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Glou. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? | Unless it be while some tormenting dream Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banishment

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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 fallen 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 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

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


If not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder, to make him a king!
Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales,
Die in his youth by like untimely violence! 201
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,
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

That none of you may live your natural age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!


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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 heavy mother's womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour! thou detested-
Glou. Margaret.

Q. Mar. Glou.

Q. Mar.




I call thee not.

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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.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty,

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 marquess, 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

And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. Glou. Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.


Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. Glon. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high,

Our aery 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 aery buildeth in our aery'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. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd My charity is outrage, life my shame; And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage! Buck. Have done, have done.

Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham! I'll 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 will not think but they ascend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
O Buckingham! take heed 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;
Sin, death and hell have set their marks on him,
And all their ministers attend on him.


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Riv. And so doth mine. I muse why she's at liberty.

Glou. 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. Glou. Yet you have all the vantage 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! Rir. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scath to us. Glou. So do I ever, Aside. being well advis'd; For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.



Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you; And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go with me?

Rit. We wait upon your grace.


Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER. Glou. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls; Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now they believe it; and withal whet me To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil : And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stol'n forth of holy writ, And seem a saint when most I play the devil. Enter two Murderers.

But soft! here come my executioners.

How now, my hardy, stout, resolved mates! 316
Are you now going to dispatch this thing?
First Murd. We are, my lord; and come to
have the warrant,

That we may be admitted where he is.
Glou. Well thought upon; I have it here
about me.
Gives the warrant
When you have done, repair to Crosby-place.
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;
For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.
First Murd. Tut, tut! my lord, we will not
stand to prate;


Talkers are no good doers: be assur'd
We go to use our hands and not our tongues.
Glou. Your eyes drop millstones, when fools
eyes fall tears:

I like you, lads; about your business straight;
Go, go, dispatch.
First Murd.

We will, my noble lord.


SCENE IV. The Same. The Tower. Enter CLARENCE and BRAKENBURY. Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day Clar. O! I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time.

Bruk. What was your dream, my loid? I pray you, tell me.

Clar. Methought that I had broken from the

And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
And in my company my brother Gloucester,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches: thence we look'd toward

And cited up a thousand heavy times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster
That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hat hes,
Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in

Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
Lord, Lord! methought what painit was to drown:
What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears!
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes guaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept.
As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon the secrets of the deep?


Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To find the empty, vast, and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk,

Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak Awak'd you not with this sore agony ?
Clar. No, no, my dream was lengthen'dafterlife;
O then began the tempest to my soul.
I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that sour ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick;
Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury 5)
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'
And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blool; and he shriek'd out aloud,
'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjur'd


That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury;
Seize on him! Furies, take him unto torment.'
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that with the very noise
I trembling wak'd, and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell,
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. Nomarvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Clir. O Brakenbary! I have done those things
That now bear evidence against my soul,
For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me.
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath in me alone:
O! spare my guiltless wife and my poor children.
pray the, gentle keeper, stay by me;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.


Brak. I will, my lord, God give your grace good rest!

Second Murd. When he wakes! why fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murd. Why, then he'll say we stabbed him sleeping.


Second Murd. The urging of that word 'judg.
ment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
First Murd. What! art thou afraid?
Second Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant
for it; but to be damned for killing him, from
the which no warrant can defend us.

First Murd. I thought thou hadst been resolute.
Second Murd. So I am, to let him live.
First Murd. Back to the Duke of Gloucester,
tell him so.

Second Murd. I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty.


First Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now! Second Murd. Some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

First Murd. Remember our reward when the deed's done.

Second Murd. 'Zounds! he dies: I had forgot the reward.

First Murd. Where's thy conscience now! Second Murd. In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murd. 'Tis no matter; let it go: there's few or none will entertain it.

First Murd. What if it come to thee again! Second Murd. I'll not meddle with it; it makes a man a coward; a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills a man full of obstacles; it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it; it is turned out of al! towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and 80 every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and live without it.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tidenight.
Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And, for unfelt imaginations,

They often feel a world of restless cares :
So that, between their titles and low names,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame.
Enter the two Murderers.

First Murd. Ho! who's here?
Brak. What would'st thou, fellow? and how
cam'st thou hither?

First Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and
I came hither on my legs.

Brak. What! so brief?
Second Murd. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious.
Let him see our commission, and talk no more.
A paper delivered to BRAKENBURY,
who reads it.
Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver 91
The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:
I will not reason what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
There lies the duke asleep, and there the keys.
I'll to the king; and signify to him
That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.

First Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: fare von well. Exit BRAKENBURY. Second Murd. What! shall we stab him as he sleeps?


First Murd. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

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First Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.

Clar. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!

Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?
Both Murd. To, to, to-
Clar. To murder me?
Both Murd. Ay, ay.


Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

First Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king.

Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again. Second Murd. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men

To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
Where are the evidence that do accuse me?
What lawful quest have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? 191
Before I be convict by course of law,

To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope to have redemption
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous

That you depart and lay no hands on me;
The deed you undertake is damnable.

First Murd. What we will do, we do upon command.

Second Murd. And he that hath commanded is the king.


Clar. Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the table of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: will you then Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand, To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

Second Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee,

For false forswearing and for murder too:
Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight
In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

First Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God,


Didst break that vow, and with thy treacherous blade

Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.

First Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,

When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?
Clar. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake:
He sends you not to murder me for this;
For in that sin he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for that deed,
O! know you yet, he doth it publicly:
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
He needs no indirect or lawless course
To cut off those that have offended him.


First Murd. Who made thee then a bloody minister,

When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

First Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault,

Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.


Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hir'd for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloucester hates you.

Clar. O, no! he loves me, and he holds me dear:

Go you to him from me.
Both Murd.

Ay, so we will.

Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York


Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charg'd us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think on this, and he will weep. First Murd. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep.

Clar. O do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murd. Right,

As snow in harvest. Thou deceiv'st thysel: "Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

Clar. It cannot be; for he bewej t my fortune, And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery.


First Murd. Why, so he doth, now he delivers you

From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. Second Murd. Make peace with God, for you

must die, my lord.

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Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now,

If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,
Would not entreat for life?

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;
O! if thine eye be not a flatterer,
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me,
As you would beg, were you in my distress:
A begging prince what beggar pities not?


Second Murd. Look behind you, my lord. First Murd. Take that, and that: Stabs him. If all this will not do, I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Exit, with the body. Second Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd!

How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous murder.

Re-enter First Murderer.

First Murd. How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not?


By heaven, the duke shall know how slack thou


Second Murd. I would he knew that I had sav'd | There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here his brother! To make the perfect period of this peace. Buck. And, in good time, here comes the noble duke.

Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain.


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K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity; Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong incensed peers. Glou. 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 unwittingly, or in my rage,

K. Edw. Why, so now have I done a good Have aught committed that is hardly borne day's work.

You peers, continue this united league:

I every day expect an embassage

From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;
And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven,
Since I have set my friends at peace on earth.
Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand;
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.
Riv. By heaven, my heart is purg'd from
grudging hate ;

And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. 10
Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!
K. Edw. Take heed you dally not before your

Lest he that is the supreme King of kings
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award
Either of you to be the other's end.

Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!
Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!
K. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in

Nor you, son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you: You have been factions one against the other. 2) Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

Eliz. Here, Hastings; I will never more remember

Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! K. Edw. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess.

Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be inviolable.

Hast. And so swear I, my lord. They embrace. K. Ed. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league

With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
And make me happy in your unity.


Buck. To the Queen. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate

Upon your grace, but with all duteous love
Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me
With hate in those where I expect most love!
When I have most need to employ a friend,
And most assured that he is a friend,
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
Pe he unto me! this do I beg of heaven,
When I am cold in love to you or yours.


They embrace.

K. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,

Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.

By 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 men's love.
First, madam, I entreat 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, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you,
That all without desert have frown'd on me;
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
I do not know that Englishman 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 humility.


Q. Eliz. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

Glou. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this. To be so flouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead! They all start.

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