And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. [Sitting down with them. Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him: From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes; God witness with me, I have wept for thine. Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss. Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward; 5- her pew-fellow-] Pew-fellow seems to be companion, 6 Young York he is but boot,] Boot is that which is thrown in to mend a purchase. And the beholders of this tragick play, Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophecy, the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curse I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen; The flattering index of a direful pageant," "The flattering index of a direful pageant,] Pageants are dumb shows, and the poet meant to allude to one of these, the index of which promised a happier conclusion. The pageants then displayed on publick occasions were generally preceded by a brief account of the order in which the characters were to walk. These indexes were distributed among the spectators, that they might understand the meaning of such allegorical stuff as was usually exhibited. The index of every book was anciently placed before the beginning of it. a garish flag, 8 To be the aim of every dangerous shot;] Alluding to the dangerous situation of those persons to whose care the standards of armies were entrusted. STEEVENS. Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy? Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the queen ? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? Decline all this, and see what now thou art. Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance, These English woes shall make me smile in France. Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies. Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the Compare dead happiness with living woe; 'Decline all this,] i. e. run through all this from first to last. Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine! Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. [Exit Q. MARGARET. Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope: though what they do impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd, [Drum, within. I hear his drum,—be copious in exclaims. Enter King RICHARD, and his Train, marching. K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition? Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be branded, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown,' And the dire death of my poor sons, and brothers ? Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children? Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? Duch. Where is kind Hastings? K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets!-strike alarum, drums! that ow'd that crown,] i. e. that possessed it. Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Either be patient, and entreat me fair, K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself. Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. tion,2 That cannot brook the accent of reproof. K. Rich. your condi Do, then; but I'll not hear. Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. K. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. Duch. Art thou so hasty? I have staid for thee, God knows, in torment and in agony. K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you? Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well, Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy hool-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and fu rious; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous, 2- a touch of your condition,] A spice or particle of your temper or disposition. Tetchy-] Is touchy, peevish, fretful, ill-tempered. That ever grac'd me-] To grace seems here to mean the same as to bless, to make happy. So, gracious is kind, and graces are favours. JOHNSON. |