The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare

Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend,

Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen Margaret saw

To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood;
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,

Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by saint But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

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, sce! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh!-
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis 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!
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer
dead,

Or, earth, gape open wide, and cat 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. Villian, thou know'st no law of God 'nor

Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king?

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 effect.

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty, which 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

wreck.

You should not blemish it, if I stood by: 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.

Scene II.

KING RICHARD III.

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 you better than he could.
Anne. Name him.
Glo.

Anne.

Plantagenet.

Why, that was he.

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better na

ture.

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.

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.

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,-
Not, 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 weep

ing.

I never sued to friend, nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
[She looks scornfully at him.

speak.
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.

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would, I knew thy heart.
Glo. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then man was never true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you 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 this 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 de

signs

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place:2
Where-after I have solemnly interr'd
At Chertsey monast'ry 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.

'Tis 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;

With God, her conscience, and these bars against

[He lays his breast open; she offers at it And yet to win her, -all the world to nothing!
with his sword.

Nay, do not pause: for I did kill king Henry ;-
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young

Ha!

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman.-
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
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,

And made her widow to a woful bed?
That cropp d the golden prime of this sweet prince,

beggarly denier,

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus?
My dukedom to a
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,

Myself to be a marvellous proper man.

(3) A small French coin.

harms.

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,

To be your comforter, when he is gone.

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 been!

Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord
of Stanley,

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,
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds
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.

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment,

lords?

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
never be ;-

I fear, our happiness is at the height.

Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset.

Who are they, that complain unto the king,
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly,

That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your

grace?

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?
A plague upon you all! His royal grace,-
Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
But you must trouble him with lewd2 complaints.
Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the

matter:

The king, of his own royal disposition,
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 may 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 you:
Our brother is imprison'd by your means,
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility
Held in contempt; while great promotions
Are daily given, to ennoble those

That scarce, some two days since, were worth a

noble.4

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 cause
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
Riv. She may, my lord; for-

Glo. She may, lord Rivers?-why, who knows
not so ?

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

she,

Riv. What, marry, may she?

Glo. What, marry, may she? marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:

I wish your grandam had a worser match.

Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs:

Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty,

Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd.

(4) A coin rated at 6s. 8d. (5) Think.

I had rather be a country servant-maid,
Than a great queen, with this condition-
To be so baited, scorn'd, and storm'd at:
Small joy have I in being England's queen.

Enter Queen Margaret, behind.

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in ban

ishment,

Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me,-
And thou, a kingdom; -all of you, allegiance:
This sorrow that I have, by right is yours,

Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I be- And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine.
seech thee!

Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.

Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the
king?

Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said
I will avouch, in presence of the king:
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.

'Tis time to speak, my pains' are quite forgot.

Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband

king,

I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends;

To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own.

Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his or

thine.

Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband
Grey,

Were factious for the house of Lancaster; -
And, Rivers, so were you:-Was not your husband
In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,

What you have been ere now, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.
Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father War-
wick;

Ay, and forswore himself, which Jesu pardon!
Q. Mar. Which God revenge!

Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown;

And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd' up:
I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's,
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine;

I am too childish-foolish for this world.

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee,When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,

And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes;
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ;-
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounc'd against thee, are all fall'n upon thee;
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed!
Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent.
Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of.
Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re-

ported.

Dor. No man but prophesied revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to

see it.

Q. Mar. What! were you snarling 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 so much with

heaven,

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick

curses!

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder to make him a king!

Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence !
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory like my wretched self!

Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss;

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave And see another, as I see thee now, this world,

Thou cacodæmon! there thy kingdom is.

Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days,

Which here you urge, to prove us enemies,
We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king;
So should we you, if you shoud be our king.

Glo. If I should be?-I had rather be a pedlar:
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
You should enjoy, were you this country's king;
As little joy you may suppose in me,
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

[Advancing.

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless,
I can no longer hold me patient. -
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that which you have pill'd from me :
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects;
Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? -
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in
my sight?

Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make, before I let thee go.

Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?

(1) Labours.

(3) Reward.

(2) Make royal.
(4) Confined.

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!-
Rivers, and Dorset, -you were standers by,-
And so wast thou, lord. Hastings, when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live your natural age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd

hag.

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for

thou shalt hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hóg!
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature, and the son of hell!

Q. Mar.

Richard!

Ha?

I call thee not.

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think, That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse.

Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in-Margaret. Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself.

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,1
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad.
Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic

And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. Glo. Good counsel, marry ;-learn it, learn it, marquis.

And there awake God's gentle-sleeping 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 hin, beware of him;
Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him;
And all their ministers attend on him.

Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.
Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gen-

tle counsel?

Riv. And so doth mine; I muse, why she'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.

Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. Glo. Yet you have all the vantages of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid; He is frank'd' up to fatting for his pains ;God pardon them that are the cause thereof!

Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scath' to us. Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ;

For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside.

Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.
Glo. Ay, and much more: But I was born so The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,

Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace. [Exeunt all but Gloster.

Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.

high,

I lay unto the grievous charge of others.

Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,

And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,-
I do beweep to many simple gulls;

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; -alas!

alas!

Witness my son, now in the shade of death;

Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham;
And tell them-'tis the queen and her allies,
That stir the king against the duke my brother.

Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Now they believe it; and withal whet me

Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my shame, -

And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage!

Buck. Have done, have done.

Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky,

(1) Alluding to Gloster's form and venom.
(2) He was just created marquis of Dorset.

« Previous Continue »

Books

The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: Accurately Printed from ..., Volume 2