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Clarence hath not another day to live:
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
SCENE II.-The same.
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,—
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life,
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him,
And, still as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. [The bearers take up the corpse, and advance.
Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, 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 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,
Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick;
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. 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,
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 make
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.
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.
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 Marga
Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood;
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue,
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
Glo. I grant ye.
Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant me too,
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. 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 it.
Anne. Some dungeon.
Glo. Your bed-chamber.
Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber, where thou liest !
Glo. I know so.-But, gentle lady Anne,—