Act 3. Scene II

SCENE II. Bury St. Edmund's. A room of state.

Enter certain Murderers, hastily
First Murderer
Run to my Lord of Suffolk; let him know
We have dispatch'd the duke, as he commanded.

Second Murderer
O that it were to do! What have we done?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent?

Enter SUFFOLK

First Murder
Here comes my lord.

SUFFOLK
Now, sirs, have you dispatch'd this thing?

First Murderer
Ay, my good lord, he's dead.

SUFFOLK
Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my house;
I will reward you for this venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand.
Have you laid fair the bed? Is all things well,
According as I gave directions?

First Murderer
'Tis, my good lord.

SUFFOLK
Away! be gone.

Exeunt Murderers

Sound trumpets. Enter KING HENRY VI, QUEEN MARGARET, CARDINAL, SOMERSET, with Attendants

KING HENRY VI
Go, call our uncle to our presence straight;
Say we intend to try his grace to-day.
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.

SUFFOLK
I'll call him presently, my noble lord.

Exit

KING HENRY VI
Lords, take your places; and, I pray you all,
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloucester
Than from true evidence of good esteem
He be approved in practise culpable.

QUEEN MARGARET
God forbid any malice should prevail,
That faultless may condemn a nobleman!
Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion!

KING HENRY VI
I thank thee, Meg; these words content me much.

Re-enter SUFFOLK

How now! why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou?
Where is our uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk?

SUFFOLK
Dead in his bed, my lord; Gloucester is dead.

QUEEN MARGARET
Marry, God forfend!

CARDINAL
God's secret judgment: I did dream to-night
The duke was dumb and could not speak a word.

KING HENRY VI swoons

QUEEN MARGARET
How fares my lord? Help, lords! the king is dead.

SOMERSET
Rear up his body; wring him by the nose.

QUEEN MARGARET
Run, go, help, help! O Henry, ope thine eyes!

SUFFOLK
He doth revive again: madam, be patient.

KING HENRY VI
O heavenly God!

QUEEN MARGARET
How fares my gracious lord?

SUFFOLK
Comfort, my sovereign! gracious Henry, comfort!

KING HENRY VI
What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note,
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers;
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words;
Lay not thy hands