[_Enter attendant with a letter, which he gives to Pembroke_] _Pem._ [_After reading_] De Burgh! O gallant soul! Now am I young! With forty ships he'll meet the fleet of France! I live again, for courage is not dead! [_Sinking_] Nay--help--ah, I am gone. I'll hasten on And plead in Heaven for his victory. [_Seems to die_] _Alb._ Ah ... dead? _Rich._ In truth. _Win._ I'll go and tell the king. [_Aside, going_] My joyful tears he will translate to grief, And think I weep a friend's death, not a foe's Whose only act of friendship was to die. [_Exit_] _Alb._ How now, my lord? Does your good purpose hold? _Rich._ It has the falling sickness, Albemarle, And now lies low as earth. _Alb._ Then set thy foot Upon it that it rise no more. _Rich._ 'Tis done. _Alb._ What fools are they who think that dying men Speak oracles to pivot action on, When death's decay so blurs each fading sense They know but darkly of the world about, And of realities all plain to us Build visions substanceless to gull our faith. Grant that they do take note of things unseen, 'Tis with their faces to another world, And what they speak is strange and ill advice To us whose work is still 'mong men of earth. _Rich._ You need not clear your way to me. I've not A scruple in my soul would trip a gnat. Speak out your heart. _Alb._ You are great Pembroke now. But Richford took an oath to serve the king. _Rich._ And he--is Louis. _Alb._ Till we find hour fit To cast his yoke and take a sovereign Of our election. _Rich._ _Royal Albemarle!_ _Alb._ Here stand we then. De Burgh we count as dead. Le Moine has orders to strike off his head Soon as he's taken. Now we get the king To Dover fort, on pretence to defend it. There the besieging French will take him prisoner, And ship him straight to Calais--or to Heaven. _Pem._ [_Half rising_] Devils! dogs! beasts! Now these devoted bones Will never lie at peace in English earth. My country! Must the foreign foot be set Once more upon thy neck, and thine own sons Pour sulphur to thy wounds? The king! the king! What, vipers, do you hear? Call in the king! _Alb._ We must not, sir. _Pem._ Ho, here! The king! [_Rises from bed, starts forward and falls back speechless. Enter Henry, Gualo, Winchester, and attendants. Albemarle and Richford stand together. Pembroke dies pointing to them and gazing at the king._] _Hen._ My lords, what does this mean?