Glos. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that

word.

Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to

men.

Glos. For God's sake, take away this captive

scold.

Prince. Nay, take away this scolding crook-back rather.

K. Ed. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue.

Cla. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.

Prince. I know my duty; you are all undutiful. Lascivious Edward,—and thou, perjured George,— And thou, misshapen Dick,-I tell ye all,

I am your better, traitors as ye are ;

"And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

K. Ed. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.

[stabs him. "Glos. Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy

agony.

"Cla. And there's for twitting me with perjury.

Q. Mar. O, kill me too!

[Glos. stabs him.

[Cla. stabs him.

[offers to kill her.

.

Glos. Marry, and shall.

K. Ed. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done

too much.

Glos. Why should she live, to fill the world with words?

K. Ed. What! doth she swoon? use means for

her recovery.

⚫ Glos. Clarence, excuse me to the king my bro

ther:

I'll hence to London on a serious matter;

Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.
Cla. What? what?

· Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy

mother, boy!

⚫ Canst thou not speak ?—O traitors! murderers !— They, that stabb'd Cæsar, shed no blood at all,

Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, "If this foul deed were by, to equal it. 'He was a man; this, in respect, a child; And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? "No, no; my heart will burst, an if I speak; " And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals!

6

How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!

• You have no children, butchers! if you had,

The thought of them would have stirr'd up re

morse:

'But, if you ever chance to have a child,

Look in his youth to have him so cut off,

'As, deathsmen! you have rid this sweet young

prince.

K. Ed. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.

Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence; despatch me

here;

Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death. What! wilt thou not?-then, Clarence, do it thou. Cla. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it.

Cla. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it?

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself; 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity.

What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's

butcher,

Hard-favor'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here. Murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.

'K. Ed. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence.

Q. Mar. So come to you and yours, as to this [Exit, led out forcibly. K. Ed. Where's Richard gone?

prince!

Cla. To London, all in post; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

K. Ed. 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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

London. A room in the Tower.

KING HENRY is discovered sitting with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOSTER.

Glos. Good day, my lord! What, at your book so hard?

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord; my lord, I should say rather:

'Tis sin to flatter; good was little better: Good Gloster and good devil were alike,

"And both preposterous; therefore, not good

lord.

"Glos. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must [Exit Lieutenant.

confer.

K, Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the

wolf;

"So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,

66

And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?

Glos. 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,

Where my poor young was limed, was caught, and kill'd.

Glos. Why, what a peevish1 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.

66

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?
'Glos. Think'st thou, I am an executioner?
K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art:
If murdering innocents be executing,

• Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glos. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou didst presume,

Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.

And thus I prophesy ;-that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear;

2

• 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' fate, 'And orphans for their parents' timeless death,—

• Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.

1 Silly.

2 No part of what my fears presage.