Kent. The Kent Coast.
 Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off.
 Enter the CAPTAIN of a ship, the MASTER, the Master's MATE,
 WALTER WHITMORE, and SAILORS,
 with, as prisoners, SUFFOLK disguised, and TWO GENTLEMEN.

Captain	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 thee;
	And thou, that art his mate, make boot of this;
	The other, [Indicating SUFFOLK.]
					Walter Whitmore, is thy share.

1st Gentleman	What is my ransom, master? Let me know.

Master	A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head.

Mate	[To 2nd GENTLEMAN.]
	And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.

Captain	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!

1st Gentleman	I'll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life.

2nd Gentleman	And so will I, and write home for it straight.

Whitmore	I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
	[To SUFFOLK.] And therefore to revenge it shalt thou die;
	And so should these, if I might have my will.

Captain	Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live.

Suffolk	Look on my George; I am a gentleman.
	Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.

Whitmore	And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore.
	How now, why starts thou? What doth thee affright?

Suffolk	Thy 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 thee be bloody-minded;
	Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded.

Whitmore	Gualtier 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 merchantlike I sell revenge,
	Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced,
	And I proclaimed a coward through the world.

Suffolk	Stay, Whitmore, for thy 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?

Captain	But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.

Suffolk	Obscure and lowly swain, King Henry's blood,
	The honourable blood of Lancaster,
	Must not be shed by such a jaded groom.
	Hast thou not kissed thy hand and held my stirrup?
	Bareheaded plodded by my footcloth mule,
	And thought thee happy when I shook my head?
	How often hast thou 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 thee crestfall'n,
	Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride,
	How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood
	And duly waited for my coming forth.
	This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalf,
	And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.

Whitmore	Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn swain?

Captain	First let my words stab him, as he hath me.

Suffolk	Base slave, thy words are blunt, and so art thou.

Captain	Convey him hence, and on our longboat's side
	Strike off his head.

Suffolk							Thou dar'st not for thy own.

Captain	Yes, Poole-

Suffolk	Poole?

Captain	Ay, kennel, puddle, sink, whose filth and dirt
	Troubles the silver spring where England drinks;
	Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth
	For swallowing the treasure of the realm.
	Thy lips that kissed the queen shall sweep the ground;
	And thou that smiled'st at good Duke Humphrey's death
	Against the senseless winds shalt grin in vain,
	Who in contempt shall hiss at thee again;
	And wedded be thou 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 thou grown great,
	And, like ambitious Sylla, overgorged
	With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart.
	By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France,
	The false revolting Normans thorough thee
	Disdain to call us lord, and Picardy
	Hath slain their governors, surprised our forts,
	And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
	The princely Warwick, and the Nevils all,
	Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain,
	As hating thee, 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 hence.

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.
	Thy words move rage and not remorse in me.

Captain	Ay, but my deeds shall stay thy fury soon.

Suffolk	I go of message from the queen to France;
	I charge thee waft me safely 'cross the Channel.

Whitmore	Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.

Suffolk	Pene gelidus timor occupat artus.
	[To WHITMORE.] It is thee I fear.

Whitmore	Thou shalt have cause to fear before I leave thee.
	What, are ye daunted now? Now will ye stoop?

1st 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.

Captain	Hale him away, and let him talk no more.

Suffolk	Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can,
	That this my death may never be forgot.
	Great men oft die by vile besonians:
	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.
						 [Exeunt WHITMORE and SAILORS with SUFFOLK.

Captain	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.
													[Exeunt.
                         Manet the 1st GENTLEMAN.

               Re-enter WHITMORE with the body of SUFFOLK.

Whitmore	There let his head and lifeless body lie,
	Until the queen his mistress bury it.
													[Exit.
1st 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.
													[Exit with the body.
