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He should, for that, commit your godfathers.
O, belike, his majesty hath some intent,
That you shall 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 &,
It follows in his thought, that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.
Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd 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 an 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, I 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'erworn 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 any thing 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 nought to do.
Glo. Nought to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord?

Glo.Her husband,knave: - would'st thou betray me?
Brak.I beseech your grace to pardon me; and, withal,
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
Brother, farewell! I will unto the king;
And whatsoe'er you will employ me in,-
Were it to call king Edward's widow-sister,
I will perform it to enfranchise
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:

Mean time have patience!


Clar. I must perforce; farewell!


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?

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 too;
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 consum'd 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 post-horse up to heaven.
Pll 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 H. The same. Another Street.

Enter the corpse of King HENRY the Sixth, borne in
an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, 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 bear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the self-same hand, that made these

Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life,
I pour
the helpless balm of my poor eyes:-
O, cursed 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!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,

[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guards. 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,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspéct

May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him,
Than I am made by my young lord, and thee!
Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there!
And, still as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse!

[The Bearers take up the corpse, and advance.
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 halberd higher, than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness,

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
Thou 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 thee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.

[The Bearers set down the coffin.
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 had'st but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone!
Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst!
Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble
us not!

For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
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.-

Anne. Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.
Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen Mar-

garet saw

Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood;
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.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant
me too,

Thou anay'st be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.
Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.
Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him hither!
For he was fitter for that place, than earth.
Anne. And thou unfit for any place, but hell.
Gle, Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.
Anne. Some dungeon.

O God, which this blood mad'st, 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


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, diffus'd infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glo. Your bed-chamber.

Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber, where thou liest!
Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
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, IIenry, and Edward,
As blameful, as the executioner?

Glo. Fairer, than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself!

Anne. Fouler, than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself.
Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd;

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd 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 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.
Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death
thy life!

Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature! thou art both.
Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd 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 reveng'd 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?

Glo. Here. [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit

at me?

Anne. 'Would, it were mortal poison, for thy sake! 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;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Sham'd their aspects 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-fac'd 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 an humble tear;

And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
I never sued to friend, nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos'd 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 it

with his sword.

Glo. That it may piease 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 corse.

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
Was ever woman in this humour 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!


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,
Ed-Fram'd 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 woeful bed?

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
[She again offers at his breast.
Bat '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 figur'd in

My tongue.

Anne. I fear me, both are false.

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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!

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- The same. A room in the palace.
Enter Queen ELIZABETH, Lord RIVERS, and Lord

Riv. Have patience, madam! there's no doubt, his

Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

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. Eliz. 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 includes all harms.
Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a good-

ly son,

To be your comforter, when he is gone.
Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young, and his minority
Is put in to 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 determin'd, not concluded yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.


Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace!
Stan. God make your majesty joyful,as you have been!
Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord
of Stanley,


You envy my advancement, and my friends;
God grant, we never may have need of you!
Glo. Meantime, God grants, that we have need of you.
Our brother is imprison'd by your means,
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility
Held in contempt; while great promotions
Are daily given, to ennoble those,

To your good prayer will scarcely say
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
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 accus'd 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 cheer-

That scarce, some two days since, were worth a no-

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. By him, that rais'd me to this careful height
From that contented hap, which I enjoy'd,
I never did incense his majesty
Against the duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest advocat to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury,
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
Riv. She may, my lord; for-

Glo. She may,lord Rivers?—why, who knows not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that:
She may help you to many fair preferments,
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
And lay those honours on your high desert.
What may she not? She may,-ay, marry, may she, -
Riv. What, marry, may she?

Glo. What, marry, may she? marry with a king,
A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:
I wish, your grandam had a worser match.
Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs:
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty
Of those gross taunts, I often have endur'd.
I had rather be a country servant-maid,
Than a great queen, with this condition-

Q.Eliz.' Would all were well! But that will never be;-To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at:

I fear, our happiness is at the height.

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 ears 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 abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your

Clo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace.
When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong?-

Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all! His royal grace,-

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Small joy have I in being England's queen.
Enter Queen MARGARET, behind.

Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech

Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.
Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the king?
Tell him, and spare not! look, what I have said
I will avouch, în presence of the king.

I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot.
Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well:
Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.
Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends;

To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own. Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood, than his, or thine. Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband Grey, Whom God preserve better, than you would wish!-Were factious for the house of Lancaster ;; Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing


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 provok'd by any suitor else,
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward action shows 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 may prey, where eagles dare not perch.
Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

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

brother Gloster!

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And, Rivers, so were you.
Was not your husband
In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere now, and what you are,
Withal, what I have been, and what I am!

Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thon art.
Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick;
Ay, and forswore himself,- Which Jesu pardon! -
Q. Mar. Which God revenge!


Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown; Aud, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up: would to God, my heart were flint, like Edward's, Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine; I am too childish-foolish for this world. Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world,


Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag!
Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog! for thou
shalt hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those, that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation

Thou cacodaemon! there thy kingdom is.
Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days,
Which here you urge, to prove us enemies,
We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king;
So should we you, if you should be our king.
Glo. If I should be? I had rather be a pedlar:
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!
Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
You should enjoy, were you this country's king,
As little joy you may suppose in me,
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.
Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that, which you have pill'd from me:
Which of you trembles not, that looks on me?
If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects:
Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?-Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!


Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my

Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;
That will I make, before I let thee go.

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Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?
Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banishment,
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband and a son thou ow'st to me,
And thou, a kingdom; all of you, allegiance.
This sorrow, that I have, by right is yours,
And all the pleasures, you usurp, are mine.
Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee,
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
And then, to dry them gav'st the duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland,
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee,
And God, not we, hath plagu'd they bloody deed.
Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent.
Hast. 0, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of.
Riv. Tyrants themselves wept, when it was reported.
Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all, before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven,
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick

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On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be, while some tormenting dream
Alrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
Thou, that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature, and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!

Thou rag of honour! thou detested-
Glo. Margaret.

Q Mar. Richard!
Glo. Ha?

Q. Mar. I call thee not.

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think,
That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names.
Q. Mar. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply.
O, let me make the period to my curse!
Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in- Margaret.
Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad,
Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse.
Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience!
Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd

Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught
your duty.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty.
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects!
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!
Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic.

Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert:
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current:
O, that your young nobility could judge,
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!
They, that stand high, have many blasts to shake them;
cur-And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.
Glo. Good counsel, marry ; learn it, learn it, mar-


Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder, to make him a king!
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss,
And see another, as I see thee now,

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Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.
Glo. Ay, and much more: but I was born so high,
Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.
Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ;-alas, alas !—
Witness my son, now in the shade of death;
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest?
O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it!
As it was won with blood, lost be it so!
Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity!
Q. Mar. Urge neither charity, nor shame to me!
Uncharitably with me have you dealt,

And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my shame, -
And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage!

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