_War._ So bad a death argues a monstrous life.   ·bcc030· _King._ Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation. [_Exeunt._ ACT IV. SCENE I. _The coast of Kent_. _Alarum. Fight at Sea. Ordnance goes off. Enter a_ Captain, _a_ Master, _a_ Master’s-Mate, WALTER WHITMORE, _and others; with them_ SUFFOLK, _and others, prisoners_. _Cap._ The gaudy, blabbing and remorseful day   [bda001] Is crept into the bosom of the sea; And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades That drag the tragic melancholy night; Who, with their drowsy, slow and flagging wings,   ·bda005· Clip dead men’s graves and from their misty jaws   [bda006] Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. Therefore bring forth the soldiers of our prize; For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, Here shall they make their ransom on the sand,   ·bda010· Or with their blood stain this discoloured shore.   [bda011] Master, this prisoner freely give I thee; And thou that art his mate, make boot of this; The other, Walter Whitmore, is thy share.   [bda014] _First Gent._ What is my ransom, master? let me know.   ·bda015· _Mast._ A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. _Mate._ And so much shall you give, or off goes yours.   [bda018] _Cap._ What, think you much to pay two thousand crowns, And bear the name and port of gentlemen? Cut both the villains’ throats; for die you shall:   [bda020] The lives of those which we have lost in fight   [bda021] Be counterpoised with such a petty sum! _First Gent._ I’ll give it, sir; and therefore spare my life. _Sec. Gent._ And so will I and write home for it straight. _Whit._ I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard   ·bda025· And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die; [_To Suf._   [bda026] And so should these, if I might have my will. _Cap._ Be not so rash; take ransom, let him live. _Suf._ Look on my George; I am a gentleman:   [bda029] Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid.   ·bda030· _Whit._ And so am I; my name is Walter Whitmore. How now! why start’st thou? what, doth death affright?   [bda032] _Suf._ Thy name affrights me, in whose sound is death. A cunning man did calculate my birth And told me that by water I should die:   ·bda035· Yet let not this make thee be bloody-minded; Thy name is Gaultier, being rightly sounded. _Whit._ Gaultier or Walter, which it is, I care not: Never yet did base dishonour blur our name,   [bda039] But with our sword we wiped away the blot;   ·bda040· Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge, Broke be my sword, my arms torn and defaced, And I proclaim’d a coward through the world!   [bda043] _Suf._ Stay, Whitmore; for thy prisoner is a prince, The Duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.   ·bda045· _Whit._ The Duke of Suffolk muffled up in rags!   [bda046]