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 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;

No, 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 sued to friend, nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing 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.

Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry ;-
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabbed young Ed-
ward ;-

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[She falls 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.
[Taking up the Sword.

Anne. I have already.
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 my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then, never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.

Glo. Say, then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter.

Glo. But shall I live in hope? [Sheathing his Sword.
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 my 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 suppliant 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 most cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place.
Where (after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monastery, 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.
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 my hatred by,
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing! Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,—
Framed 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,
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?
On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave,
And then return lamenting to my love.-
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I
pass.

[Exit.

SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in the Palace.

Enter Queen ELIZABETH, Lord RIVERS, and Lord GREY. Riv. Have patience, madam: there's no doubt, his majesty

Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse:
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.
Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide on me?
Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord.
Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all 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. Madam, good hope: his grace speaks cheer-
fully.

Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer with
him?

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, stamping angrily, with HASTINGS, and
DORSET.

Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.—
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
With 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,

497

(Whom God preserve better than you would wish!)
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,

Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter.
The king, on 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,
Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
Against my children, brothers, and myself,
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch:
Glo. I cannot tell;-the world is grown so bad,
Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, bro-
ther Gloster:

You envy my advancement, and my friends.
God grant, we never may have need of you!

Glo. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you:
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility
Our brother is imprison'd by your means;

Held in contempt; while many great promotions
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.
Are daily given, to ennoble those
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 mean
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
Riv. She may, my lord; for-

She may do more, sir, than denying that:
Glo. She may, lord Rivers,-why, who knows not so?
She may help you to many fair preferments,
And lay those honours on your high desert.
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
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, and a handsome stripling too.

I wis, your grandam had a worser match.
Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs:
Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd.
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty,
I had rather be a country serving-maid,
To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at:
Than a great queen, with this condition,
Small joy have I in being England's queen.
Enter Queen MARGARET, behind.

Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I be-
seech him!
[Aside.

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.

my

Q. Mar. Out, devil! I do remember them too
well:
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.
Thou kill'dst
[Aside.
husband Henry in the Tower,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king,
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends:

k k

498

thine.

To royalize his blood, I spent mine own.
Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or
[Aside.
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 Alban's slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What have been ere this, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

you

art.

[Aside.

Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou
[Aside.
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
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 sovereign king;
So should we you, if you should be our king.

[Aside.

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.

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,
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 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, our 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 death;
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 his 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

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; [Aside. On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.-

[Coming forward. They all start.
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?

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banish-
ment,

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,
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 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.
Dors. 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,

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 stain of nature, and the scorn of hell!
Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour! thou detested-
Glo. Margaret.
Q. Mar.

Glo.

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 bottle 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 frantic 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.

500

Methought, that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me (that thought to stay him) over-board,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears!
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand men that fishes gnaw'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 the 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 these secrets of the deep?

Clar. Methought I had, and often did I strive
To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood
Stopt 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 in this sore agony?
Clar. No, no; my dream was lengthen'd after life.

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
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 blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,-
"Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,—
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. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. Ah, keeper, keeper! I have done these things
That now give 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 on me alone:

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!—
Keeper, I pr'ythee, sit by me awhile;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
[Sitting down.
Brak. I will, my lord: God give your grace good
[CLARENCE sleeps.
Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.
Princes have but their titles for their glories,
An outward honour for an inward toil;

rest.

And for unfelt imaginations,

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

1 Murd. Ho! who's here?

Brak. What would'st thou, fellow? and how cam'st thou hither?

1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence; and I came hither on my legs.

Brak. What! so brief?

2 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 The noble duke of Clarence to your hands. I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless from 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. 1 Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: [Exit BRAKENBURY. Fare you well. 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? 1 Murd. No; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

2 Murd. Why, he shall never wake until the great judgment day.

1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him sleeping. 2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

1 Murd. What! art thou afraid?

2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

1 Murd. I thought, thou hadst been resolute.

2 Murd. So I am, to let him live.

1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell him so.

2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little: I hope, this compassionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to hold me but while one tells twenty.

1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now?

2 Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's done.

2 Murd. Zounds! he dies: I had forgot the reward. 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now?

2 Murd. O! in the duke of Gloster's purse.

1 Murd. When he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.

2 Murd. 'Tis no matter; let it go: there's few or none, will entertain it.

1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again?

2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it; it is a dangerous thing, 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 shame-faced 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 by chance I found: it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man, that means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live without it.

1 Murd. Zounds! it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.

2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh.

me.

1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with

2 Murd. Spoke like a tall man, that respects his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?

1 Murd. Take him on the costard with the hilts of