Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death: What! wilt thou not?-then, Clarence, do it thou. Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. 9. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. [do it? Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear I would not Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: "I was sin before, but now 't is charity. What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: Murther is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st back. K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this prince! [Exit, led out forcibly. K. Edw. Where 's Richard gone? Clar. To London, all in post; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower.
K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence: discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let 's away to London, And see our gentle queen how well she fares: By this, I hope, she hath a son for me.
SCENE VI.-London. A Room in the Tower. King Henry is discovered sitting, with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster. Glo. Good day, my lord! What, at your book so hard? [say, rather: K. Hen. Ay, my good lord: My lord, I should 'T is sin to flatter, good was little better: Good Gloster and good devil were alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord. Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. [Exit Lieutenant. K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf:
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?
Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush:
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye, [kill'd.
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and
Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl;
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.
K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea,
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragic history.
But wherefore dost thou come? is 't for my life?
Glo. Think'st thou I am an executioner?
K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art;
If murthering innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.
Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.
Glo. I'll hear no more:-Die, prophet, in thy speech: [Stabs him. For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies. Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death! O, may such purple tears be always shed From those that wish the downfall of our house! If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither, [Stabs him again. I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed, 't is true that Henry told me of; For I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with my legs forward: Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? The midwife wonder'd: and the women cried, 'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!' And so I was; which plainly signified That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother: And this word love, which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me; I am myself alone. Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light; But I will sort a pitchy day for thee: For I will buz abroad such prophecies, That Edward shall be fearful of his life; And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. King Henry and the prince his son are gone: Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, Counting myself but bad till I be best. I'll throw thy body in another room, And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. SCENE VII.-The same. A Room in the Palace. King Edward is discovered sitting on his throne; Queen Elizabeth, with the infant Prince, Clarence, Gloster, Hastings, and others, near him.
K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. [throne,
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride!
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions:
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son;
And two Northumberlands: two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound:
With them the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon-
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, [tague,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd."
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our footstool of security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy:
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;
K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy,-that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear;
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye,-
Men for their sons', wives for their husbands',
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,-
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook downtrees;
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
To wit, an indigested and deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify thou com'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Glo. I'll blast his harvest if your head were laid:
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back:
Work thou the way, and that shall execute. [Aside.
K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. [thanks.
Queen. Thanks, noble Clarence: worthy brother,
Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit: [sprang'st,
To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master;
And cried-all hail! when as he meant-all harm.
[Aside
K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.
Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar-
Reignier, her father, to the king of France [garet?
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
Another Priest.
Lord Mayor of London.
Sheriff of Wiltshire.
SCENE I.-London. A Street.
Enter Gloster.
Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings;
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;-
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;-
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before iny time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;-
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if king Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says, that G
Of Edward's heirs the murtherer shall be. [comes.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence
Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury. Brother, good day: What means this armed guard
ELIZABETH, Queen of King Edward IV.
MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI.
DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV., Clarence, and Gloster.
Lady ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloster. A young daughter of Clarence. Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, &c.
That waits upon your grace?
Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
Glo. Upon what cause!
Clar.
Because my name is George.
Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
He should, for that, commit your godfathers:-
O, belike, his majesty hath some intent
That you should 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 G,
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;
'T is not the king that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 't is she
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship
Antony Woodville, 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'er-worn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in our 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 anything 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? [do!
Brak. With this, my lord, myself hath nought to
Glo. Nought to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee,
fellow,
He that doth nought with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.
Brak. What one, my lord?
Glo. Her husband, knave:-Would'st thou betray Brak. I do 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 you. 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: Meantime, have patience. Clar. I must perforce; farewell. [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. 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. Enter 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 St. Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person; 'T is very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he? in his bed?
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 posthorse up to heaven.
I'll 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: [reigns;
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and
When they are gone then must I count my gains.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-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 hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these
wounds!
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,
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 aspect
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.
[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 hadst 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 't is 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.
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his
death!
[dead,
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murtherer
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 wonderfal, when angels are so angry! Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed crimes 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. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.
Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.
Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself.
Anne. And by despairing shalt thou stand excus'd,
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I slew them not.
Anne. Then say, they were not slain.
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne.
Why, then he is alive. Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest; queen Margaret 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 slanderous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dream'st on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? I grant ye. Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant
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. [tears; Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, No, 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 smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed 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.
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.
[him. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry ;-
Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath But 't was thy beauty that provoked me.
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never Nay, now despatch; 't was I that stabb'd young
[thither;
Edward:- [She again offers at his breast.
Glo. Let him thank me that holp to send him But 't was thy heavenly face that set me on.
For he was fitter for that place than earth.
Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name
Anne. Some dungeon.
Glo.
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, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?
Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty, that 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 cheeks.
Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's You should not blemish it if I stood by: [wrack; As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. [thy life! Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death 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 reveng'd 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 thee better than he could. Anne. Name hiin. 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.
[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. 'T is figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take, is not to give.
[She puts on the ring.
Glo. Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it?
Glo. That it may please you leave these sad deTo him that hath most cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby-house: Where, after I have solemnly interr'd, At Chertsey monastery, 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. 'T is 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;
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against
And I no friends to back my suit withal, [me,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewkesbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
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?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen 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. [Exit.
SCENE III.-The same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and Lord
Grey.
Rv. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his
Will soon recover his accustom'd health. (majesty
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 eyes.
Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide on
Grey. No other harm but loss of such a lord. [me?
Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms.
Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly
To be your comforter when he is gone. [son,
Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority
Is put unto 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.
Enter Buckingham and Stanley.
Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley.
Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace!
Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have
[of Stanley,
Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord
To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.
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,
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. 'Would all were well!but that will
I fear our happiness is at the height. [never be!
Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset.
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?
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
Because I cannot flatter, and look fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm,
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?
[grace?
Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your
Glo. 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?
Whom God preserve better than you would wish!
A plague upon you all! His royal grace,
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the mat-
The king, of his own royal disposition, [ter:
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 make prey where eagles dare not perch:
Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.
Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning,
brother Gloster;
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
Our brother is imprison'd by your means, [you:
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility
Held in contempt; while great promotions
Are daily given, to ennoble those
[noble.
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a
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 advocate 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 mean
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
Riv. She may, my lord; for-
[not so?
Glo. She may, ford Rivers?-why, who knows
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
Riv. What, marry, may she?
(she,-
Glo. What, marry, may she? marry with a king, A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too: wis 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 that oft I have endur'd.
I had rather be a country servant-maid
Than a great queen, with this condition,
To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at:
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds Small joy have I in being England's queen.
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.
Enter Queen Margaret, behind.
Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. [him! Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the king? Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheer- I will avouch, in presence of the king: [with him? I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. Q. Eliz. God grant him health! did you confer T is time to speak, my pains are quite forgot.
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