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SCENE V.-Another Part of the same.

Alarums: Excursions: and afterwards a Retreat. Then enter KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and forces; with QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SoMERSET, prisoners.

K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle straight: For Somerset, off with his guilty head.

Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak.

Oxf. For my part, I will not trouble thee with words. Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. [Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded. Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

K. Edw. Is proclamation made, that who finds Shall have a high reward, and he his life? [Edward Glo. It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes.

Enter Soldiers with PRINCE EDWARD. K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him What! can so young a thorn begin to prick? [speak. Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make, For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?

Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York: Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee, Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolved! Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat, And ne'er have stolen the breech from Lancaster. Prince. Let Æsop fable in a winter's night; His currish riddles sort not with this place.

Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word. Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather. K. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. Prince. I know my duty; you are all undutiful: Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, And thou misshapen Dick, -I tell ye all,

I am your better, traitors as ye are;

And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.

[Stabs him.

Glo. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony. [Stabs him.

Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury.

Q. Mar. O, kill me too!

Glo. Marry, and shall.

[Stabs him.

[Offers to kill her.

K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold! for we have done too much.

Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with words? K. Edw. What! doth she swoon? use means for her recovery.

Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king, my brother; I'll hence to London on a serious matter:

Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.

Clar. What? what?

Exit.

Glo. The Tower, the Tower! Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy! Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers!They that stabb'd Cæsar shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame,

If this foul deed were by to equal it.

He was a man; this, in respect, a child;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
No, no; my heart will burst, an if I speak :-
And I will speak, that so my heart may burs.
Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals!
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
You have no children, butchers! if you had,
The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse:
But if you ever chance to have a child,

Look in his youth to have him so cut off,

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Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it! Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st back.

K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to this princel [Exit, led out forcibly.

K. Edw. Where's Richard gone?
Clar. To London, all in post; and, as I guess,
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence: discharge the common sort
With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
And see our gentle queen how well she fares;
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.

[Ezeunt.

SCENE VI.-LONDON. A Room in the Tower. KING HENRY is discovered sitting with a book in hie hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOSTER. Glo. Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard! K. Hen. Ay, my good lord:-my lord, I should say 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better: [rather; Good Gloster and good devil were alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord. Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. [Exit Lieutenant.

K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf: So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

K. Hen. The bird that hath been limèd in a bush,
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush;
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye,
[kill'd
Where my poor young was limed, was caught, aud
Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl!
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea,
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragic history.-

But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?
Glo. Think'st thou I am an executioner?

K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art;
If murd'ring innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou dids!

[presume,

Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy, -that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear;
And many an old man's sigh and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye, -
Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate,
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,-
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;

Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees;
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.

Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,

And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
To wit, an indigest deformed lump,

Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.

Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify thou cam'st to bite the world:

And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'st-

Glo. I'll hear no more :-Die, prophet, in thy speech

[Staor kath

For this, amongst the rest, wes I ordain'd.

1

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[Stabs him again.

I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.-
Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried,
"O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!"
And so I was; which plainly signified

That I should snarl and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.

I have no brother, I am like no brother;

And this word "love," which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,

And not in me; I am myself alone.

Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light:

But I will sort a pitchy day for thee;

For I will buz abroad such prophecies,

That Edward shall be fearful of his life;

And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry and the prince his son are gone:
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best.-
I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride!
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions;
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son;
And two Northumberlands, two braver men

Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound;
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lien,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our footstool of security.-
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy.-
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat,

That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

Glo. [Aside.] I'll blast his harvest, if your head were

For yet I am not look'd on in the world.

[laid;

This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:-
Work thou the way, and thou shalt execute.

K. Edw. Clarence and Gloster, love my lovely queen;

And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty,

I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.
[thanks.
K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother,
Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.- [sprang'st,
[Aside.] To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master,
And cried all hail! whenas he meant all harm.

K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace and brothers' loves.

Clar. What will your grace have done with Margaret?

[Exit. Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom. [Fran e.

SCENE VII. The same. A Room in the Palace.
KING EDWARD is discovered sitting on his throne;
QUEEN ELIZABETH with the infant Prince, CLAR-
ENCE, GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and others, near him.
K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.

K. Edw. Away with her, and wast her hence so
And now what rests but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
Such as befit the pleasures of the court?
Sound, drums and trumpets!-farewell, sour annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.

[Exeunt.

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I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;-
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity;
And therefore-since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days-
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if king Edward be as true and just,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence cor es.

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY.
Brother, good day: what means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?

Clar. His majesty,

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Glo. Upon what cause?

Clar. Because my name is George.

Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
He should for that commit your godfathers-
O, belike his majesty hath some intent

That you should be new christen'd in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?

Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest
As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wizard told him that by G
His issue disinherited should be;

And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have moved his highness to commit me now.

Glo. Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, her brother there,
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower,
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

Clar. By heaven, I think there is no man secure,
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore.
Heard you not what a humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what,-1 think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men, and wear her livery:
The jealous o'er-worn widow and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of anything we say:

We speak no treason, man;-we say the king
Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;-
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,

A cherry lip,

A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, Sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do. Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, [fellow, Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord?

Glo. Her husband, knave:-wouldst thou betray me? Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and withal,

Lobey.

Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will
Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.

Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
And whatsoever you will employ me in, -
Were it to call king Edward's widow sister,-
I will
perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

I will deliver you, or else lie for you:
Meantime, have patience.

Clar. I must perforce; farewell.

[Kxeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard. Glo. Go. tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return, Simple, plain Clarence!-I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands.But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

Enter HASTINGS.

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!
Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
Well are you welcome to this open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks
That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence to: For they that were your enemies are his,

And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd,

While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. What news abroad?

Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home;

The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.

O, he hath kept an evil diet long,

And over-much consumed his royal person; 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

What, is he in his bed?

Hast. He is.

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.

[Exit HASTINGS.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in !

For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:
What though I kill'd her husband and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is to become her husband and her father:
The which will I; not all so much for love,
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

SCENE II. The same. Another Street.

[Exit.

Enter the corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberts, to guard it; and LADY ANNE as mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I a while obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes:O, cursèd be the hand that made these holes! Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence I More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it,

Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,

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Enter GLOSTER.

Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.
Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I command:
Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,

And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

[The bearers set down the cofin.

Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.-
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, -
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, begone.
Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, [us not;
Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.

If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.-
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh!-
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood

From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,

Provokes this deluge most unnatural.-
0 God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead,
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick,
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,

Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man;

No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry.-
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have

Some patient leisure to myself.

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Anne. I hope so.

Glo. I know so. -But, gentle lady Anne, -
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method;-
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accursed effect.
Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck;

You should not blemish it, if I stood by:

As all the world is cheered by the sun,

So I by that; it is my day, my life.

life!

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy
Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.
Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on thee.
Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,

To be revenged on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
To be revenged on him that kill'd my husband.
Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,

Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
Glo. He lives that loves you better than he could.
Anne. Name him.

Glo. Plantagenet.

Anne. Why, that was he.

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature.
Anne. Where is he?

[at me!
Glo. Here. [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit
Anne. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sakel
Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.
Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.
Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once;

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,

For now they kill me with a living death.

Shamed their aspécts with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, -
Not when my father York and Edward wept
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death;

And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
My manly eyes did scorn a humble tear;

And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,

Anne. Fouler than heartuse think thee, thou canst Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself.

[make I never sued to friend nor enemy;

Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excused;

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,

That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Glo. Say that I slew them not?

Anne. Why then, they are not dead:

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by taee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne. Why, then he is alive.
Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.
Anne. In thy soul's thrond slaines Edween Margaret
murderous faulchiorost thou listu

The

The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind.
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill this king?

Glo. I grant ye.

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Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then God graus me
0, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

[too,

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come

My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word;
But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

[She looks scornfully at him.

Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,

Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke
And humbly beg the death upon my knee

[He lays his breast open; she offers at in with
his sword.

Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry, -
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward,

[She again offers at his breast.

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

[She lets fall the sword.

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.

Glo. That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and, even with the word,
This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would I knew thy heart.
Glo. 'Tis figured in my tongue
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then man was never true."
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

Anne. To take is not to give. [She puts on the ring.
Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may

But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

Anne. What is it?

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place,
Where-after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monast'ry, this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears-
I will with all expedient duty see you:

For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too,
To see you are become so penitent.-
Tressel and Berkley, go along with me.
Glo. Bid me farewell.

Anne. 'Tis more than you deserve;
But since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already.

[Exeunt LADY ANNE. TRESSEL, and BERKLEY.

Glo. Take up the corse, Sirs.
Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming.

[Exeunt the rest, with the corpse.

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?

Was ever woman in this hamour won?

I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.

What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

The bleeding witness of her hatred by;

With God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal,

But the plain devil and dissembling looks,

And yet to win her, -all the world to nothing!

Ha!

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,-

Framed in the prodigality of nature,

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, -
The spacious world cannot again afford:
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt and am misshapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,

I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But, first, I'll turn yon fellow in his grave;
And then return lamenting to my love.-
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.

[Exit.

SCENE III.--The same. A Room in th Palace. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GRAY. Riv. Have patience, Madam; there's no doubt his Will soon recover his accustom'd health. [majesty Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. Q. Elis. If he were dead, what would betide of me?

Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord.
Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord. c'udes all harms
Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodi
To be your comforter when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority
Is put into the trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protector?
Q. Eliz. It is determined, not concluded yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY.

Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and

Stanley.

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace! [been! Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. [Stanley, Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused on true report, Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley? Stan. But now the duke of Buckingham and I

Are come from visiting his majesty.

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords? Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer with

him?

Buck. Ay, Madam: he desires to make atonement Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers, And between them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

Q. Eliz. Would all were well!-But that will never be; I fear our happiness is at the height.

Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET.
Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:-
Who are they that complain unto the king
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly,
That fill his ear with such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,

Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abused

By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

[grace?

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your
Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.

When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong?-
Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all! His royal grace

(Whom God preserve better than you would wish 1)
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,

But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter.

The king, of his own royal disposition,
And not provoked by any suitor else;
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward action shews itself
Against my children, brothers, and myself,
Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
The ground of your ill will, and so remove it.

Glo. I cannot tell:-the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman,

There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, brother

Gloster;

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