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Enter Queen Margaret.
Q. Mar. So now Prosperity begins to mellove,
And drop into the rotico mouth of Death:
Here in these Confines Nily 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 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 lixe 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 Miserics have crez'd my Voice, That my woe-wearied Tongue is still 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 such gentle Lambs, And throw them in the Intrails of the Wolf ? Why didst thou sleep when such a Decd was done?
Q. Mar, When Holy Henry dy’d, and my sweet San.
Durch. Dead Life, biind Sight, poor mortal living Ghoft,
Wocs Scene, Worlds shame, Graves due, by Life ufurpt,
Brief abstract and record of tedious Days,
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful Earth,
Unlawfully made drunk with incocent Blood.
Queen. Ah that thou wouldft as soon afford a Grave
As thou canst yield a melancholly Seat;
Then would I hide my Bones, not rest them here.
Ab who hath any cause to mourn but we?
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'st an Edward, 'till a Richard killed him;
Thou had'st a Richard 'rill a Richard kill'd him.
Dutch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
Q. Mar. Thou hadlt 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 chase us to our Graves.
O upright, just, 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:
God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. Mar. Bear with me: I am hụngry 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 bur 'boot, because both they
Match'd not the high perfection of my Loss.
Thy Clarence he is dead that stab'd my Edward;
And the beholders of this francick Play,
Th'adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vanghan, Gray,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky Graves.
Richard yet lives, Hell's black Intelligencer,
Only resery'd their Factor to buy Souls,
And send them thither: But at hand, at hand
Insues his piteous and unpitied End.
gapes, Hell burns, Fiends roar, Saints pray,
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 thou didit Prophesie the time would come,
That I should with for thee to help me Curse
That bottel'd Spider, that foul bunch-back'd Toad.
Q. Mar. I call’d thee then, yain flourish of my Fortune: I called thee then, poor Shadow, painted Queen, The representation of but what I was ; The flattering Index of a direfu 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 walt, a garish Flag To be the aim of every dang'rous Shot; A sign of Dignity, a Breath, a Bubble; A Q'reen in jest, only to fill the Scere. 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 diftress'd Widow; For joyful Mother, one that wails the Name; For one being su'd to, one that humbly sues; For Qreen, a very Caytiff crown'd with Care; For the that fcorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me; For she being fear'd of all, now fearing one; For the commanding all, obeyed of none. Thus hath the course of Justice whirl'd about, And left thee but a very prey to Time, Having no more but thought of what thou wast, To toreure thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my Place, and doft thou not Ulu:p the juft proportion of my Sorrow? Now thy proud Neck bears half my burthen'd Yoak, From which, even here I Nip my wearied Head, And leave the burthen of it all on thee. Farewel York's Wife, and Queen of fad Mischance, These Ex lijk Woes shall make me smile in France.
Oneen. Othou well skill'd in Curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curfe mine Enemies.
Qomiar. Forbear to sleep the Night, and fast the Day: Coinpare dead Happiness with living Woe; Think that thy Babes were sweeter than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is: Bett'ring thy loss makes the bad Causer worse, Revolving this, will teach thee how to curre.
Queen. My Words are dul, o quicken them with thịne.
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 do they ease the Heart.
Durch. If so, then be not Tongue-ty'd; go with me,
And in the breath of bitter Words, let's smother
My damned Son, thit thy two fweet Sons (mother'd.
The Trumpet sounds, be copious in exclaims.
Enter King Richard and his Train.
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition?
Durch. O me that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her accursed Womb,
From all the flaughters, Wretch, that thou hast done.
Queen. Hid'lt thou that Forehead with a Golden Crown,
Where't should be branded, if that right were right?
The Naughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crown,
And the dire death of my poor Sons and Brothers.
Tell me, thou Villain-llave, 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; strike Alarum Drums :
Let not the Heav'ns hear these Tell-tale Women
Rail on the Lord's Anointed. Strike, I say.
[Flourish, Alarimise Either be patient, and intreat me fair,
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.
Datch. Then patiently hear my Impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your Condition,
That cannot brook the accent of Reproof.
Durch. O let me speak.
K. Rich. Do then, but I'll not hear.
Durch. I will be mild and gentle in my Words.
K. Rich. And brief, good Mother, for I am in haste.
Dutch. Art thou so hafty? I have staid for thee,
God knows, in Torment and in Agony.
K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you?
Dutch. Noby the holy Rood, thouknow'st it well,
Thou cam'it on Earth to make the Earth my Hell.
Á 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, 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 so disgracious in your Eye,
Let me march
on and not offend you, Madam,
Strike up the Drum.
Dutch. I prithe hear me speak.
K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Durch. Hicar me a Word,
For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.
Durch. 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 rever more behold thy Face again.
Therefore take with thee my most grievous Curse,
Which, in the Day of Battel, tire thee more,