Lieu. The gaudy blabbing and remorsefull day, Is crept into the bosome of the Sea: And now loud houling Wolues arouse the Iades That dragge the Tragicke melancholy night: Who with their drowsie, slow, and flagging wings Cleape dead-mens graues, and from their misty Iawes, Breath foule contagious darknesse in the ayre: Therefore bring forth the Souldiers of our prize, For whilst our Pinnace Anchors in the Downes, Heere shall they make their ransome on the sand, Or with their blood staine this discoloured shore. Maister, this Prisoner freely giue I thee, And thou that art his Mate, make boote of this: The other Walter Whitmore is thy share

1.Gent. What is my ransome Master, let me know

Ma. A thousand Crownes, or else lay down your head Mate. And so much shall you giue, or off goes yours

Lieu. What thinke you much to pay 2000. Crownes, And beare the name and port of Gentlemen? Cut both the Villaines throats, for dy you shall: The liues of those which we haue lost in fight, Be counter-poys'd with such a pettie summe

1.Gent. Ile giue it sir, and therefore spare my life

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

Whitm. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboord, And therefore to reuenge it, shalt thou dye, And so should these, if I might haue my will

Lieu. Be not so rash, take ransome, let him liue

Suf. Looke on my George, I am a Gentleman, Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be payed

Whit. And so am I: my name is Walter Whitmore. How now? why starts thou? What doth death affright? Suf. Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death: A cunning man did calculate my birth, And told me that by Water I should dye: Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded, Thy name is Gualtier, being rightly sounded

Whit. Gualtier or Walter, which it is I care not, Neuer yet did base dishonour blurre our name, But with our sword we wip'd away the blot. Therefore, when Merchant-like I sell reuenge, Broke be my sword, my Armes torne and defac'd, And I proclaim'd a Coward through the world

Suf. Stay Whitmore, for thy Prisoner is a Prince, The Duke of Suffolke, William de la Pole

Whit. The Duke of Suffolke, muffled vp in ragges? Suf. I, but these ragges are no part of the Duke

Lieu. But Ioue was neuer slaine as thou shalt be, Obscure and lowsie Swaine, King Henries blood

Suf. The honourable blood of Lancaster Must not be shed by such a iaded Groome: Hast thou not kist thy hand, and held my stirrop? Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth Mule, And thought thee happy when I shooke my head. How often hast thou waited at my cup, Fed from my Trencher, kneel'd downe at the boord, When I haue feasted with Queene Margaret? Remember it, and let it make thee Crest-falne, I, and alay this thy abortiue Pride: How in our voyding Lobby hast thou stood, And duly wayted for my comming forth? This hand of mine hath writ in thy behalfe, And therefore shall it charme thy riotous tongue

Whit. Speak Captaine, shall I stab the forlorn Swain

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

Suf. Base slaue, thy words are blunt, and so art thou

Lieu. Conuey him hence, and on our long boats side, Strike off his head

Suf. Thou dar'st not for thy owne

William Shakespeare
Classic Literature Library

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