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Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your Hand,
And what you do, do it unfeignedly.
Queen. There Hastings, I will never more remember
Our former hatred, so thrive I, and mine.
K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him: Hastings, love Lord Marquess.
Dors. This interchange of Love, I here protest Upon my part, shall be inviolable.
Hast. And so fwcar 1.
K. Edw. Now Princely Buckingham, seal thou this League With thy embracements to my Wife's Allies, And make me happy in your unity.
Buck. When ever Buckingham doth turn his hate Upon your Grace, but with all duteous Love, [To the Queen. Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expe& moft love: When I have molt need to imploy a Friend, And most assured that he is a Friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me; this do I beg of Heav’n, When I am cold in love, to you or yours.
[Embracing Rivers, office
K. Edw. A pleasing Cordial, Princely Buckingham,
Is this thy Vow unto my fickly Heart.
There wantech now our Brother Gloster here,
To make the blessed Period of this Peace.
Buck. And in good time,
Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff, and the Duke.
Enter Ratcliff and Gloucester.
Glo. Good morrow to my Sovereign King and Queen,
And Princely Peers, a happy cime of day.
K. Edw. Happy indeed, as we have spent the day:
Gloster, we have done deeds of Charity,
Made Peace of Enmity, fair love of hate,
Between these swelling wrong incensed Peers.
Glo. A blessed Labour, my most Sovereign Lord:
Among this Princely heap, if any here
By false Intelligence, or wrong Surmise
Hold me a Foe: If I unwillingly, or in my Rage,
Have ought committed that is hardly born,
To any in this Presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly Peace;
'Tis death to me to be at Enmity;
I hate it, and desire all good Mens love.
First, Madam, I intreat true peace of you,
Which I will purchase with my duteous Service.
Of you my noble Cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us.
Of you, and you, Lord Rivers and of Derset,
Thit all without defert have frown'd on me :
Of you Lord Woodvil, and Lord Scales of you,
Dukes, Earls, Lords, Gontemen, inded of all.
I do not know that Englisliman alive,
With whom my Soul is any jot at odds,
More than the Infant that is born to night;
I thank my God for my Himility.
Queen. A Holy-day shall this be kept hereafter:
I would to God all ftrifes were well compounded.
My Sovereign Lord, I do besecch your Highness
To take our Brother Clarence to your Grace.
Glo. Why, Madam, have I offer'd Love for this, To be so fouted in this Royal Presence? Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?[They all start. You do him injury to scorn his Coarse.
K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead!
Who knows he is?
Oneen. All-leeing H av'r, what a World is this?
Buck. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?
Dorf. Ay, my good Lord; and no Man in the presenc., But his red Colour hath forfook his Checks.
K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the Order was revers'd.
Glo. But he, poor Man, by your first Order died,
And that a winged Mercury did bear:
Some tardy Cripple bare the Countermand,
That come toɔ lag to see him buried.
God grant, that lome less Noble, and less Loyal,
Nearer in bloody Thoughts, and not in Blood,
Delerve no worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go currant from furnicior.
Enter Earl of Derby.
Derby. A boon, my Soveraign, for my Service done.
K. Edw. I prithee peace, my soul is full of sorrow.
Derby. I will not rise, unless your Highness hear me.
K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou request'st.
Derby. The forfeit, Soveraign, of my Servent's Life,
Who new to day a riotous Gentleman,
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
K. Edw. Have I a Tongue to doom my Brother's death?
And shall that Tongue give pardon to a Slave?
My Brother killd no Min, his fault was Thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter Death.
Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,
Kneelid at my Feet; and bid me be advis'd?
Who spoke of Brotherhood? who spoke in love?
Who told me, how the poor Soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me:
Who told me in the Field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me?
And said, dear Brother live, and be a King?
Who told me, when we both lay in the Field,
Frozen almost to deaih, how he did lap me
Even in his Garments, and did give himself,
All thin and naked, to the num cold Night?
All this from my Remembrance, brutish wrath
Sinfully pluckt, and not a Man of you
Had so much Grace to put it in my Mind.
Bit when your Carters, or your waiting Vassals
Have done a drunken Slaughter, and defac'd
The precious Image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on your Knecs for Pardon, Pardoc,
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.
But for my Brother, not a Man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, spake unto my self
For him, poor Soul. The proude of you all,
Hive been beholding to him in his Life:
Yer none of you, would once beg for his Lifz.
O God! I fear thy Justice will take hold
On me, and you; and mine, and yours for this.
Come Hastings help me to my Closet.
Ah poor Clarence. Exeunt some with ile King and Queen,
Glo. This is the fruits of Rannels : Mail'd you not,
How that the kindred of the Queen
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarenee's Death?
O! they did urge it ftill unto the King,
God will revenge it. Come, Lords, will you go,
To comfort Edward with our Company?
Buck. We wait upon your Grace.
Enter the Dutchess of York, with the two, Children of
Son. Good Grandam tell us, is our Father dead?
Dutch. No, Boy.
Daugh. Why do you weep fo oft? and beat your Breast? And cry, O Clarence ! my unhappy Son?
Son. Why do you look on us, and thake your Head,
And call us Orphans, Wretches, Castaways,
If that our Noble Father were alive?
Dutch. My pretty Cousins, you mistake me both,
I do lament the Sickness of the King,
As loth to lose him, not your Father's Death;
Jt were lost Sorrow to wail one that's lost.
Son. Then you conclude, my Grandam, he is dead:
The King mine Uncle is to blame for it.
God will revenge it, whom I will importune
With earnest Prayers, all to that effe&.
Daugh. And so will I.
Durch. Peace, Children, peace; the King doth love you Incapable and shallow Innocents,
[welle You cannot guess who'caus'd your
Son. Grandam, wecan; for my good Uncle Gloster
Told me, the King, provok'd to it by the Queen,
Devis'd Impeachments to imprison him;
And when my Uncle told me so, he wept,
And pitied me, and kindly kist my Check;:
Bad me rely on him, as on my Father,
And he would love me dearly as a Child.
Dutch. Ah! that Deceit should steal such gentle Shape,
And with a virtuous Vizard hide deep Vice.
He is my Son, ays and therein my Shame,
Yet from my Dugs he drew not this deceit.
Son. Think you my Uncle did disemble, Grandam?
Dutch. Ay, Boy.
Son. I cannot think it. Hark, what noise is this?
Enter the Queen with her Hair about her Ears, Rivers
and Dorset after her.
Oucen. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and weep?
To chide my Fortune and torment my self?
I'll join with black Despair against my Soul,
Ard to my self become an Enemy.
Dutch. What means this Scene of rude Impatience?
Oueen. To make an act of Tragick Violence. Edward, my Lord, thy Son, our King is dead. Why grow the Branches, when the Root is
gone? Why wither not the Leaves that want their Sap? If
you will live, lament; if die, be brief;
That our swift-winged Souls may catch the King's,
Or like obedient Subje&s follow him,
To his new Kingdom of ne'er changing Night.
Dutch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy
As I had Title to thy Noble Husband;
I have bewept a worthy Husband's Death,
And liv'd with looking on his Images ;
But now two Mirrors of his Princely semblance,
Are crack'd in pieces, by malignant Death,
And I for comfort have but one false Glass,
That grieves me when I see my Shame in him.
Thou art a Widow, yet thou art a Mother,
And hast the comfort of thy Children left;
But Death hath snatch'd ny Husband from mine Arms,
And pluckt two Crutches from my feeble Hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I,
(Thine being but a moiety of my moan)
To over-go thy Woes, and drown thy Cries.
Son. Ah Aunt! you wept not for our Father's Death;
How can we aid you with our Kindred Tears?
Dauch. Our Fatherlefs distress was left unmoan'd,
Your Widow dolour likewise be unwept.
Queen. Give me no help in Lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth Complaints:
All Springs reduce their currents to mine Eyes,
That I being governd by the watry Moon,