"Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she,
That tempers him to this extremity
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, 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 t
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'erworn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this 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 any thing 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?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.
Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell

thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord?

[me?

Glo. Her husband, knave:-Wouldst thou betray Brak. I 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 whatsoever you will employ me in,-
Were it to call king Edward's widow-sister,
I will perform it, to enfranchise you.

Mean time, 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:
Mean time, have patience.
Clar.

I must perforce; farewell.

[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. er return,

Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne' 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.

[too;

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence 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, w, by saint saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.

O, he hath kept an evil diet long,

And over-much consum'd his royal person;

'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

What, is he in his bed?

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,

Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies weli 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:
Clarence still breathes: Edward still lives, and reigns;
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 awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!

equiously

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:-
0, 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 be 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, whilst I lament king Henry's corse.

[The Bearers take up the Corpse, and advance.
Enter Gloster.

Glo. Stay you, that bear the corpse, 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 I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. [Paul, 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com

mand:

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 '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 eat him quick;
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his heli-govern'd arm hath butcher'd!
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 man:
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 wonderful, when angels are so angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, 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 canst No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

[make

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.

Why then, they are not dead:

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 soul's throat thou liest; queen Margaret saw

Thy murderous falchion 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 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.

I grant ye.

Plantagenet.

Anne. Name him.
Gio.
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.
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 weeping.
I never su'd 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
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.

grant me too,

Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

him.

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath [come. Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him

thither;

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.

[it.

Your bed-chamber. 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?

[effect.

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd 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 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.

[wreck.

[life!

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. Anne. I would I were, I were, to be reveng'd on thee. Glo. It is is a qua 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.

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 designs

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place:
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:

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.

[thine.

Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or 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 St. Alban's 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 Warwick; 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.

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this
Thou cacodæmon! there thy kingdom is.
[world,
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 should 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.

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.-
[Advancing.
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fail 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!

[sight?

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my Q. Mar. Far. 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?

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banishThan death can yield me here by my abode. [ment, 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; And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine.

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 reported.
Dor. No man but prophesied revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
Q. Mar. What! were you snarlingall, 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 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 mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss;
And see another, as I see thee now,

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 [shalt hear me.

hag.

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou
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 be-gnaw 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 hog!
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity,
The slave of nature, and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour! thou detested-
Glo. Margaret.
Q. Mar.
Glo.

yourself.

Richard!

Ha?

Q. Mar. I call thee not. Glo. I cry thee merey 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, le 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 [fortune! Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, 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 frantie curse; Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience. Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd mine. Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your duty. [duty, Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current: O, that your young nobility could judge, What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high, have many blasts to shake them; And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

Glo. Good counsel, marry; -learn it, learn it, mar-
Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. [quis.
Glo. Ay, and much more: But I was born so high,

Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; -alas! alas
Witness my son, now in the shade of death;
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest:
O God, that seest it, do not suffer it;
As it was won with blood, lost be it so!

Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.
Q. M Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to 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 betall 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, 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 him, beware of him;