Reading The second Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Good Duke Humfrey.

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Section 482

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King.

What, doth my Lord of Suffolke comfort me?

Came he right now to sing a Rauens Note,

Whose dismall tune bereft my Vitall powres:

And thinkes he, that the chirping of a Wren,

By crying comfort from a hollow breast,

Can chafe away the first‑conceiued sound?

Hide not thy poyson with such sugred words,

Lay not thy hands on me: forbeare I say,

Their touch affrights me as a Serpents sting.

Thou balefull Messenger, out of my fight:

Vpon thy eye‑balls, murderous Tyrannie

Sits in grim Maiestie, to fright the World.

Looke not vpon me, for thine eyes are wounding;

Yet doe not goe away: come Basiliske,

And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight:

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