WARWICK.
See how the blood is settled in his face.
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,
Being all descended to the labouring heart,
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance ’gainst the enemy,
Which with the heart there cools and ne’er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But see, his face is black and full of blood,
His eyeballs further out than when he lived,
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man;
His hair upreared, his nostrils stretched with struggling,
His hands abroad displayed, as one that grasped
And tugged for life and was by strength subdued.
Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking;
His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer’s corn by tempest lodged.
It cannot be but he was murdered here;
The least of all these signs were probable.
SUFFOLK.
Why, Warwick, who should do the Duke to death?
Myself and Beaufort had him in protection,
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.
WARWICK.
But both of you were vowed Duke Humphrey’s foes,
And you, forsooth, had the good Duke to keep.
’Tis like you would not feast him like a friend,
And ’tis well seen he found an enemy.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
As guilty of Duke Humphrey’s timeless death.
WARWICK.
Who finds the heifer dead and bleeding fresh
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe,
But will suspect ’twas he that made the slaughter?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.
QUEEN MARGARET.
Are you the butcher, Suffolk? Where’s your knife?
Is Beaufort termed a kite? Where are his talons?
SUFFOLK.
I wear no knife to slaughter sleeping men,
But here’s a vengeful sword, rusted with ease,
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart
That slanders me with murder’s crimson badge.
Say, if thou dar’st, proud Lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in Duke Humphrey’s death.
[Exeunt Cardinal, Somerset and others.]
WARWICK.
What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk dare him?
QUEEN MARGARET.
He dares not calm his contumelious spirit,
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller,
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.