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Wife, love Lord Haftings, let him kiss your Hand,
And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

Queen. There Haftings, I will never more remember Our former hatred, fo thrive I, and mine.

K. Edw. Dorfet, embrace him:

Haftings, love Lord Marquefs.

Dorf. This interchange of Love, I here protest Upon my part, fhall be inviolable.

Haft. And fo fwear I.

K. Edw. Now Princely Buckingham, feal thou this League With thy embracements to my Wife's Allies,

And make me happy in your unity.

Buck. When ever Buckingham doth turn his hate Upon your Grace, but with all duteous Love, [To the Queen. Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love: When I have most need to imploy a Friend, And most affured that he is a Friend, Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, But he unto me; this do I beg of Heaven, When I am cold in love, to you or yours.

[Embracing Rivers, &c. K. Edw. A pleafing Cordial, Princely Buckingham,

Is this thy Vow unto my fickly Heart.
There wanteth now our Brother Glo'fter here,
To make the bleffed Period of this Peace.

Buck. And in good time,

Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff, and the Duke.

Enter Ratcliff and Gloucefter.

Glo. Good morrow to my Sovereign King and Queen, And Princely Peers, a happy time of day.

K. Edw. Happy indeed, as we have spent the day: Glofter, we have done deeds of Charity,

Made Peace of Enmity, fair love of hate,

Between these fwelling wrong incensed Peers.

Glo. A bleffed Labour, my moft Sovereign Lord;

Among this Princely heap, if any here

By falfe Intelligence, or wrong Surmife

Hold me a Foe: If I unwillingly, or in my Rage,
Have ought committed that is hardly born,
To any in this Prefence, I defire


To reconcile me to his friendly Peace:
'Tis death to me to be at Enmity;

I hate it, and defire all good Mens love.
First, Madam, I intreat true peace of you,
Which I will purchase with my duteous Service.
Of you my noble Coufin Buckingham,

If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us.
Of you, and you, Lord Rivers and of Dorfet,
That all without defert have frown'd on me:
Of you Lord Woodvil, and Lord Scales of you,
Dukes, Earls, Lords, Gentlemen, indeed of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive,
With whom my Soul is any jot at odds,
More than the Infant that is born to night;
I thank my God for my Humility.

Queen. A Holy-day thall this be kept hereafter;
I would to God all ftrifes were well compounded.
My Soveraign Lord, I do befeech your Highness
To take our Brother Clarence to your Grace.

Glo. Why, Madam, have I offer'd Love for this, To be fo flouted in this Royal Prefence?

Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead? [They all start. You do him injury to scorn his Coarse.

K. Edw. Who knows not he is dead!

Who knows he is?

Queen. All-feeing Heav'n, what a World is this?
Buck. Look I fo pale, Lord Dorset, as the reft?

Dorf. Ay, my good Lord; and no Man in the prefence

But his red Colour hath forfook his Cheeks.

K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the Order was revers'd.
Glo. But he, poor Man, by your first Order died,
And that a winged Mercury did bear:

Some tardy Cripple bare the Countermand,
That come too lag to fee him buried.

God grant, that fome lefs Noble, and lefs Loyal,
Nearer in bloody Thoughts, and not in Blood,
Deferve no worfe than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go currant from fufpicion.

Enter Earl of Derby.

Derby. A boon, my Soveraign, for my Service done. K. Edw. I prithee peace, my Soul is full of Sorrow. VOL. IV.



Derby. I will not rife, unless your Highness hear me. K. Edw. Then fay at once, what is it thou requeft'ft. Derby. The forfeit, Soveraign, of my Servant's Life, Who flew to day a riotous Gentleman,

Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk

K. Edw. Have I a Tongue to doom my Brother's Death? And fhall that Tongue give pardon to a Siave?

My Brother kill'd no Man, his Fault was Thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter Death.

Who fued to me for him? Who, in
my wrath,
Kneel'd at my Feet; and bid me be advis'd?
Who fpoke of Brotherhood? who spoke in love?
Who told me, how the poor Soul did forfake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the Field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me?
And faid, dear Brother live, and be a King?
Who told me, when we both lay in the Field,.
Frozen almoft to death, how he did lap me
Even in his Garments, and did give himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb cold Night?
All this from my Remembrance, brutish wrath
Sinfully pluckt, and not a Man of you
Had fo much Grace to put it in my Mind.
But when your Carters, or your waiting Vafals
Have done a drunken Slaughter, and defac'd
The precious Image of our dear Redeemer,
You ftraight are on your Knees for Pardon, Pardon,
And I, unjustly too, muft grant it you.
But for my Brother, not a Man would fpeak,
Nor I, ungracious, fpake unto my felf
For him, poor Soul. The proudest of
you all,
Have been beholding to him in his Life:
Yet none of you, would once beg for his Life.
O God! I fear thy Juftice will take hold
On me, and you; and mine, and yours for this.
Come Haftings help me to my Clofet.

Ah poor Clarence. [Exeunt fome with the King and Queen.
Glo. This is the fruits of Rafhnefs: Mark'd you not,
How that the kindred of the Queen


Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence's Death?
O! they did urge it ftill unto the King,

God will revenge it. Come, Lords, will you go,
To comfort Edward with our Company?

Buck. We wait upon your Grace.



Enter the Dutchess of York, with the two Children of

Sen. Good Grandam tell us, is our Father dead?

Dutch. No, Boy.

Daugh. Why do you weep fo oft? and beat your Breaft?
And cry, O Clarence! my unhappy Son?

Son. Why do you look on us, and fhake your Head,
And call us Orphans, Wretches, Caftaways.
If that our Noble Father were alive?

Dutch. My pretty Coufins, you miftake me both,

I do lament the Sicknefs of the King,

As loth to lose him, not your Father's Death;

It were loft Sorrow to wail one that's loft.

Son. Then you conclude, my Grandam, he is dead,
The King mine Uncle is to blame for it.

God will revenge it, whom I will importure
With earnest Prayers, all to that effect.
Daugh. And fo will I.

Dutch. Peace, Children, peace; the King doth love yout Incapable and fhallow Innocents,


You cannot guefs who caus'd your Father's Death.
Son. Grandam, we can; for my good Uncle Glo'fter
Told me, the King, provok'd to it by the Queen,
Devis'd Impeachments to imprifon him;
And when my Uncle told me fo, he wept,
And pitied me, and kindly kift my Check;
Bad me rely on him, as on my Father,
And he would love me dearly as a Child.

Dutch. Ah! that Deceit fhould fteal fuch gentle Shapej
And with a virtuous Vizard hide deep Vice.
He is my Son, ay, and therein my Shame,
Yet from my Dugs he drew not this deceit.

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Son. Think you my Uncle did diffemble, Grandam?
Dutch. Ay, Boy.

Son. I cannot think it. Hark, what noife is this? Enter the Queen with her Hair about her Ears, Rivers and Dorfet after her.

Queen. Ah! who fhall hinder me to wail and weep?
To chide my Fortune, and torment my self?
I'll join with black Defpair against my Soul,
And to my felf become an Enemy-

Dutch. What means this Scene of rude Impatience?
Queen. To make an act of Tragick Violence.
Edward, my Lord, thy Son, our King is dead.
Why grow the Branches, when the Root is gone?
Why wither not the Leaves that want their Sap?.
If you will live, lament; if die, be brief;

That our fwift-winged Souls may catch the King's,
Or like obedient Subjects follow him,

To his new Kingdom of ne'er changing Night.
Dutch. Ah, fo much intereft have I in thy Sorrow,
As I had Title to thy Noble Husband;

I have bewept a worthy Husband's Death,
And liv'd with looking on his Images;

But now two Mirrors of his Princely femblance,
Are crack'd in pieces, by malignant Death,
And I for comfort have but one false Glass,
That grieves me when I fee my Shame in him.
Thou art a Widow, yet thou art a Mother,
And haft the comfort of thy Children left;
But Death hath fnatch'd my Husband from mine Arms,
And pluckt two Crutches from my feeble Hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what caufe have I,
(Thine being but a moiety of my moan)

To over-go thy Woes, and drown thy Cries.

Son. Ah Aunt! you wept not for our Father's Death;
How can we aid you with our Kindred Tears?
Daugh. Our Fatherless distress was left unmoan'd,
Your Widow dolour likewise be unwept.

Queen. Give me no help in Lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth Complaints:
All Springs reduce their currents to mine Eyes,
That I being govern'd by the watry Moon,


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