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First, if all obstacles were cut away,
And that my path were even to the crown,
As the ripe revenue and due of birth;
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit,
So mighty, and so many, my defects,
That I would rather hide me from my greatness,-
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea,-
Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me;
(And much I need to help you, if need were ;)
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty,
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,
The right and fortune of his happy stars,-
Which, God defend, that I should wring from him!
Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your


But the respects thereof are nice and trivial,
All circumstances well considered.

If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares?
Well, call them again; I am not made of stone,
But penetrable to your kind entreaties,

You say, that Edward is your brother's son;
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife:
For first he was contract to lady Lucy,
Your mother lives a witness to his vow;
And afterwards by substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the king of France.
These both put by, a poor petitioner,
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
Even in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loath'd bigamy:
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners call-the prince. A happy and a joyful time of day!
More bitterly could I expostulate,
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue.
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This proffer'd benefit of dignity:
If not to bless us and the land withal,
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
From the corruption of abusing time,
Unto a lineal true-derived course.
May. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat
Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love.
Cate. O, make them joyful, grant their lawful



Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares on
I am unfit for state and majesty :-

I do beseech you, take it not amiss;
I cannot, nor I will not yield to you.

Buck. If you refuse it,-as in love and zeal,
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son;
As well we know your tenderness of heart,
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse,
Which we have noted in you to your kindred,
And equally, indeed, to all estates,-

Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no,
Your brother's son shall never reign our king;
But we will plant some other in your throne,
To the disgrace and downfall of your house.
And, in this resolution, here we leave you ;—
Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.
[Exeunt Buckingham and Citizens.
Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their

[Exit Catesby.
Albeit against my conscience and my soul.-
Re-enter BUCKINGHAM, and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham,-and sage, grave men,--
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,

To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no,
I must have patience to endure the load:
But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach,
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For God he knows, and you may partly see,
How far I am from the desire of this. say it.
May. God bless your grace! we see it, and will
Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title,-
Long live king Richard, England's worthy king!
All. Amen.

Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd? Glo. Even when you please, since you will have [grace; Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.

it so.

Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again: :(To the Bishops.) Farewell, good cousin ;-farewell, gentle friends. [Exeunt. ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Before the Tower.

Enter, on one side, Queen ELIZABETH, Duchess of
YORK, and Marquis of DORSET; on the other,
ANNE, Duchess of GLOSTER, leading Lady MAR-
GARET PLANTAGENET, Clarence's young daughter.
Duch. Who meets us here?-my niece Plauta-

Led in the hand by her kind aunt of Gloster?
Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince.-
Daughter, well met.


God give your graces both

Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister! Whither away? [guess, Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I Upon the like devotion as yourselves, To gratulate the gentle princes there.


Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all to-

And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.-
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the prince, and my young son of York?
Brak. Right well, dear madam: By your pa-
may not suffer you to visit them;
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary.
Q. Eliz. The king! who's that?
I mean, the lord protector.
Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly



Hath he set bounds between their love, and me?
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them?

Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them.
Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their

Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame,
And take thy office from thee, on thy peril.

Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so;
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me.
[Exit Brakenbury.


Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.-
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
(To the Duchess of Gloster.)
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder!

That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.
Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news!
Dor. Be of good cheer:-Mother, how fares
your grace?

Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee

Death and destruction dog thee at the heels;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children:
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,—
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.
Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel,
madam :-

Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.

Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!-
O my accursed womb, the bed of death;
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murderous!

Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.-
O, would to God, that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal, that must round my brow,
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom;
And die, ere men can say-God save the queen!

Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why?-When he, that is my husband now,

Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; [hands,
When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his
Which issu'd from my other angel husband,
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish,-Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd,
For making me, so young, so old a widow!
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife (if any be so mad)
More miserable by the life of thee,

Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death!
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse :
Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.
Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn for


Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune guide thee! (To Dorset.) Go thon to Richard, and good angels tend thee!(To Anne.) Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess thee! (To Q. Elizabeth.) I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me!" Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen, And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen. Q. Eliz. Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the Tower.

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room of State in the Palace. Flourish of trumpets. RICHARD, as King upon his throne; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a Page, and others.

K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice,

And thy assistance, is king Richard seated:-
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last! K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the To try if thou be current gold, indeed :- [touch, Young Edward lives;-Think now what I would speak.

K. Rich. Stand all apart.-Cousin of BuckingBuck. My gracious sovereign,


Buck. Say on, my loving lord.


K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege. K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward Buck. True, noble prince. [lives. K. Rich. O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live,-true, noble prince!Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull:Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief. Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes :

Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die? Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, Before I positively speak in this: [dear lord, I will resolve your grace immediately. [Exit. Cate. The king is angry; see, he gnaws his lip. (Aside.)

K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, (Descends from his throne.) And unrespective boys; none are for me, That look into me with considerate eyes;— High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.Boy,

Page. My lord.

[ing gold

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corruptWould tempt unto a close exploit of death? Page. I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. K. Rich. What is his name?


His name, my lord, is-Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man; Go, call him hither, boy.[Exit Page. The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels: Hath he so long held out with me untir'd, And stops he now for breath?-well, be it so.—


How now,
lord Stanley? what's the news?
Know, my loving lord,
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.
K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby; rumour it abroad,
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter:-
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him.-
Look, how thou dream'st!-I say again, give out,
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die:
About it; for it stands me much upon,
To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me.
[Exit Catesby.
I must be married to my brother's daughter,
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass:-
Murder her brothers, and then marry her!
Uncertain way of gain! But I am in
So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye.-
Re-enter Page, with TYRREL.

Is thy name-Tyrrel?
Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient sub-
K. Rich. Art thou, indeed?


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Prove me, my gracious lord. K. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of mine?


Tyr. Please you; but I had rather kill two ene-
K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it; two deep

Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal upon :
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.

Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.
O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes,--
Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another
Within their alabaster innocent arms:
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk,
Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other.
A book of prayers on their pillow lay;
Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind;
But, O, the devil-there the villain stopp'd;
When Dighton thus told on,-we smothered
The most replenished sweet work of nature,
That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd.-
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse,
They could not speak; and so I left them both,
To bear this tidings to the bloody king.

Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them,
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come
hither, Tyrrel;

Go, by this token:-Rise, and lend thine ear:


There is no more but so:-Say, it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
Tyr. I will despatch it straight.



Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.

K. Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to

Buck. I hear the news, my lord.

K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son:-Well, look to it. [mise, Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by proFor which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables, Which you have promised I shall possess.

K. Rich. Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.

Buck. What says your highness to my just re-

K. Rich. I do remember me,-Henry the Sixth
Did prophecy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish boy.
A king!-perhaps-
Buck. My lord,-

[that time,

K. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him?

Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom,-
K. Rich. Richmond!-When last I was at Exeter,
The mayor in courtesy shew'd me the castle,
And call'd it-Rouge-mont: at which name, I

Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
Buck. My lord,—

Ay, what's o'clock?


I am thus bold
To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me.
K. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock?
Upon the stroke

Of ten.

K. Rich. Well, let it strike.

Why, let it strike?

K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st

the stroke


Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.
Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or
K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.
[Exeunt King Richard and Train.
Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service
With such contempt ? made I him king for this?
O, let me think on Hastings; and be gone
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Exit.

SCENE III.-The same.

Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done;
The most arch deed of piteous massacre,
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery,
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion,

Enter King RICHARD.

And here he comes :-All health, my sovereign lord!
K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel! am I happy in thy news?
Tyr. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done.

K. Rich.

But didst thou see them dead?
Tyr. I did, my lord.
K. Rich.
And buried, gentle Tyrrel?
Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;
But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Mean time, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of thy desire.
Farewell, till then.

I humbly take my leave. [Exit.
K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown,
To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

Cate. My lord,-

K. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou com'st in
so bluntly?
Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Rich-
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

K. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more


Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come, I have learn'd, that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay;
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary:
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!
Go, muster men: My counsel is my shield;
We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.
SCENE IV. The same. Before the Palace.
Enter Queen MARGARET.

Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into the rotten mouth of death.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
To watch the waning of mine enemies.
A dire induction am I witness to,
And will to France; hoping, the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes

Enter Queen ELIZABETH and the Duchess of YORK.
Q.Eliz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes!
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air,
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,

Hover about me with your airy wings, And hear your mother's lamentation!

Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute,Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.


Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, Ŏ God, fly from such gentle
And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?
When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done?
Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.
Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life
Brief abstract and record of tedious days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,
(Sitting down.)
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood!

Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat; [grave,
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here!
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we?
(Sitting down by her.)
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of seniory,
And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,

(Sitting down with them.) Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine :I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him : Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;

I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death:
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood;
That foul defacer of God's handy-work;
That excellent grand tyrant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves.-
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body,
And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan!
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;
And the beholders of this tragic play,
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls,
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end:
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,
To have him suddenly convey'd from hence:-
Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live to say, The dog is dead!


Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophecy, the time would That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my fortune; I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen; The presentation of but what I was,

The flattering index of a direful pageant,
One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below:
A mother only mock'd with two fair babes;
A dream of what thou wast; a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where be thy two sons? wherein dost thou joy?
Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the

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.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care:
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place, And dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke;
From which even here I slip my wearied head,
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mis-

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

day; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, And he, that slew them, fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse; Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine!

Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.


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

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Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my son?


K. Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and your-
Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O, let me speak.
K. Rich.
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

K. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my
Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle
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,
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart,
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
But that still 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,
Rash 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

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

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

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


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 school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and fa-
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous;
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
What comfortable hour canst thou name,
That ever grac'd me in thy company?

K. Rich. 'Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that
call'd your grace
To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.-
Strike up the drum.


I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.

Hear me a word;
For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.


Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just or-
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.

Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st!
My prayers on the adverse party fight;
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end;
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend.

Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less
spirit to curse
Abides in me; I say amen to her.
K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word with

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.

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
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

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

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
Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con-
K. Rich. All unavoided 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.

her king?

K. Rich. Even he, that makes her queen; Who
else should be?
Q. Eliz. What, thou?
K. Rich.

Even so: What think you

of it, madam?

Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?
K. Rich.

That would I learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich.
Madam, with all my heart.
Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her

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

To win your daughter.
Q. Eliz.

There is no other way;

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