I know their complot is to have my life,
And if my death might make this island happy
And prove the period of their tyranny,
150 I would expend it with all willingness:
But mine is made the prologue to their play;
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril,
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
Beaufort’s red sparkling eyes blab his heart’s malice,
155 And Suffolk’s cloudy brow his stormy hate;
Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue