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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.

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:
God witnefs 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, because 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 Graves.
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 End.
Earth gapes, Hell burns, Fiends roar, Saints

pray,

To

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

Queen. O thou didit 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.

Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my Fortune:
I call'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 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 fhe being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For the commanding all, obeyed of none.
Thus hath the courfe of Juftice 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
Ufuip the juft proportion of my Sorrow?
Now thy proud Neck bears half my 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 sad Mischance,
Thefe English Woes fhall make me fmile in France.

Queen

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

Q.Mar. Forbear to fleep the Night, and fast 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 du 1, O quicken them with thịne.
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 Miferics,

Let them have scope, though what they will impart
Help nothing elfe, yet do they ease the Heat.

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 in 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't 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

Dutch. Thou Toad, thou Toad,

Where is thy Brother Clarence?

And little Ned Plantagenet his Son?

Children?

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 say.

Either be patient, and intreat me fair,

[Flourish, Alarums.

Or with the clamorous reports of War
Thus will I drown your Exclamations.
Dutch. Ait 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.
Dutch. O let me fpeak.

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 camt 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 nope 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 shall never speak to thee again.

K. Rich. So.

Dutch. Either thou wilt die 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 Curfe,
Which, in the Day of Battel, tire thee more,

Than

Than all the compleat Armor that thou wear.
My Prayers on the adverfe 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 fhe 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 Princefs.
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.
K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of Deftiny.
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 Coufins?
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 till ufe of Grief makes wild Grief tame,

My

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