ACT IV.
IV.

SCENE I.

The Coast of Kent.

Alarm. Fight at fea. Ordnance goes off. Enter Captain Whitmore, and other Pirates, with Suffolk, and other Prifoners.

CAPTAIN.

4

HE gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day +
Is crept into the bofom of the fea;

TH

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

Who with their drowsy, flow, and flagging wings
Clip dead men's graves; and from their mifty 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 fhore.
-Mafter, this prifoner freely give I thee;
And thou, that art his mate, make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy fhare.

[Pointing to Suffolk. 1 Gent. What is my ranfom, mafter, let me know. Maft. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. Mate. And fo much fhall you give, or off goes yours. Whit. What, think you much to pay two thousand

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 fpare 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 fo fhould these, if I might have my will.
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 fhalt be paid-

6

Whit. And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. How now? why start'ft thou? what, doth death af-` fright?

Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whofe found is death, A cunning man did calculate my birth,

And told me, that by Water I fhould 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 base 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 these rags are no part of the Duke.
Jove fometimes went difguis'd, and why not I?

Look on my George.] In the first Edition it is. my ring. WARB. 7 Jove Jometimes went difguis'd, &c.] This verse is omitted in all but the first old Edition, without which what

follows is not fenfe. The next line alfo,

Obfure and lowly fwain, King Henry's blood, was falfly put in the captain's mouth, POPE.

Cap.

Cap. But Jove was never flain, as thou shalt 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 ftirrop?
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,

8

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 stood,
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, shall I ftab the forlorn swain ?
Cap. Firft let my words ftab him, as he hath me.
Suf. Base flave, thy words are blunt; and fo art thou.
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 treasure 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 fhall grin in vain,
Who in contempt fhall hifs at thee again.
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell,

abortive pride.] Pride that has had birth too foon, pride iffaing before its time,

• Poole? Sir Poole? Lord?] The diffonance of this broken line makes it almoft certain that

we fhould read with a kind of ludicrous climax,

Poole? Sir Poole? Lord Poole ! He then plays upon the name Poole, kennel, puddle.

For

For daring to affie a mighty Lord
Unto the daughter of a worthless 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,
Whole dreadful fwords were never drawn in vain,
As hating thee, are rifing up in arms.

And now the House of York, thrust from the Crown
By shameful murder of a guiltlefs King,
And lofty proud incroaching tyranny,

Burns with revenging fire; whofe hopeful Colours
Advance a half-fac'd Sun ftriving to fhine;
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 thefe paultry, fervile, abject drudges!

Small things make base men proud. I his villain here,
Being captain of a pinnace, threatens more
Than Bargulus the ftrong Illyrian Pirate. 9
Drones fuck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives.
It is impoffible that I should die

9 Than Bargulus the ftrong Il

lyrian Pirate.] Mr. Theo bald fays, This wight I have not been able to trace, or difcover from what LEGEND our author derived his acquaintance with him. And yet he is to be met with in

Tully's Offices; and the Legend is the famous Theopompus's history. Bargulus Illyrius latro, de quo eft apud Theopompum, magnas opes habuit. lib. 2. cap. 11.

WARBURTON.

By

By fuch a lowly vaffal as thyfelf.

Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me:
I go of meffage from the Queen to France;

I charge thee waft me fafely cross the channel.
Cap. Walter

Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus: it's thee I fear.
Whit. Thou fhalt have cause to fear, before I leave
thee.

What, are ye daunted now? now will ye ftoop?

1 Gent. My gracious Lord, intreat him; speak him fair.

Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is ftern and rough, Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour. Far be it, we fhould honour fuch as these With humble fuit; no, rather let my head Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, Save to the God of heav'n, and to my King; And fooner dance upon a bloody pole, Than ftand uncover❜d to the vulgar groom. True Nobility is exempt from fear : More can I bear, than you dare execute.

Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more; Come, foldiers, fhew what cruelty ye can.

Suf. That this my death may never be forgot!Great men oft die by vile Bezonians.

A Roman fworder and Banditto flave

Murder'd fweet Tully; Brutus' bastard hand
Stabb'd Julius Cæfar; favage Islanders

I

Pompey the Great: And Suffolk dies by Pirates.

[Exit Walter Whitmore with Suffolk.

Cap. And as for thefe, whose ransom, we have set, It is our pleasure one of them depart;

Therefore come you with us, and let him go.

[Exit Captain and the rest.

The poet seems to have confounded the ftory of Pompey with

fome other.

Manet