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SCENE HI.

Enter Queen Margaret.

Q. Mar. So now Profperity begins to mellow,
'And drop into the rotten mouth of Death:
Here in these Confines flily have I lurkt,
To watch the waining of mine Enemies.
A dire Induction am I witness to,

And will to France, hoping the Confequence
Will prove as bitter, black and tragical.

Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes here?
Enter Dutchess and Queen.

Queen. Ah my poor Princes! ah my tender Babes!
My unblown Flowers, new appearing Sweets:
If yet your gentle Souls fly in the Air,

And be not fixt in doom perpetual,

Hover about me with your airy Wings,
And hear your Mother's Lamentation.

Q. Mar. Hover about her, fay, that right for right
Hath dim'd your infant Morn to aged Night.

Dutch. So many Miferies have craz'd my Voice, That my woe-wearied Tongue is ftill and mute. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying Debt.

Queen. Wilt thou, O God, fly from fuch gentle Lambs, And throw them in the Intrails of the Wolf?

Why didft thou fleep when fuch a Deed was done ?

Q. Mar. When Haly Henry dy'd, and my fweet Son. Dutch. Dead Life, blind Sight, poor mortal living Ghost, Woes Scene, Worlds fhame, Graves due, by Life usurpt, Brief abftract and record of tedious Days,

Reft thy unreft on England's lawful Earth,
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent Blood.

Queen. Ah that thou wouldst as soon afford a Grave
As thou canft yield a melancholly Seat;

Then would I hide my Bones, not reft them here.
Ah who hath any caufe to mourn but we?

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Q: Mar,

Q. Mar. If ancient Sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of Seigneury;
And let my Griefs frown on the upper hand,
If Sorrow can admit Society.

I had an Edward 'till a Richard kill'd him:

I had a Husband 'till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'ft, an Edward, 'till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'ft a Richard 'till a Richard kill'd him.
Dutch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him:
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'ft to kill him.
Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too,
And Richard kill'd him.

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From forth the kennel of thy Womb hath crept
A Hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to Death:
That Dog, that had his Teeth before his Eyes,
To worry Lambs, and lap their gentle Blood;
That foul defacer of God's handy work,
That reigns in gauled Eyes of weeping Souls:
That excellent grand Tyrant of the Earth,
Thy Womb let loofe to chafe us to our Graves.
O upright, juft, and true difpofing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal Cur
Preys on the Iffue of his Mother's Body,
And makes Her, Pue-fellow with others moan.
Dutch. Oh Harry's Wife, triumph not in my Woes:
Gcd witness with me, I have wept for thine.

Q. Mar. Bear with me: I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.

Thy Edward, he is dead that kill'd my Edward.
The other Edward dead, to quit my Edward:
Young York, he is but boot, becaufe both they
Match'd not the high perfection of my Lofs.
Thy Clarence he is dead that ftab'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this frantick Play,
Th'adulterate Haftings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray,
Untimely fmother'd in their dusky Grave.
Richard yet lives, Hell's black Intelligencer,
Only referv'd their Factor to buy Souls,
And fend them thither: But at hand, at hand
Infues his piteous and unpitied Erd.

Earth gapes, Hell burns, Fiends roar, Saints pray,

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To have him fuddenly convey'd from hences.
Cancel his Bond of Life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live and fay, the Dog is dead.

Queen. O thou didft Prophefie the time would come,
That I fhould wish for thee to help me Curfe
That bottel'd Spider, that foul bunch-back'd Toad.

O. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my Fortune:
I call'd thee then, poor Shadow, painted Queen,
The reprefentation of but what I was;

The flattering Index of a direful Pageant,.
One heav'd a high to be hurl'd down below:
A Mother only mock'd with two fair Babes;
A dream of what thou waft, a garish Flag
To be the aim of every dang'rous Shot;
A fign of Dignity, a Breath, a Bubble;
A Queen in Jeft, only to fill the Scene.
Where is thy Husband now? where be thy Brothers?
Where be thy two Sons? wherein doft thou Joy?
Who fues and kneels, and fays, God fave the Queen?
Where be the bending Peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging Troops that follow'd thee?
Decline all this, and fee now what thou art.
For happy Wife, a moft diftrefs'd Widow;
For joyful Mother, one that wails the Name;
For one being fu'd to, one that humbly fues;
For Queen, a very Caytiff crown'd with Care;
For the that fcorn'd at me, now fcorn'd of me;
For the being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For the commanding all, obeyed of none.
Thus bath the courfe of Justice whirl'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to Time,
Having no more but thought of what thou waft,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst ufurp my Place, and doft thou not
Ufurp the juft proportion of my Sorrow?
Now thy proud Neck bears half burthen'd Yoak,
From which, even here I flip my wearied Head,
And leave the burthen of it all on thee.
Farewel York's Wife, and Queen of fad Mifchance,
Thefe English Woes fhall make me fmile in France.

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Queen

Queen. O thou well skill'd in Curfes, ftay a while, And teach me how to curfe mine Enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to fleep the Night, and faft the Day: Compare dead Happiness with living Woe;

Think that thy Babes were fweeter than they were,
And he that flew them fouler than he is:
Bett'ring thy lofs makes the bad Caufer worse,
Revolving this, will teach thee how to curfe.

Queen. My Words are dull, O quicken them with thine.
Q. Mar. Thy Woes will make them sharp,

And pierce like mine."

[Exit Margaret. Dutch, Why fhould Calamity be full of Words? Queen. Windy Attorneys to their Client's Woes, Airy fucceeders of inteftine Joys,

Poor breathing Orators of Miferies,

Let them have fcope, though what they will impart
Help nothing else, yet they de cafe the Heart.

Dutch. If fo, then be not Tongue-ty'd; go with me,
And in the breath of bitter Words, let's fmother
My damned Son, that thy two fweet Sons fmother'd.
The Trumpet founds, be copious of exclaims.

Enter King Richard and his Train.

K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition? Dutch. O fhe that might have intercepted thee, By ftrangling thee in her accurfed Womb,

From all the flaughters, Wretch, that thou haft done.

Queen. Hid'st thou that Forehead with a Golden Crown,
Where't should be branded, if that right were right?
The flaughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crown,
And the dire death of my poor Sons and Brothers.
Tell me, thou Villain-flave, where are my Children?
Dutch. Thou Toad, thou Toad,

Where is thy Brother Clarence?
And little Ned Plantagenet his Son?

Queen. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Gray?
Dutch. Where is kind Haftings?

K. Rich. A flourish, Trumpets; ftrike Alarum Drums: Let not the Heav'ns hear thefe Tell-tale Women

Rail on the Lord's Anointed. Strike, I fay.

Either be patient, and intreat me fair,

[Flourish, Alarums.

Or

Or with the clamorous reports of War
Thus will I drown your Exclamations.
Dutch. Art thou my Son?

K. Rich. Ay, I thank God, my Father, and your self,
Dutch. Then patiently hear my Impatience.

K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your Condition, That cannot brook the accent of Reproof.

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Dutch. O let me speak.

K. Rich. Do then, but I'll not hear.

Dutch. I will be mild and gentle in my Words

K. Rich. And brief, good Mother, for I am in hafte.
Dutch. Art thou fo hafty? I have ftaid for thee,
God knows, in Torment and in Agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at laft to comfort you?
Dutch. No by the holy Rood, thou know'ft it well,
Thou cam'ft on Earth to make the Earth my Hell.
A grievous burthen was thy Birth to me,

Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancy;

Thy School-days frightful, defperate, wild and furious,
Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold and venturous:
Thy Age confirm'd, proud, fubtle, fly and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred:
What comfortable hour can't thou name,
That ever grac'd me with thy Company?

K. Rich. Faith none but Humphry Hower,
That call'd your Grace

To breakfast once, forth of my Company.
If I be fo difgracious in your Eye,

Let me march on and not offend you, Madam,
Strike up the Drum.

Dutch. I prithee hear me fpeak.

K. Rich. You fpeak too bitterly.
Dutch. Hear me a Word,

For I fhall never fpeak to thee again.

K. Rich. So.

Dutch. Either thou wilt dié by God's juft Ordinance, E'er from this War thou turn a Conqueror;

Or I with Grief and extream Age fhall perish,
And never more behold thy Face again.

Therefore take with thee my moft grievous Curse,
Which, in the Day of Battel, tire thee more,

Than

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