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When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy fcorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,
And then, to dry them, gav'ft the Duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultlefs blood of pretty Rutland ;
His curfes, then from bitterness of foul
Denounc'd a inft thee, are now fall'n upon
And God, not we, has plagu'd thy bloody deed.
Q. Mar. So juft is God, to right the innocent.
Haft. O, 'twas the fouleft deed to flay that babe,
And the moft merciless, that e'er was heard of.
Riv. Tyrants themselves wept, when it was reported.
Dorf. No man but prophefy'd revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then prefent, wept to fee it.
Q. Mar. What! were you fnarling 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 fo much with heav'n,
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's lofs, my woeful banishment,
Could all but anfwer for that peevish brat?
Can curfes pierce the clouds, and enter heav'n ?_
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curfes!
If not by war, by furfeit die your King,
As ours by murder to make him a King!
Edward thy fon, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward our fon, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!
Thyfelf a Queen, for me that was a Queen,
Out-live thy glory, like my wretched felf!
Long may'st thou live to wail thy children's lofs,
And fee another, as I fee thee now,

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death,
And after many length'ned hours of grief,
Die, neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen!
Rivers and Dorset, you were ftanders-by,
And fo waft thou, Lord Haftings, when my fon
Was ftabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live your natural age,
But by fome unlook'd accident cut off!

Gla.

I

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

If heav'ns have any grievous plague in ftore,
Exceeding thofe that I can with upon thee,
O, let them keep it, till thy fins be ripe;
And then hurl down their indignation

On thee, thou troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of confcience ftill be-gnaw thy foul;
Thy friends fufpect for traitors while thou liv'ft,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends:
No fleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unlefs it be while fome tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-markt abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that wait feal'd in thy nativity

The flave of nature, and the fon of hell! (7)
Thou flander of thy heavy mother's womb!
Thou loathed iffue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour, thou detefted.

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'ft call'd me all these bitter names. Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. Oh, let me make the period to my curfe.

Glo. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret.

(7) The flave of nature,-] It was fuggested to me, that, probably, the author might have wrote

The fhame of nature,

But, as Mr. Warburton ingeniously obferv'd to me, the first is a moft beautiful and fatirical expreffion. For, as it was cuftomary formerly for masters to brand their slaves, especially their fugitive slaves, both as a punishment, and as a mark to afcertain the ownerthip; fo, when any perfon is born ill-fhap'd, 'tis ufually faid, nature has ftigmatiz'd him, or fet a mark upon him that men may beware of his ill conditions. It is the old rule in phyfiognomy, and we do not want living proofs of its being well-grounded, that

Differtum Vultum fequitur Diffortio Morum.

Queen

Queen. Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself.

Q.Mar. Poor painted Queen,vain flourish of my fortune!
Why ftrew't thou fugar on that bottl'd fpider,
Whofe deadly web enfnareth thee about?

Fool, fool, thou whet'ft a knife to kill thyself:
The day will come, that thou fhalt wish for me
To help thee curfe this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad.
Haft. Falfe-boading woman, end thy frantick curfe;
Left to thy harm thou move our patience.

Q Mar. Foul fhame upon you! you have all mov'd mine. Riv. Were you well ferv'd, you would be taught your duty.

Q. Mar. To ferve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your Queen, and you my subjects: O, ferve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. Dorf. Difpute not with her, fhe is lunatick.

Q. Mar. Peace, mafter Marquifs, you are malapert; Your fire-new ftamp of honour is fcrice current. O, that your young nobility could judge

What 'twere to lofe it, and be miferable!

They, that ftand high, have many blafts to fhake them; And, if they fall, they dafh themfelves to pieces.

Glo. Good counfel, marry, learn it, learn it, Marquifs. Dorf. It touches you, my Lord, as much as me. Glo Ay, and much more; but I was born fo high, Our airy buildeth in the cedar's top,

And dallies with the wind, and (corns the fun.

Q. Mar. And turns the fun to fhade;-alas! alas !
Witness my fon, now in the shade of death;
Whofe bright out fhining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.

Your airy buildeth in our airy's neft;
O God, that seeft it, do not suffer it;
As it was won with blood, 1 be it loft!

Buck. Peace, peace for fhame, if not for charity. Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor fhame to me; Uncharitably with me have you dealt,

And fhamefully my hopes, by you, are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my fhame,

And

And in my fhame ftill live my forrow's rage!
Buck. Have done, have done.

Q. Mar. O Princely Buckingham, I'll kifs thy hand. In fign of league and amity with thee:

Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house!
Thy garments are not fpotted with our blood;
Nor thou within the compafs of my curse.

Buck. Nor no one here; for curies never pafs
The lips of thofe, that breathe them in the air.
Q. Mar. I'll not believe, but they afcend the fky,
And there awake God's gentle-fleeping peace.
O Buckingham, beware of yonder dog;

Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death;

Have not to do with him, beware of him,

Sin, death, and hell, have fet their marks upon him; And all their minifters attend on him

Glo. What doth the fay, my Lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I refpect, my gracious Lord.
Q.Mar. What, doft thou fcorn me for my gentle counsel?
And footh the devil, that I warn thee from?
O, but remember this another day;

When he fhall fplit thy very heart with forrow;
And fay, poor Margret was a prophetefs.
Live each of you the fubject to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's!

[Exit.

Buck. My hair doth ftand on end to hear her curfes.
Riv. And fo doth mine: I wonder, fhe's at liberty.
Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother;
She hath had too much wrong, and I repent
My part thereof, that I have done to her.

Dorf. I never did her any, to my knowledge.
Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong:
I was too hot to do fome body good,
That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, for Clarence, he is well repay'd;
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains,
God pardon them, that are the caufe thereof!
Riv. A virtuous and a chriftian-like conclufion,
Το
pray for them that have done fcathe to us.

Glo.

Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd; For had I curft now, I had curst myself.

Enter Catesby.

[Afide.

Catef. Madam, his Majefty doth call for you, And for your Grace, and you, my noble Lord. Queen. Catesby, we come; Lords, will you go with us? Riv. Madam, we will attend your Grace.

[Exeunt all but Glocefter.
Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
The fecret mifchiefs, that I fet a-broach,
I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence, whom I indeed have laid in darkness,
I do beweep to many fimple gulls,

Namely to Stanley, Haftings, Buckingham;
And tell them, 'tis the Queen and her allies
That ftir the King against the Duke my brother.
Now they believe it, and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorfet, Gray.
But then I figh, and, with a piece of fcripture,
Tell them, that God bids us do good for evil :
And thus I cloathe my naked villany

With old odd ends,, ftol'n forth of holy writ,
And seem a faint, when most I play the devil.

Enter two Murderers.

But foft, here come my executioners.

How now my handy, ftout, refolved mates,
Are you now going to dispatch this deed?

1 Vil. We are, my Lord, and come to have the warrant, That we may be admitted where he is.

Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about me: When you have done, repair to Crosby-place.

But, Sirs, be fudden in the execution,

Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
For Clarence is well-fpoken, and perhaps,

May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.
Vil. Fear not, my Lord, we will not ftand to prate;
Talkers are no good doers; be affur'd,

We

go to use our hands, and not our tongues.

Glo.

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