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S CE N E 11,

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Enter Queen Margaret.
Q. Mar. So now Prosperity 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 Consequence
Will prove as bitter, black and tragical.
Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes here?

Enter Dutchefs 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, say, that right for right
Hath dim'd your infant Morn to aged Night.

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

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

Qucen. Wilt thou, O God, Aly from such gentle Lambs, And throw them in the Intrails of the Wolf ? Why didst thou sleep when such a Deed was done?

6. Mar. When Holy Henry dy'd, and my sweet Son.

Dutch. Dead Life, blind Sight, poor mortal living Ghost,
Woes Scene, Worlds shame, Graves due, by Life usurpt,
Brief abftrad and record of tedious Days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful Earth,
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent Blood.

Queen. Ah that thou wouldst as soon afford a Grave
As thou canst yield a melancholly Seat;
Then would I bide my Bones, not rest them here.
Ah who hath any cause to mourn but we?

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Q. Mar,

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O. Mar. If ancient Sorrow be most reverent,
Give mine the benefit of Seigneury;
And let my Griefs frown on the upper land, ,
If Sorrow can admit Society.
I had an Edward 'rill a Richard kill'd him;
I had a Husband 'tull i Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'st an Edward, 'till a Richard kill'd him:
Thou had'It 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'lt to kill him.

0. Mar. Thou hadít a Clarence too,
And Richard kill'd him.
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 loose to chafe us to our Graves.
O upright, juft, and true disposing God,
How do I thank thee, that this carnal Cur
Preys on the Issue 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 bont, because both they
March'd not the high perfection of my Lofs.
Thy Clarence he is dead chat ftab’d my Edward;
And the beholders of this frantick Play,
Th'adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray,
Untimely (mother'd in their dusky Grave.
Richard yet lives, Hell's black Intelligencer,
Only reserv'd their Fa&or to buy Souls,
And send them thither: But at hard, at hand
Insues his piteous and un pitied Erd.
Earth gapes, Hell burns, Fiends roar, Saints pray,

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To have him suddenly convey'd from hence:
Cancel his Bond of Life, dear God, I pray,
That I may live and say, the Dog is dead.

Queen. O chou didst Prophesie the time would come,
That I should with for thee to help me Curse
That botteľa Spider, that foul bunch-back'd Toad.

Q. Mar. I call'd chee then, vain flourish of my Fortune :
I cali'd thee then, poor Shadow, painted Queen,
The representation 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 wast, a garish Flag
To be the aim of every dang'rous Shot;
A sign 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 sues and kneels, and says, God save 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 most distress'd Widow;
For joyful Mother, one that wails the Name;
For one being fud to, one that humbly sues ;
For Queen, a very Caytiff crown'd with Care;
For the that scorn’d at me, now scorn'd of me;
For she being feard of all, now fearing one;
For the commanding all, obeyed of none.
Thus hath the course of Justice whirld about,
And left thee but a very prey to Time,
Having no more but thought of what thou walt,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst ufurp my Place, and doft thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my Sorrow?
Now thy proud Neck bears half my burthen'd Yoak,
From which, even here I flip my wearied Head,
And lave the burthen of it all on thee.
Farewel York's Wife, and Queen of sad Mischance,
Thefe English Woes shall make me smile in France.

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Queen.

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Queen. Othou well skill'd in Curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curse mine Enemies.

Q. Mar. Forbear to seep the Night, and fast the Day:
Compare dead Happiness with living Woe;
Think that thy Babes were sweeter than they were,
And he thar new them fouler than he is:
Bert'ring thy loss makes the bad Caufer worse,
Revolving this, will teach thee how to curse.

Queen. My Words are dull, О quicken them with thine.

Q. Mar. Thy Woes will make them sharp,
And pierce like mine.

Exit Margaret.
Dutch. Why should Calamity be full of Words?
Queen. Windy Attorneys to their Client's Woes,
Airy succeeders of intestine Joys,
Poor breathing Orators of Miseries,
Let them have scope, though what they will impart
Help nothing else, yet they do ease the Heart.

Durch. If so, then be not Tongue-ry'd; go with me,
And in the breath of bitter Words, let's smother
My damned Son, that thy two sweet Sons (mother'd.
The Trumpet sounds, be copious of exclaims.

Enter King Richard and his Train.
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition?

Dutch. O she that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed Womb,
From all the faughters, Wretch, that thou hast done.

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

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Dutch. Thou Toad, thou Toad,
Where is thy Brother Clarence?
And li{tle Ned Plantagenet his Son

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

K. Rich. A flourish, Trumpets; strike Alarum Diums:
Let not the Heav'ns hear these Tell-tale Women
Rail on the Lord's Anointed. Strike, I say.

(Flourish, Alarums. Either be patient, and intreat me fair,

Or

Or with the clamorous reports of War
Thus will I drown your Exclamations.

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

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

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, gond Mother, for I am in hafte.

Dutch. Art thou fo balty? I have staid for thee,
God knows, in Torment and in Agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at last 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, desperate, wild and furious,
'Thy prime of Manhood, daring, bold and venturous :
Thy Age confirm’d, proud, subtle, fly and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred :
What comfortable hour can'lt 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 disgracious in your Eye,
Let me march on and not offend you, Madam,
Strike up the Drum.

Dutch: -1 prithee hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.

Dutch. Hear me a Word,
For I shall never speak to thee again.

K. Rich. So.

Dutch. Either thou wilt die by God's just Ordinance, E'er from this War thou turn a Conqueror; Or I with Grief and extream Age shall perish, And never more behold thy Face again. Therefore take with thee my most grievous Curse, Which, in the Day of Battel, tire thee more,

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