Qu. Mischance and Sorrow goe along with you, Hearts Discontent, and sowre Affliction, Be play-fellowes to keepe you companie: There's two of you, the Deuill make a third, And three-fold Vengeance tend vpon your steps
Suff. Cease, gentle Queene, these Execrations, And let thy Suffolke take his heauie leaue
Queen. Fye Coward woman, and soft harted wretch, Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemy
Suf. A plague vpon them: wherefore should I cursse them? Would curses kill, as doth the Mandrakes grone, I would inuent as bitter searching termes, As curst, as harsh, and horrible to heare, Deliuer'd strongly through my fixed teeth, With full as many signes of deadly hate, As leane-fac'd enuy in her loathsome caue. My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words, Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten Flint, Mine haire be fixt an end, as one distract: I, euery ioynt should seeme to curse and ban, And euen now my burthen'd heart would breake Should I not curse them. Poyson be their drinke. Gall, worse then Gall, the daintiest that they taste: Their sweetest shade, a groue of Cypresse Trees: Their cheefest Prospect, murd'ring Basiliskes: Their softest Touch, as smart as Lyzards stings: Their Musicke, frightfull as the Serpents hisse, And boading Screech-Owles, make the Consort full. All the foule terrors in darke seated hell - Q. Enough sweet Suffolke, thou torment'st thy selfe, And these dread curses like the Sunne 'gainst glasse, Or like an ouer-charged Gun, recoile, And turnes the force of them vpon thy selfe
Suf. You bad me ban, and will you bid me leaue? Now by the ground that I am banish'd from, Well could I curse away a Winters night, Though standing naked on a Mountaine top, Where byting cold would neuer let grasse grow, And thinke it but a minute spent in sport
Qu. Oh, let me intreat thee cease, giue me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournfull teares: Nor let the raine of heauen wet this place, To wash away my wofull Monuments. Oh, could this kisse be printed in thy hand, That thou might'st thinke vpon these by the Seale, Through whom a thousand sighes are breath'd for thee. So get thee gone, that I may know my greefe, 'Tis but surmiz'd, whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfets, thinking on a want: I will repeale thee, or be well assur'd, Aduenture to be banished my selfe: And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speake not to me; euen now be gone. Oh go not yet. Euen thus, two Friends condemn'd, Embrace, and kisse, and take ten thousand leaues, Loather a hundred times to part then dye; Yet now farewell, and farewell Life with thee
Suf. Thus is poore Suffolke ten times banished, Once by the King, and three times thrice by thee. 'Tis not the Land I care for, wer't thou thence, A Wildernesse is populous enough, So Suffolke had thy heauenly company: For where thou art, there is the World it selfe, With euery seuerall pleasure in the World: And where thou art not, Desolation. I can no more: Liue thou to ioy thy life; My selfe no ioy in nought, but that thou liu'st. Enter Vaux.
Queene. Whether goes Vaux so fast? What newes I prethee? Vaux. To signifie vnto his Maiesty, That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death: For sodainly a greeuous sicknesse tooke him, That makes him gaspe, and stare, and catch the aire, Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Sometime he talkes, as if Duke Humfries Ghost Were by his side: Sometime, he calles the King, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his ouer-charged soule, And I am sent to tell his Maiestie, That euen now he cries alowd for him