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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 Success and Vi&ory,
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end:
Shame serves thy Life, and doth thy Death attend. (Exit.

[ Queen. Tho' far more Cause, yet much less Spirit to curse Abides in me, I say Amen to her.

K. Rich. Stáy, Madam, I must talk a Word with you.

Queer. I have no more Sons of the Royal Blood For ihte to Naughter; for my Daughters, Richard, They shall 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 must she die for this? O let her live, And I'll corrupt her Manners, stain her Beauty,

Slander my self as false to Edward's Bed : 5 Throw over her the Vail of Infamy,

So the may live unscari'd of bleeding Slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's Daughter.

K. Rich. Wiong not her Birth, she is a Royal Princess.
Queen. To save her Life I'll say she is not so.
K. Rich. Her Life is safest only in her Birth.
Queen. And only in that safety dy'd her Brothers.
K. Rich. Lo, at their Birth good Stars were opposite.
Queen. No, to their Lives ill Friends were contrary,
O. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of Destiny.

Queen. True; when avoided Grace makes Destiny.
My Babes were destin'd to a fairer Death,
If Grace had bleft thee with a fairer Life.

K. Rich. You speak as if that I had Nain my Cousins ?

Queen. Cousins indeed, and by their Uncle cozen'd, Of Comfort, Kingdom, Kindred, Freedom, Life.

Whole Hands foever lanch'd their tender Hearts,
, Thy Head, all Indire&ly, gave Dirc&ion,

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 still use of Grief makes wild Grief rame,


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My Tongue should to thy Ears not name my Boys,
'Till that my Nails were anchor'd in thine Eyes ;
And I in such a desprate Bay of Death,
Like a poor Bark of Sails and Tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy Rocky Bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive 1 in my Enterprize,
And dangerous success of bloody Wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Than ever you or yours by me were harm’d.

Queen. What good is cover'd with the Face of Hearing To be discover'd, that can do me good?

K. Rich. Th’Advancement of your Children, gentle Lady. Queen, Up to fome Scaffold, there to lose 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
Canst thou devise to any Child of mine?

K. Rich. Ev'n all I have ; ay, and my self and all,
Will I withal endow a Child of thine:
So in the Lethe of thy angry Soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those Wrongs,
Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

Queen. Be brief, left that the process of thy kindness
Last 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 dost love my Daughter from thy Soul.
So from thy Soul's love didst thou love her Brothers,
And from my Heart's love, I do thank thee for it.

K. Rich. Be not so bafty 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 dost thou mean shall be her King.

K. Rich. Even he that makes her Queen;
Who else should be ?

Queen. What, thou!
K. Rich. E en fo; how think you of it?



E Queen. How can'ft thou woo her?
K. Rich. That I would learn of

As one being best 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 New her Brothers,
A pair of bleeding Hearts; thereon ingrave
Edward and Tork, then haply will the weep:

Therefore present to her, as sometime Margaret * Did to thy Father, steept in Rutland's Blood,

A Handkerchief; which, fay to her, did drain

The purple fap from her sweet 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'st away her Uncle Clarence,
Her Uncle Rivers; ay, and for her fake,

Mad'st 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,
Untels thou could'st put on some 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 she cannot chuse but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody Spoil

. K. Rich. Look, what is done, cannot be now amended: - S

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes.
Which after-hours give leisure to repent

If I did take the Kingdom from your Sons,

To make amends, I'll give it to your Daughter: $

If I have killed the issue of your Womb,
To quicken your encrease I will beget
Mine Issue of your blood, upon your Daughter:
A Grandam's name is little less 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, save for a Night of Groans
Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like Sorrow. .
Your Children were Vexation to your Youth,


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But mine mal be a comfort to your Age,
The loss you have is but a Son being King,
And by thit lof your Džughter is made Queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accepe such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your Son, that with a fearful Şoud
Leads discontented Steps in Foreign Soil,
This fair Alliance quickly shall call home
To high Promotions and great Dignity.
The King thit call yo ir beauteous Daughter Wife,
Familiariy shall call thy Dorset Brother:
Again shall you be Mother to a King;
And all the ruins of distressful Times,
Repair'd with double Riches of Content.
What? we have many goodly Days to see:
The liquid drops of Tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transform'd to Orient Pearl,
Advantaging their Love with Interest
Ofcentimes double gain of Happiness.
Go chen, my Mother, to thy Daughter, go,
Maka bold her bashful Years with your Experience
Pre are her Eirs to hear a Wooer's tale.
Put in her tender Heart th' aspiring Aime
Of golden Sovereignty; acquaiat the Princess
With the sweet filenc hours of Marriage Joys;
And when this Arm of mine hath chastised
The perty Rebel, dull-brain's Buckingham,
Bound wich triumphant Garlands will I come,
And lead thy Daughter to a Conqueror's Bed;
To whom I will retail my Conquest won,
And she Thall be sole Victress, Cæfar's Cæsar.

Queen. What were I best to say, her Father's Brother
Would be her Lord? or shall I say, her Uncle?
Or he that slew her Brothers and her Uncles?
Únder what Title shall I woo for thee,
That God, the Law, my Honour, and her Love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender Years?

K. Rich. Infer sair England's Peace by this Alliance.
Queen. Which she shall 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,


K. Rich. Say, the shall be a high and mighty Queen.
Queen. To vail the Title, as her Mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Queen. But how long shall that Title ever last:
K. Rich. Sweetly in force, unto her fair life's end.
Queen. But how long, fairly, shall her sweet life laft?
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 Subje& low.
Queen. But she, your Subječt, loaths such Sovereignty.
K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Queen. An honest Tale speeds best, being plainly told.
K. Rich. Then, plainly, to her tell my loving Tale.
Oween. Plain and not honest, is too harsh a Stile.
K. Rich. Your Reasons are too shallow, and too quick.

Queen. O no, my Reasons are too deep and dead;
Too deep and dead, poor Infants in their Graves,
Harp on it still shall I, 'till Heart-strings break.

K. Rich. Harp not on that String, Madam, that is part.
Now by my George, my Garter, and my

Queen. Profand, dishonour'd, and the third ufurp d.
K. Rich. I swear.
Queen. By nothing, for this is no Oath :
Thy George profan’d, hath lost his lordly Honour,
Thy Garter blemishd, pawu'd his kingly Virtue,
Thy Crown usurp’d, disgrac’d his kingly Glory:
If something thou would's swear to be believ'd,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

K. Rich. Then by my self
Queen. Thy self is self-misus'd.
R. Rich. Now by the World
Queen. 'Tis full of thy foul Wrongs.
K. Rich. My Father's Death-
Queen. Thy Life hath it dishonour'd.
K. Rich. Why then, by Heav'n

Queen. Heav'n's Wrong is most of all:
If thou didft fear to break an Oath with him,

The Unity the King my Husband made
1X Thou hadît not broken, nor my Brothers dy'd.

If thou hadlt fear'd to break an Oath by him, bine ThiImperial Metal, circling now thy Head, Vol. IV.



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