of the Day,
I have (I fear) with too great Bitterness
Reproach'd his Age:—But, let me not lie down,
In Wrath;—Nor rise, in Enmity:—Though, Malice
May keep Him waking, on his Pillow.—Oh, Eleanor;—
My Bed, alas, without Thee, is solitary,—
As is the Grave!—But, Sleep weighs down my Eye-lids;
And Nature, wearied, summons me to Rest.—
Going in.
Angels, defend me!—What do I see?—My Uncle?—
And, in his Hand, a Dagger;—a bloody Dagger!—
Away, Illusion!—Phantom of the Brain!—
My Senses drouze;—and, Fancy mocks my Reason!—
It is beyond my wonted Hour.—Then,—welcome
Kind Sleep; Renewer of our daily Life:
Till, Death closing our Eyes for ever from the World,
We wake to One, Eternal, Day of Bliss!

SCENE XII.

Beaufort.
At length, I find the Stilness, I have wish'd.—
The Mutineers are pacified: The Friends
Of Gloucester are retir'd: The Centinels,
O'erpower'd with Wine, Sleep a dead Sleep.—The Hour,
Past Midnight, wastes in the Glass.—Soon the Bell,
That parcels Time, will give the appointed Signal:
The Minute for the Deed.—Hark!—Was That, a Groan?—
Again?—The hollow-whirling Wind.—O, lull the Duke
To his eternal Rest!—Yet;—I feel Somewhat,
Bids me forbear;—and pleads, within, for Mercy.—
Idle Remorse!—What though He be my Nephew?—
Were he my Father:—Must I imbitter Life;
Quit all my Hopes;—and forfeit my Ambition?—
Did he not, Twice, attempt my Overthrow?—
And, will he, exasperated as he is,
Spare me, to Morrow?—Then,—Self-Defence,
Nature's first Law, acquits me, to my Self.—
He makes Me wretched:—I set Him at Ease.—
What Injury?—He leaves no helpless Orphan:
And, to his Wife he is, allready, dead.—
And; What is Loss of Life?—A Loss, we never
Regret.—Would it were done!—And, I a sleep!—
It strikes!—The Stroke of unrelenting Fate!—
Sleep, Humfrey; sleep!—The Period of Thy Cares,
And Mine, is come.—Ha!—What warning Voice? Whence?—
Methinks, I hear a Voice cry; Gloucester, awake!—
Who comes?—

SCENE XIII.

Beaufort. Two Ruffians.
1. Ruffian.
Lord Cardinal.—

Beauf.
Ay.—Tread soft.—Heard you no Noise?

2. Ruffian.
The Bell.

Beauf.
No other Sound?

1. Ruffian.
Not any; my good Lord.

Beauf.
No Noise, before you enter'd?

1. Ruffian.
None at all.

Beauf.
It may be so.—And yet, it hollow'd loud!—
Imaginary Terrours!—Hence!—Is Age
So quick of Hearing?—Come, my Friends:
Are you prepared?

2. Ruffian.
So bent on Vengeance;
That We think, Stifling is too mild a Death.

Beauf.
No:—No Bloodshed!—

1. Ruffian.
Does he sleep sound?

Beauf.
No labouring Man more sound.—
But,—you must use main Force.

1. Ruffian.
We know his Strength.

Beauf.
There lies the Door.

2. Ruffian.
Come:—Set the Lanthorn.

Beauf.
But;
Be sure, you leave no Signs of Violence:—

2. Ruffian.
None.

Beauf.

1. Ruffian.
To all Intents.

Beauf.
Quite dead?

2. Ruffian.
We answer for it.

Beauf.
Yet;—I see no Blood
Upon your Hands!—

2. Ruffian.
You did injoin us.—

Beauf.
True!—
I had forgot.—And, have you smooth'd the Bed?

1. Ruffian.
We have:—And, drawn the Curtains, round:—

2. Ruffian.
And, laid him,
With his Face upward.

Beauf.
Right!—Away!—The private Door is open.—

SCENE XIV.

Beaufort.
How soon—List!—Does he not stir?—No.—
The Breath of Life is mixt with common Air!—
While Gloucester liv'd, nor Henry's Death, nor Bedford's
Did avail;—Three Nephews, born to thwart me!—
Henceforth;—Anxiety, adieu!—Look forward, Beaufort!
Nor, waste One Thought, idly, to recollect
What cannot be recall'd.—And yet;—Who knows?—
Hence, childish Fears!—
The Queen and Suffolk wish him dead.—No Blood
Is spilt:—Nor, livid Stains of Poison taint his Bowels.—
What Proof of Murder, then?—It will be said,
He, sleeping, died (as Many Men have died)
And, deem'd a Mercy; or, perhaps, a Judgment;
As Prejudice inclines.—And, Who shall dare
To cast, on Us, a Blemish of Suspicion?—
Then, Beaufort;—rest, secure?—Repute thy Self,
Free from all Guilt; since Thou hast prov'd Successfull:
Nor, vainly think, there can be Reason to repent.—
The Sting of Guilt is—but the Fear of Punishment!