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Glo. No doubt, no doubt, and fo fhall Clarence too,
For they that were your Enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him, as you.
Haft. More pity, that the Eagles fhould be mew'd,
Whiles Kites and Buzzards play at Liberty...
Glo. What News abroad?
Haft. No News fo bad abroad as this at home:
The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his Phyficians fear him mightliy.
Glo. Now by St. John, that news is bad indeed.
O he hath kept an evil Diet long,
And over-much confum'd his Royal Perfon:
very grievous to be thought upon.
Where is he, in his Bed?
Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
'Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to Heav'n.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
Which lyes well 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 fo much for Love,
As for another fecret close intent,
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my Horfe to Market:
Clarence ftill breaths, Edward ftill lives and reigns,
When they are gone, then muft I count my Gains. [Exit
Enter the Coarfe of Henry the Sixth, with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the Mourner.
Anne. Set down, fet down your honourable load,
If Honour may be throwded in a Herle,
Whilft I a-while obfequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold Figure of a holy King,
Pale Ashes of the Houfe 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 flaughtred Son,
Stab'd by the felf fame hand that made thefe wounds.
Lo, in thefe Windows that let forth thy Life,
I pour the helpless Balm of my poor Eyes.
O curfed be the Hand that made thefe holes!
Curfed the Heart, that had the Heart to do it!
Curfed 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 Wolves, to Spiders, Toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives.
If ever he have Child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whofe ugly and unatural Afpect,
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 miferable by the Death of him,
Than I am made by my young Lord, and thee.
Come now towards Chertsey with your holy Load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there.
And still as you are weary of this weight,
Reft you, whiles I lament King Henry's Coarfe.
Enter Richard Duke of Glocefter.
Glo. Stay you that bear the Coarfe, and fet it down.
Anne. What black Magician conjures up this Fiend, To ftop devoted charitable Deeds?
Glo. Villains, fet down the Coarfe; or by St. Paul,
I'll make a Coarfe of him that disobeys.
Gen. My Lord, ftand back, and let the Coffin pafs.
Glo. Unmanner'd Dog,
Stand thou when I command:
Advance thy Halbert higher than my Breast,
Or by St. Paul, l'il ftrike thee to my Foot,
And fpurn upon thee, Beggar, for thy boldness.
Anne. What do you tremble? are you all afiaid?
Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,
And mortal Eyes cannot endure the Devil.
Avant, thou dreadful Minifter of Hell:
-Thou hadft but power over his mortal Body,
His Soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.
Glo. Sweet Saint, for Charity, be not fo curft.
Anne. Foul Devil!
For God's fake hence, and trouble us not,
For thou haft made the happy Earth thy Hell:
Fill'd it with curfing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous Deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy Butcheries.
Oh Gentlemen! fee! fee dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd Mouths, and bleed a fresh.
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul Deformity;
For 'tis thy prefence that exhales this Blood
From cold and empty Veins, where no blood dwells.
Thy Deeds inhuman, and unnatural,
Provoke this Deluge most unnatural.
O God! which this Blood mad'ft, revenge his Death:
O Earth! which this Blood drink'ft, revenge his Death.
Either Heav'n with Lightning ftrike the Murth'rer dead,
Or Earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick,
As thou doft fwallow up this good King's Blood,
Which his Hell-govern'd arm hath butchered.
Glo. Lady, you know no Rules of Charity,
Which renders good for bad, Bleffings for Curfes.
Anne. Villain, thou know'ft nor law of God nor Man;
No Beaft fo fierce, but knows fome 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 fo angry:
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a Woman,
Of these fuppofed Crimes, to give me leave,
By circumftance, but to acquit my felf.
Anne. Vouchlafe, diffus'd'infection of a Man,
Of these known evils, but to give me leave
By circumstance, to curfe thy curfed felf.
Glo. Fairer than Tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leifure to excufe my felf.
Anne. Fouler than Heart can think thee,
Thou canst make no excuse that will be currant,
Unless thou hang thy felf.
Glo. By fuch defpair, I fhould accuse my self.
Anne. And by despairing fhalt thou ftand excus'd,
For doing worthy Vengeance on thy felf;
That didft unworthy flaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I flew them not,
Anne. Then fay, they were not flain:
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 flain by Edward's Hands.
Anne. In thy foul Throat thou ly'ft,
Thy murd'rous Faulchion fmoaking in his Blood:
The which thou once didft bend against her Breaft,
But that thy Brothers beat afide the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her fland'rous Tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless Shoulders.
Anne. Thou waft provoked by thy bloody Mind,
That never dream'it on ought but Butcheries:
Didft thou not kill this King?
Anne. Doft grant me, Hedge-Hog,
Then God grant me too,
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked Deed:
Ohe was gentle, mild and virtuous.
Glo. The better for the King of Heav'n that hath him.
Anne. He is in Heav'n, where thou shalt never come.
Glo. Let him thank me that holp to fend him thither; For he was fitter for that place than Earth.
Anne. And thou unfit for any place but Hell.
Glo. Yes one place elfe, if you will hear me name it.
Anne. Some Dungeon.
Anne. Il Reft betide the Chamber where thou lyeft. Glo. So will it, Madam, 'till I lye with
Glo. I know fo. But gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our Wits,
And fall fomething into a flower method.
Is not the Caufer of the timeless deaths
Of thefe Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the Executioner?
Anne. Thou waft the Caufe, and moft accurft effect. Glo. Your Beauty was the Caufe of that effect: Your Beauty that did haunt me in my fleep,
To undertake the Death of all the World,
So I might live one hour in your fweet Bofom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, Homicide, Thefe Nails should rend that Beauty from my Cheeks. Glo. Thefe Eyes could not endure that Beauty's wrack, You should not blemish it, if I ftood by;
As all the World is cheered by the Sun,
So I by that, it is my Day, my Life.
Anne. Black night o'er-fhade thy Day, and death thy Life. Glo. Curfe not thy felf, fair Creature,
Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.
Glo. It is a 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
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 thee better than he could.
Anne. Name him.
Anne. Why that was he.