Than all the compleat Armor that thou wea 'n.
My Prayers on the adverse Party fight,
And there the little Souls of Edward's Children
Whisper the Spirits of thine Enemies,
And promise them Succefs and Victory,
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end:
Shame ferves thy Life, and doth thy Death attend. [Exit. Queen. Tho' far more Caufe, yet much lefs Spirit to curfe Abides in me, I fay Amen to her.
K. Rich. Stay, Madam, I muft talk a Word with you. Queen. I have no more Sons of the Royal Blood For thee to flaughter; for my Daughters, Richard, They fhall be praying Nuns, not weeping Queens; And therefore level not to hit their Lives.
K. Rich. You have a Daughter call'd Elizabeth,
Virtuous and Fair, Royal and Gracious.
Queen. And muft fhe die for this? O let her live,
And I'll corrupt her Manners, ftain her Beauty,
Slander my felf as falfe to Edward's Bed:
Throw over her the Vail of Infamy,
So the may live unfcarr'd of bleeding Slaughter,
I will confefs fhe was not Edward's Daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her Birth, fhe is a Royal Princess.
Queen. To fave her Life I'll fay fhe is not fo.
K. Rich. Her Life is fafeft only in her Birth.
Queen. And only in that fafety dy'd her Brothers.
K. Rich. Lo, at their Birth good Stars were oppofite.
Queen. No, to their Lives ill Friends were contrary.
Q. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of Destiny.
Queen. True; when avoided Grace makes Destiny.
My Babes were deftin'd to a fairer Death,
If Grace had bleft thee with a fairer Life.
K. Rich. You fpeak as if that I had flain my Coufics? Queen. Coufins indeed, and by their Uncle cozen'd, Of Comfort, Kingdom, Kindred, Freedom, Life. Whofe Hands foever lanch'd their tender Hearts, Thy Head, all Indirectly, gave Direction, No doubt the murd'rous Knife was dull and blunt, 'Till it was whetted on thy Stone-hard Heart, To revel in the Intrails of my Lambs.
But that ftill ufe of Grief makes wild Grief tame,
My Tongue should to thy Ears not name my Boys,
Till that my Nails were anchor'd in thine Eyes;
And I in fuch a defp'rate Bay of Death,
Like a poor Bark of Sails and Tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy Rocky Bofom.
K. Rich. Madam, fo thrive I in my Enterprize,
And dangerous fuccefs of bloody Wars,
As I intend more good to you
Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd.
Queen. What good is cover'd with the Face of Heav'n, To be difcover'd, that can do me good?
K. Rich. Th'Advancement of your Children, gentle Lady. Queen. Up to fome Scaffold, there to lofe their Heads. K. Rich. Unto the dignity and heighth of Fortune, The high Imperial Type of this Earth's Glory. Queen. Flatter my Sorrow with report of it; Tell me, what State, what Dignity, what Honour Canft thou devife to any Child of mine?
K. Rich. Ev'n all I have; ay, and my felf and all, Will I withal endow a Child of thine:
So in the Lethe of thy angry Soul
Thou drown the fad remembrance of thofe Wrongs,
Which thou fuppofeft I have done to thee.
Queen. Be brief, left that the process of thy kindness Laft longer telling, than thy kindness date.
K. Rich. Then know,
That from my Soul I love thy Daughter.
Queen. My Daughter's Mother thinks it with her Soul. K. Rich. What do you think?
Queen. That thou doft love my Daughter from thy Soul.
So from thy Soul's love didft thou love her Brothers,
And from my Heart's love, I do thank thee for it.
K. Rich. Be not fo hafty to confound my meaning;
I mean, that with my Soul I love thy Daughter,
And do intend to make her Queen of England.
Queen. Well then, who doft thou mean fhall be her King,
K. Rich. Even he that makes her Queen;
K. Rich. E en fo; how think
Queen. How can'ft thou woo her?
K. Rich. That I would learn of you,
As one being beft acquainted with her Humour.
Queen. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich. Madam, with all my Heart.
Queen. Send to her, by the Man that flew her Brothers,
A pair of bleeding Hearts; thereon ingrave
Edward and Tork, then haply will the weep:
Therefore prefent to her, as fometime Margaret
Did to thy Father, fteept in Rutland's Blood,
A Handkerchief; which, fay to her, did drain
The purple fap from her fweet Brothers Bodies,
And bid her wipe her weeping Eyes withal.
If this Inducement move her not to Love,
Send her a Letter of thy Noble Deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'ft away her Uncle Clarence,
Her Uncle Rivers; ay, and for her fake,
Mad'ft quick Conveyance with her good Aunt Anne. ́¡
K. Rich. You mock me, Madam, this is not the way
To win your Daughter.
Queen. There is no other way,
Unless thou could'ft put on fome other Shape,
And not be Richard, that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her.
Queen. Nay then indeed the cannot chufe but hate thee,
Having bought love with fuch a bloody Spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done, cannot be now amended: Men fhall deal unadvisedly fometimes.
Which after-hours give leisure to repent of.
If I did take the Kingdom from your Sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your Daughter:
If I have kill'd the Iffue of your Womb,
To quicken your encrease I will beget
Mine Iffue of your blood, upon your Daughter:
A Grandam's name is little lefs in love,
Than is the doting Title of a Mother;
They are as Children but one step below,
Even of your Metal, of your very Blood:
Of all one pain, fave for a Night of Groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like Sorrow.
Your Children were Vexation to your Youth,
But mine fha'l be a comfort to your Age,
The lofs you have is but a Son being King,
And by that lof your Daughter is made Queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept fuch kindness as I can.
Dorset, your Son, that with a fearful Soul
Leads difcontented Steps in Foreign Soil,
This fair Alliance quickly fhall call home
To high Promotions and great Dignity.
The King that call yo ir beauteous Daughter Wife,
Familiarly fhall call thy Dorfet Brother:
Again fhall you be Mother to a King;
And all the ruins of diftrefsful Times,
Repair'd with double Riches of Content.
What? we have many goodly Days to fee:
The liquid drops of Tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transform'd to Orient Pearl,
Advantaging their Love with Interest
Oftentimes double gain of Happiness.
Go then, my Mother, to thy Daughter, go,
Make bold her bafhful Years with your Experience,
Prepare her Ears to hear a Wooer's tale.
Put in her tender Heart th' afpiring Alme
Of golden Sovereignty; acquaint the Princess
With the fweet filent hours of Marriage Joys;
And when this Arm of mine hath chaftifed
The petty Rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant Garlands will I come,
And lead thy Daughter to a Conqueror's Bed;
To whom I will retail my Conqueft won,
And the fhall be fole Victrefs, Cafar's Cafar.
Queen. What were I beft to fay, her Father's Brother
Would be her Lord? or fhall I fay, her Uncle?
Or he that flew her Brothers? and her Uncles?
Under what Title fhall I woo for thee,
That God, the Law, my Honour, and her Love,
Can make feem pleafing to her tender Years?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's Peace by this Alliance.
Queen. Which the hall purchase with still lasting War.
K. Rich. Tell her, the King, that may command, intreats.
Queen. That at her Hands, which the King's King forbids.
K. Rich. Say, the fhall be a high and mighty Queen.
Queen. To vail the Title, as her Mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlaftingly.
Queen. But how long fhall that Title ever laft?
K. Rich. Sweetly in force, unto her fair life's end.
Queen. But how long, fairly, thall her fweet life last?
K. Rich. As long as Heav'n and Nature lengthens it.
Queen. As long as Hell and Richard likes of it.
K. Rich, Say, I, her Sovereign, am her Subject low.
Queen. But the, your Subject, loaths fuch Sovereignty.
K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Queen. An honeft Tale speeds beft, being plainly told.
K. Rich. Then, plainly, to her tell my loving Tale.
Queen. Plain and not honeft, is too harsh a Stile.
K. Rich. Your Reasons are too fhallow, and too quick.
Queen. O no, my Reafons are too deep and dead;
Too deep and dead, poor Infants in their Graves,
Harp on it ftill fhall I, 'till Heart-strings break.
K. Rich. Harp not on that String, Madam, that is past. Now by my George, my Garter, and my CrownQueen. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third ufurp d. K. Rich. I fwear.
Queen. By nothing, for this is no Oath :
Thy George profan'd, hath loft his lordly Honour,
Thy Garter blemish'd, pawu'd his kingly Virtue,
Thy Crown ufurp'd, difgrac'd his kingly Glory:
If fomething thou would'st fwear to be believ'd,
Swear then by fomething that thou haft not wrong'd.
K. Rich. Then by my felf-
Queen. Thy felf is felf-mifus'd.
K. Rich. Now by the World T
Queen. 'Tis full of thy foul Wrongs.
K. Rich. My Father's Death-
Queen. Thy Life hath it difhonour'd.
K. Rich. Why then, by Heav'n-
Queen. Heav'n's Wrong is moft of all:
If thou didft fear to break an Oath with him,
The Unity the King my Husband made
Thou hadst not broken, nor my Brothers dy'd.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an Oath by him,
Th'Imperial Metal, circling now thy Head,
VOL. IV.
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