Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard,— They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd-Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Q. Eliz. And must she die for this? O, let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty;
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy:

So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.
Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say-she is not so.
K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth.

Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers.
K. Rich. Lo, at their births, good stars were
opposite.

Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary.

K. Rich. All unavoided 21 is the doom of destiny. Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny:

My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,

If grace

had bless'd thee with a fairer life. K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my

cousins.

Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle
cozen'd

Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whose hands soever lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction:

No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt,

21 Unavoidable. Thus before:

'Whose unavoided eye is dangerous.'

Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart 22,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.

But that still 23 use of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes:
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise,
And dangerous success of bloody wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd!

Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of heaven,

To be discover'd, that can do me good?

K. Rich. The advancement of your children, gentle lady.

Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads?

K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory 24.

Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise 25 to any child of mine?

22 This conceit seems to have been a favourite with Shakspeare:

Thou hidst a thousand daggers in thy thoughts,
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart.'

King Henry VI. P. 11.
'Not on thy sole but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou mak'st thy knife keen.'

24 i. e. the crown, the emblem of royalty. See note on King Henry VI. Part III. Act i. Sc. 4.

25 To demise is to grant, from demittere, Lat. But as no example of the use of the word, except in legal instruments, offers itself, I cannot help thinking we should read devise, with the second folio.

K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine;

So in the Lethe of thy angry soul

Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, Which, thou supposest, I have done to thee.

Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness

Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul, I love thy daughter.

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul:

So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers: And from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.

K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning: I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, And do intend to make her queen of England. Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be her king?

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her

else should be?

Q. Eliz. What, thou?

K. Rich.

of it, madam?

queen: Who

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?

K. Rich.

As one being best acquainted with her humour.

That I would learn of you,

Madam, with all my heart.

Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers,

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave, Edward, and York; then, haply, will she weep: Therefore present to her, -as sometime Margaret

Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;

Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and, for her sake,

Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the

Q. Eliz.
There is no other way;
Unless thou could'st put on some other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her? Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but hate thee 26.

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now
amended;

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter."
If I have kill'd the issue of
your womb,
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love,

Than is the doting title of a mother;

26 Tyrwhitt suggested that the sense seemed to require we should read but love thee' ironically. Mason proposed but have thee,' which Steevens admitted into the text. It is by no means evident that this is spoken ironically (says Mr. Boswell), and, if not, the old reading affords a perfectly clear meaning. A virtuous woman would hate the man who thought to purchase her love by the commission of crimes.'

blood;

They are as children, but one step below,
Even of your mettle, of your very
Of all one pain,-save for a night of groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow 27.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.

The loss, you have, is but—a son being king,
And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity :

The king, that calls your beauteous daughter,-wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset-brother;

Again shall

you be mother to a king,

And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.

What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed,
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl:
Advantaging their loan, with interest

Of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:
And when this arm of mine hath chástised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come,
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;

27 Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.' used for by; bid is the past tense from bide.

Of is