KING HENRY.
That he is dead, good Warwick, ’tis too true;
But how he died God knows, not Henry.
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse,
And comment then upon his sudden death.
WARWICK.
That shall I do, my liege.—Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude till I return.
[Warwick exits through one door; Salisbury and Commons exit through another.]
KING HENRY.
O Thou that judgest all things, stay my thoughts,
My thoughts that labour to persuade my soul
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey’s life.
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God,
For judgment only doth belong to Thee.
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears,
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk,
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling;
But all in vain are these mean obsequies.
And to survey his dead and earthy image,
What were it but to make my sorrow greater?
Enter Warwick and others, bearing Gloucester’s body on a bed.
WARWICK.
Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this body.
KING HENRY.
That is to see how deep my grave is made,
For with his soul fled all my worldly solace;
For seeing him, I see my life in death.
WARWICK.
As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King that took our state upon Him
To free us from His Father’s wrathful curse,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.
SUFFOLK.
A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue!
What instance gives Lord Warwick for his vow?
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.