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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.
Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!
Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.
To be reveng'd on him, that loveth thee.
Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
Glo. He, that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he could. Anne. Name him.
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
Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison for thy sake!
Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.
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 moaa 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 by 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.
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
[He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry ;—
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I, that stabb'd young Ed-
[She lets fall the sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner.
Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Glo. That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and, even with the word,
This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love,
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would, I knew thy heart.
Glo. 'Tis figur'd in
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,
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
[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 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: 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,
[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?
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by ;
With God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,—
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety!
I do mistake my person all this while :