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Glo. I cannot tell the World is grown fo bad,
That Wrens make prey, where Eagles dare not perch.
Since every Jack became a Gentleman,

There's many a gentle Perfon made a Jack.


Queen. Come, come, we know your meaning, Brother

You envy my Advancement, and my Friends:

God grant we never may have need of you.

Glo. Mean time God grants that I have need of you. Our Brother is imprison'd by your means,

My felf difgrac'd, and the Nobility

Held in Contempt, while great Promotions
Are daily given to enoble thofe,

That scarce, fome two Days fince, were worth a Noble.
Queen. By him that rais'd me to this careful height,
From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,

I never did incenfe his Majefty

Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest Advocate to plead for him.

My Lord, you do me fhameful Injury,

Falfely to draw me in thefe vile Sufpects.

Glo. You may deny, that you were not the mean Of my Lord Haftings late Imprifonment.

Riv. She may, my Lord, for

Glo. She may, Lord Rivers, why who knows not fo?
She may do more, Sir, than denying that:

She may help you to many fair Preferments,
And then deny her aiding Hand therein,
And lay thofe Honours on your high desert.
What may the not? fhe may-ay marry may the---
Riv. What marry may she?

Glo. What marry may the? marry with a King,
A Batchelor, and a handfom Stripling too:

I wis your Grandam had a worfer match.

Queen. My Lord of Glo'fter, I have too long born
Your blunt Upbraidings, and your bitter Scoffs:
By Heav'n I will acquaint his Majesty,
Of thofe grofs taunts, that oft I have endur'd.
I had rather be a Country Servant Maid
Than a great Queen with this Condition,
To be fo baited, scorn'd, and stormed at;
Small joy have I in being England's Queen.



Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. And leffen'd be that fmall, God I befeech him: Thy Honour, State and Seat, is due to me.

Glo. What! threat you me with telling of the King? I will avouch't in prefence of the King:

I dare adventure to be fent to th' Tower. 'Tis time to speak,

My Pains are quite forgot.

Q. Mar. Out Devil!

I do remember them too well:

Thou kill'dft my Husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor Son, at Tewksbury.

Glo. E'er you were Queen,
Ay, or your Husband King,

I was a pack-Horfe in his great Affairs;
A weeder out of his proud Adverfaries,
A liberal Rewarder of his Friends;
To Royalize his Blood I fpent mine own.
Q. Mar. Ay, and much better Blood
Than his or thine.

Glo. In all which time, you and your Husband Gray
Were factious for the Houfe of Lancaster;
And Rivers, fo were you; was not your Husband,
In Margaret's Battel, at Saint Albans flain?
Let me put in your Minds, if you forger,
What you have been e'er this, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar. A murth'rous Villain, and fo ftill thou art.
Glo. Poor Clarence did forfake his Father Warwick,
Ay, and forfwore himself, which Jefu pardon.
Q. Mar. Which God revenge.

Glo. To fight on Edward's party for the Crown,
And for his meed, poor Lord, he is mewed up:

I would to God my Heart were Flint, like Edward's,
Or Edward's foft and pitiful, like mine;

I am too childish foolish for this World.

Q. Mar. Hie thee to Hell for fhame, and leave this World, Thou Cacodæmon, there thy Kingdom is.

Riv. My Lord of Glo'fter, in those busie Days,
Which here you urge, to prove us Enemies,
We follow'd then our Lord, our Sovereign King;
So fhould we you, if you should be our King..


Glo. If I fhould be I had rather be a Pedlar; Far be it from my Heart, the thought thereof. Queen. As little Joy, my Lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this Country's King, As little Joy you may fuppofe in me,

That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.

Q. Mar. A little Joy enjoys the Queen thereof; For I am fhe, and altogether joyless.

I can no longer hold me patient.

Here me, you wrangling Pyrates, that fall out
In fharing that which you have pill'd from mé;
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not that I am Queen, you bow like Subjects;
Yet that by you depos'd, you quake like Rebels.
Ah gentle Villain do not turn away.

Glo. Foul wrinkl'd Witch, what mak'st thou in my fight?
Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd,

That will I make, before I let thee go.

Glo. Wer't thou not banished on pain of Death?

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in Banishment, Than Death can yield me here by my abode.

A Husband and a Son thou ow'ft to me,

{To Glo.

And thou a Kingdom, all of you Allegiance; [To the Queen. This Sorrow that I have by Right is yours,

And all the Pleasures you ufurp are mine.

Glo. The Curfe my Noble Father laid on thee,

When thou didst crown his warlike Brows with Paper,
And with thy Scorns drew'ft Rivers from his Eyes,
And then to dry them, gav'ft the Duke a Clout,
Steep'd in the faultlefs Blood of pretty Rutland;
His Curfes, then from bitterness of Soul
Denounc'd against thee, are now fall'n upon thee;
And God, not we, have plagu'd thy bloody Deed.
Q. Mar. Sɔ juft is God, to right the innocent.
Haft. O, 'twas the fouleft Deed to flay that Babe,
And the moft mercilefs that e'er was heard of.

Riv. Tyrants themselves wept, when it was reported.
Dorf. No Man but prophefied revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then prefent, wept to fee it.
Q. Mar. What! were you foarling all before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the Throat,
H 1


And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York's dread Curfe prevail fo much with Heav'n,
That Henry's Death, my lovely Edward's Death,
Their Kingdom's lof, my woful Banishment,
Should all but anfwer for that peevish Brat?
Can Curfes pierce the Clouds, and enter Heaven?
Why then give way, dull Clouds, to my quick Curfes.
Though not by War, by Surfeit dye your King,
As ours by Murther 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.
Thy felf a Queen, for me that was a Queen,
Out-live thy Glory, like my wretched felf:
Long may'st thou live to wail thy Childrens Death,
And fee another, as I fee tee now,

Deck'd in thy Rights, as thou art stall'd in mine.
Long die thy happy Days, before thy Death,
And after many length'ned hours of Grief,
• Die neither Mother, Wife, nor England's Queen.
Rivers and Dorfet, you were Standers-by,

And fo waft thou, Lord Haftings, when my Son
Was ftabb'd with bloody Daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live his natural Age,
But be by f me unlook'd-for Accident cut off.

[hear me.

Glo. Have done thy Charm, thou hateful wither'd Hag.
Q. Mar. And leave out thee? Stay Dog, for thou shalt
If Heavens have any grievous Plague in ftore,
Exceeding thofe that I can wifh upon thee,
O let them keep it, 'till thy Sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their Indignation

On thee, thou troubler of the poor World's peace.
The worm of Confcience ftill be-gnaw thy Soul,
Thy Friends fufpect for Traitors while thou liv'ft,
And take deep Traitors for thy deareft Friends:
No fleep close up that deadly Eye of thine,
Unless it be while fome tormenting Dream
Affright thee with a Hell of ugly Devils.
Thou elvish-markt, abortive rooting Hog,
Thou that waft feal'd in thy Nativity
The Slave of Nature, and the Son of Hell:


Thou flander of thy heavy Mother's Womb,
Thou loathed Iffue of thy Father's Loins,
Thou Rag of Honour, thou detefted-

Glo. Margaret.

Q. Mar. Richard.

Glo. Ha!

O. Mar. I call thee not.

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think
That thou had'ft call'd me all these bitter Names.
Q. Mar. Why fo I did, but look'd for no reply.
Oh let me make the Period to my Curfe

Glo. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret.

Queen. Thus have you breath'd your Curse against your self.
Q. Mar. Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my Fortune,
Why ftrew'st thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider,
Whofe deadly web enfnareth thee about?

Fool, Fool, thou whet'ft a Knife to kill thy felf:
The Day will come that thou shalt with for me,
To help thee curfe this poysonous Bunch-back'd Toad.
Haft. Falfe boading Woman, end thy frantick Curse,
Left to thy harm thou move our Patience.

Q. Mar. Foul fhame upon you, you have all mov'd mine.
Riv. Were you well ferv'd, you would be taught your Duty
Q. Mar. To ferve me well, you all should do me Duty,
Teach me to be your Queen, and you my Subjects :
O ferve me well, and teach your felves that Duty.
Dorf. Difpute not with her, the is Lunatick.

Q. Mar. Peace, Mafter Marquels, you are malapert,
Your fire-new ftamp of Honour is fcarce currant.
O that your young Nobility can judge

What 'twere to lofe it, and be miferable.

They that ftand high have many blafts to fhake them,
And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

Glo. Good Counfel marry, learn it, learn it, Marquefs.
Dorf. It touches yo, my Lord, as much as me.

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Glo. Ay, and much more; but I was born fo high; Oir airy buildeth in the Cedar's top,

And dallies with the Wind, and fcorns the Sun.

O. Mar. And turns the Sun to fhade; alas! alas!
Witness my Son now in the fhade of Death,.
Whofe bright out-fhining beams, thy cloudy Wrath

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