_Cardinal._ If thou be’st Death, I’ll give thee England’s treasure, Enough to purchase such another island, So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. _King Hen._ Ah! what a sign it is of evil life When death’s approach is seen so terrible. _Warwick._ Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. _Cardinal._ Bring me unto my trial when you will. Died he[23] not in his bed? Where should he die? Can I make men live whe’er they will or no? O, torture me no more, I will confess— Alive again? then shew me where he is: I’ll give a thousand pound to look upon him— He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them.— Comb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright, Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul.— Give me some drink, and bid the apothecary Bring the strong poison that I bought of him. _King Hen._ O thou eternal Mover of the Heav’ns, Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch. O, beat away the busy meddling fiend, That lays strong siege unto this wretch’s soul, And from his bosom purge this black despair. _Warwick._ See how the pangs of death do make him grin! _Salisbury._ Disturb him not; let him pass peaceably. _King Hen._ Peace to his soul, if God’s good pleasure be! Lord Cardinal, if thou think’st on heaven’s bliss, Lift 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 Hen._ Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.— Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close, And let us all to meditation.[24] M. Guillon relates the following remarkable case:—“The Chevalier de S—— had been engaged in seventeen ‘affairs of honour,’ in each of which his adversary fell. But the images of his murdered rivals began to haunt him night and day; and at length he fancied he heard nothing but the wailings and upbraidings of seventeen families—one demanding a father, another a son, another a brother, another a husband, &c. Harassed by these imaginary followers, he incarcerated himself in the monastery of La Trappe; but the French revolution threw open this asylum, and turned the chevalier once more into the world. He was now no longer able to bear the remorse of his own conscience, or, as he imagined, the sight of seventeen murdered men, and therefore put himself to death. It is evident that insanity was the consequence of the remorse, and the cause of the suicide. “No disease of the imagination is so difficult to cure as that which is complicated with the idea of guilt: fancy and conscience then act interchangeably upon us, and so often shift their places, that the illusions of one are not distinguished from the dictates of the other. If fancy presents images not moral or religious, the mind drives them away when they give pain; but when melancholy notions take the form of duty, they lay hold on the faculties without opposition, because we are afraid to exclude or banish them.”[25]