Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your Grace,: And fo most joyfully we take our leave.

Glo. Come, let us to our holy work again. Farewel, my coufin; farewel, gentle friends. [Exeunt.

17

Enter the Queen, Dutchess of York, and Marquifs of Dorfet, at one Door; Anne, Dutchess of Gloucester, leading Clarence's young daughter, at the other.

W

DUTCHESS.

HO meets us here? my niece Plantagenet, Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Glafter? (18) Now, for my life, fhe's wandring to the Tower, On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes. Daughter, well me:.

Anne. God give your Graces both

A happy and a joyful time of day.

Queen. Sifter, well met; whither away fo faft?

(18) Who meets us here ? my niece Plantagenet,

Led in the band of ber kind aunt of Glo'fter?] Here is a manifeft intimation, that the Dutchess of Glofter leads in fome body in her hand; but there is no direction, or entrance mark'd in any of the copies, from which we can learn who it is. I have ventur'd to guefs, it must be Clarence's young daughter. The old Dutchess of York calls her mece, i. e. grand-daughter; as grandchildren are frequently call'd nephews. In like manner the Latins us'd their Nepos and Neptis: (as they did likewife Nepotes in a greater latitude, to fignify defcendants in general.

Sive neglectum genus, & Nepotes,.
Refpicis autor.

Hor. . i. Ode. 2.)

So, in Othello, lago fays to Brabantio, when his daughter was run away with the Moor.

You'll have your daughter cover'd with a Barbary hotse ; you'll have your nephews neigh to you, &..

Anne.

Anne. No farther than the Tower; and, as I guefs, Upon the like devotion as yourselves,

To gratulate the gentle Princes there.

Queen. Kind fifter, thanks; we'll enter all togethers
Enter the Lieutenant.

And in good time here the Lieutenant comes.
Mafter Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the Prince, and my young son of York?
Lieu. Right well, dear Madam; by your patience,
I may not fuffer you to vifit them ;

The King hath ftrictly charg'd the contrary.
Queen. The King who's that?

Lieu. I mean, the Lord Protector.

Queen. The Lord protect him from that kingly title! Hath he fet bounds between their love and me? I am their mother, who fhall bar me from them? Dutch. I am their father's mother, I will fee them. Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: Then bring me to their fights, I'll bear thy blame, And take thy office from thee on my peril.

Lieu. No, Madam, no, I may not leave it fo: I'm bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit Lieu. Enter Stanley.

Stan. Let me but meet you, Ladies, one hour hence,
And I'll falute your Grace of York as mother
And rev'rend looker on of two fair Queens.
Come, Madam, you must fraight to Westminster,
There to be crowned Richard's royal Queen.
Queen. Ah, cut my lace afunder,

That my pent heart may have fome fcope to beat,
Or elfe I Iwoon with this dead-killing news.

Aune. Defpightful tidings, O unpleafing news!
Dor. Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your Grace!
Queen. O Dorfet, speak not to me, get thee hence,
'Death and deftruction dog thee at thy heels,
Thy mother's name is ominous to children.
If thou wilt outftrip death, go cross the feas;
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.

Go,

Go, hye thee, hye thee from this flaughter-house,
Left thou increase the number of the dead;

And make me die the thrall of Marg❜ret's curfe ;
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted Queen.
Stan. Full of wife care is this your counfel, Madam;
Take all the fwift advantage of the time;

You fhall have letters from me to my fon
In your behalf, to meet you on the way':
Be not ta'en tardy by unwife delay.

Dutch. O ill-difperfing wind of mifery!
O my accurfed womb, the bed of death!
A cockatrice haft thou hatch'd to the world,
Whofe unavoided eye is murderous.

Stan. Come, Madam, come, I in all hafte was fent.
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.

O, would to God; that the inclufive verge
Of golden metal, that must round my brow,
Were red-hot feel, to fear me to the brain!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom,

And die, ere men can fay, God fave the Queen!
Queen. Go, go, poor foul, I envy not thy glory;
To feed my humour, with thyfelf no harm.

Anne. No! why?When he, that is my husband now, Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's coarse;

When scarce the blood was well wafh'd from his hands, Which iffu'd from my other angel husband,

And that dear Saint, which then I weeping follow'd: O when, I fay, I'look'd on Richard's face,

This was my wifh; be thou, quoth I, accurs'd, "For making me, fo young, fo old a widow !

"And when thou wed'ft, let forrow haunt thy bed; "And be thy wife, if any be fo mad,

"More miferable by the life of thee,

"Than thou haft made me, by my dear Lord's death !” Loe, ere I can repeat this curfe again,

Within fo fmall a time, my woman's heart

Grofsly grew captive to his honey words,

And prov'd the fubject of mine own foul's curfe:
Which ever fince hath held mine eyes from reft.
For never vet one hour in his bed

Did I enjoy the golden dew of fleep,

But

But with his tim'rous dreams was ftill awak'd.
Befides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, fhortly be rid of me.

Queen. Poor heart, adieu, I pity thy complaining.
Anne. No more than with my foul I mourn for yours.
Dor. Farewel, thou woeful welcomer of glory!
Anne. Adieu, poor foul, that tak?ft thy leave of it!
Dut. Go thou toRichmond, and good fortune guide thee!
[To Dorfet.

Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee!

[To Anne.

Go thou to fanctuary, good thoughts poffefs thee!
[To the Queen.

I to my grave, where peace and reft lie with me!
Eighty odd years of forrow have I feen, (19)
And each hour's joy wrack'd with a week of teen.
Queen. Stay; yet look back, with me, unto the Tower.
Pity, you ancient ftones, thofe tender babes,
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for fuch little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurfe! old fullen play-fellow,
For tender Princes; ufe my babies well!
So foolish forrow bids your ftones farewel.

[Exeunt.

(19) Eighty odd years of forrow I have feen, And each hour's joy tureck'd with a week of anguifh ] This, anguif, is a word of Mr. Pope's adoption; for all the copies, that I have feen, read

wreck'd with a week of teen.

The poet certainly intended, that the old Dutchefs fhould conclude with a rhyme; and teen is a term which he chufes to ufe elfewhere. So, in his Tempefi

-O, my heart bleeds

To think o' th' teen that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance.

And in numberlefs other paffages.

1

1

SCENE changes to the Court.

Flourish of Trumpets. Enter Gloucefter as King, Buckingham, Catesby."

K. Rich.Tand all apart-coufin of Buckingham,-
Buck. My gracious Sovereign!

K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice,
And thy affiance, is King Richard seated:
But shall we wear thefe glories for a day?

Or fhall they last, and we rejoice in them?

Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them laft ! K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be currant gold, indeed: (20) Young Edward lives-think now, what I would speak. Buck. Say on, my loving Lord.

K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be King. Buck. Why fo you are, iny thrice-renowned Liege. K. Rich. Ha! am I King? 'tis fo-but Edward lives-→→→ Buck. True, noble Prince.

K. Rich. O bitter confequence!

That Edward ftill fhould live-true noble Prince.
Coufin, thou wert not wont to be fo dull.

Shall I be plain? I wish the baftards dead;
And I would have it fuddenly perform'd.
What fay'st thou now? speak fuddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your Grace may do your pleasure.

K. Rich. Tut, tat, thou art all ice, thy kindness freczes; Say, have I thy confent that they shall die?

Buck. Give me fome breath, fome little paufe, dear Lord, Before I pofitively fpeak in this:

I will refolve your Grace immediately.

[Exit Buck.

(20) Ab! Buckingham, now do I play the touch.] Mr. Warburton thinks, the technical term is absolutely requifite here, and that the Poet wrote;

Now do I 'ply the touch.

i. e. apply the touchftene: for that is meant by what he calls touch. So, again, in Timon of Athens, fpeaking of gold, he says;

-O, thou touch of hearts!

i. e. thou trial, touchstone,

VOL. V.

M

Cate).