Glo. The felf-fame Name, but one of better Nature.

Anne. Where is he?

Glo. Here:

Why doft thou spit at me?

[She fpits at him.

Anne. Would it were mortal Poifon for thy fake.
Glo. Never came Poifon from fo fweet Place.
Anne. Never hung Poifon on a fouler Toad.
Out of my Sight, thou doft infect mine Eyes.
Glo. Thine Eyes, fweet Lady, have infected mine.
Anne. Would they were Bafilisks, to ftrike thee dead.
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once:
For now they kill me with a living Death.

Thofe Eyes of thine from mine have drawn falt Tears;
Sham'd their Afpects with ftore of childish Drops:
Thefe Eyes, which never fhed remorseful Tear,
No, when my Father York, and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous Moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford hook his Sword at him:
Nor when thy warlike Father, like a Child,
Told the fad Story of my Father's Death,
And twenty times made Paufe to fob and weep,
That all the Standers by had wet their Cheeks,
Like Trees be-dafh'd with Rain: In that fad Time,
My manly Eyes did fcorn an humble Tear:
And what thefe Sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy Beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
I never fued to a Friend, nor Enemy;

My Tongue could never learn fweet smoothing Words;
But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee,

My proud Heart fues, and prompts my Tongue to fpeak.
[She looks fcornfully at him.
Teach not thy Lip fuch Scorn, for it was made
For kiffing, Lady, not for fuch Contempt.
If thy revengeful Heart cannot forgive,
Lo here I lend thee this fharp-pointed Sword,
Which, if thou pleafe to hide in this true Breaft,
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 Breaft open, he offers at it with his Sword.

Nay, do not paufe; for I did kill King Henry;

But

But 'twas thy Beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now dispatch: 'Twas I that ftabb'd
But 'twas thy heav'nly Face that fet me on.

[She falls the Sword.

Take up the Sword again, or take up me.

Anne. Arife, Diffembler, though I wish thy Death,
I will not be thy Executioner.

Glo. Then bid me kill my felf, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.

Glo. That was in thy Rage:

Speak it again, and even with thy word,

This Hand, which for thy love, did kill thy Love,
Shall for thy love, kill a far truer Love;
To both their Deaths fhalt thou be acceffary.
Anne. I would I knew thy Heart.
Glo. 'Tis figur'd in my Tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are falfe.
Glo. Then never Man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your Sword.

Glo. Say then, my Peace is made.

Anne. That fhalt thou know hereafter.
Glo: But fhall I live in hope?

Anne. All Men I hope live fo.

Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this Ring.

Look how my Ring encompaffeth thy Finger,
Even fo thy Breaft inclofeth 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 doft confirm this Happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it?

Glo. That it may please you leave thefe fad Defigns
To him that hath moft caufe to be a Mourner,

And prefently repair to Crosby Houfe:
Where, after I have folemnly interr'd
At Chertsey Monaft'ry this noble King,
And wet his Grave with my repentant Tears,
I will with all expedient Duty fee you.
For divers unknown Reafons, I befeech you,
Grant me this Boon.

Anne.

Anne. With all my Heart, and much it joys me too, To see you are become fo penitent.

Treffel and Barkley, go along with me.

Glo. Bid me farewel.

Anne. 'Tis more than you deferve:

But fince you teach me how to flatter you,

Imagine I have faid farewel already. [Exeunt two with Anne. Gent. Towards Chertsey, Noble Lord?

Glo. Now to White-Friars, there attend my coming.

Was ever Woman in this humour woo'd?

[Exit Coarfe.

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 extreameft hate,
With Curfes in her Mouth, Tears in her Eyes,
The bleeding witnefs of my hatred by,

Having God, her Confcience, and thefe Bars against me,
And I no Friends to back my fuit withal,

But the plain Devil and dissembling Looks:
'And yet to win her — All the World to nothing!
Ha!

Hath the forgot already that brave Prince,

Edward, her Lord, whom I, fome three Months fince,
Stab'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?

A fweeter and a lovelier Gentleman,
Fram'd in the prodigality of Nature,

Young, Valiant, Wife, and, no doubt, right Royal,
The fpacious World cannot again afford:
And will fhe thus abafe her Eyes on me,

That cropt the Golden prime of this fweet Prince,
And made her Widow to a woful Bed?

On me, whofe All not equals Edward's Moiety?
On me, that halts, and am mishapen thus?
My Dukedom to a beggarly Denier,
I do mistake my Perfon all this while:
Upon my Life fhe finds, although I cannot,
My felf to be a marv❜lous proper Man.
I'll be at charges for a Looking-glass,
And entertain a fcore or two of Tailors,
To ftudy Fashions to adorn my Body:

Since I am crept in favour of my self,

I will maintain it with fome little Coft.
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 Glafs,
That I may fee my Shadow as I país.

Enter the Queen, Lord Rivers, and Lord Gray.

I

[Exit.

Rig. Have patience, Madam, there is no doubt, his Majefty Will foon recover his accuftom'd Health.

Gray. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse,
Therefore for God's fake entertain good Comfort,
And cheer his Grace with quick and merry Eyes.
Queen. If he were dead, what would betide on me?
Gray. No other harm, but lofs of fuch a Lord.
Queen. The lofs of fuch a Lord includes all harms.
Gray. The Heavens have bleft you with a goodly Son
To be your Comforter when he is gone.

Queen. Ah! he is young, and his Minority
Is put unto the truft of Richard Glofter,
A Man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Rim. Is it concluded, he shall be Protector?
Queen. It is determin'd, not concluded yet :
But fo it must be, if the King miscarry.

Enter Buckingham and Derby.

Gray. Here comes the Lords of Buckingham and Derby. Buck. Good time of Day unto your Royal Grace. Derby. God make your Majesty joyful, as you have been. Queen. The Countefs Richmond, good my Lord of Derby, To your good Prayer will fcarcely fay, Amen; Yet Derby, notwithstanding fhe's your Wife, And loves not me, be you, good Lord, afsur'd, I hate not you for her proud Arrogance. Derby. I do befeech you, either not believe The envious Slanders of her falfe Accufers: Or if the be accus'd on true report, Bear with her weakness; which I think proceeds

From

From wayward Sicknefs, and no grounded Malice.
Queen. Saw you the King to Day, my Lord of Derby?
Derby. But now, the Duke of Buckingham and I
Are come from vifiting his Majefty.

Queen. What likelihood of his Amendment, Lords?
Buck. Madam, good hope, his Grace fpeaks chearfully.
Queen. God grant him Health; did you confer with him?
Buck, Ay, Madam, he defires to make Atonement,
Between the Duke of Glo'fter and your Brothers,
And between them and my Lord Chamberlain;
And sent to warn them to his Royal Prefence.

Queen. Would all were well-but that will never be---I fear our Happiness is at the height.

Enter Gloucefter.

Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it, Who is it that complains unto the King,

cog,

That I, forfooth, am ftern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly,
That fill his Ears with fuch diffentious Rumors.
Because I cannot flatter, and look fair,
Smile in Mens Faces, fmooth, deceive and
Duck with French nods, and Apith Courtefie,
I must be held a rancorous Enemy.
Cannot a plain Man live and think no harm,
But thus his fimple Truth muft be abus'd
With filken, fly, infinuating Jacks?

Gray. To whom in all this prefence fpeaks your Grace?
Glo. To thee, that haft not Honefty 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,
Whom God preferve, better than you would wish,
Cannot be quiet fcarce a breathing while,

But you must trouble him with lewd Complaints.
Queen. Brother of Glofter, you mistake the Matter:
The King on his own Royal Difpofition,

And not provok'd by any Suitor elfe,
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward Action fhews it felf
Against my Children, Brothers, and my Self,
Makes him to fend, that he may learn the ground.

Glo.