WARWICK.
See how the pangs of death do make him grin!
SALISBURY.
Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably.
KING HENRY.
Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be!
Lord Cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope.
He dies and makes no sign. O God, forgive him!
WARWICK.
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
KING HENRY.
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close,
And let us all to meditation.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV
SCENE I. The Coast of Kent
Alarum. Fight at sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a Lieutenant, Suffolk, disguised, a prisoner. The Master, a Master’s Mate, Walter Whitmore, and prisoners.
LIEUTENANT.
The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night,
Who, with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
Clip dead men’s graves and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize;
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,
Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore.
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee,
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this;
The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.