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He should, for that, commit your godfathers.
0! belike his majesty hath some intent
That you should be new-christen'd in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest
As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wizard told him that by G
His issue disinherited should be;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these co
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.
Glou. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by

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You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man: we say the king
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing

And thatthequeen's kindredare made gentle folks.
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought
to do.

Glou. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone.


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I must perforce: farewell. Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard.

Glou. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return,

Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands. 120
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!
Glou. As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
Well are you welcome to this open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?
Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners


But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glou. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;


For they that were your enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him as you.
Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd,
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
Glou. What news abroad?

Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home;
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.

Glou. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.

O! he hath kept an evil diet long,
And overmuch consum'd his royal person :
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What! is he in his bed?

Hast. He is.


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SCENE II.-The Same. Another Street, Enter the corpse of King HENRY the Sixth, borne in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; and Lady ANNE as mourner. Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these


Lo! in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.


O cursed be the hand that made these holes ;
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
More direful bap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!,
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect


May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him
Than I am made by my young lord and thee!
Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And still, as you are weary of this weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.
The Bearers take up the corpse and advance.



Glou. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend,

To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Avaunt! thou dreadful minister of hell;
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have: therefore, be gone.
Glou. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst,
Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and
trouble us not;


For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
O! gentlemen; see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blcod

Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.

O God! which this blood mad'st, revenge death;


O earth which this blood drink'st, revenge his death;

Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead,

or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

Glou. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor

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No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. Glou. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

Anne. O! wonderful, when devils tell the truth. Glou. More wonderful when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glou. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have

Some patient leisure to excuse myself. Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, then canst make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glou. By such despair I should accuse myself. Anne. And by despairing should'st thou stand excus'd

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
Glou. Say that I slew them not.

Then say they were not slain:

Glou. Villains! set down the corse; or, by But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. Saint Paul,

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Glou. I did not kill your husband.
Why, then he is alive.
Glou. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's


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Glon. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

Glow. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck;

You should not blemish it if I stood by:
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.
Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and
death thy life!


Glou. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. Glou. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be feveng'd on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. Glou. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy hu-band, Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.


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Nor when thy war-like father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death,
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with

I never sued to friend nor enemy:

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words;

But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
speak. She looks scornfully at him. 170
Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

He lays his breast open: she offers at it
with his sword.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry;
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young


But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on."
She lets fall the sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy

I will not be the executioner.

Glou. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. Anne. I have already.


That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and even with the word,
This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy

Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love:
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would I knew thy heart.
Glou. 'Tis figured in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me both are false.

Glou. Then never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glou. Say, then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter.
Glou. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glou. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take is not to give.



Glou. Look how this ring encompasseth thy finger,

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it?

Glou. That it may please you leave these sad designs

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place;
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd
At Chertsey monastery this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
I will with all expedient duty see you:
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.


Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too

To see you are become so penitent.
Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.
Glou. Bid me farewell.


'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.

Exeunt Lady ANNE, TRESSEL, and

Glou. Sirs, take up the corse.
Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
Glou. No, to White-Friars; there attend my
Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
Was ever woman in this humour won?
I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;


SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen ELIZABETH, Lord RIVERS, and Lord GREY.

Riv. Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty

Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him


Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide

on me?

Grey. No other harm but loss of such a lord. Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms.

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,

To be your comforter when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah! he is young; and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protector? Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet : But so it must be if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY. Grey. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace! Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you

have been!

Q. Eliz. The Countess Richmond, good my
Lord of Stanley,

To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd

Having God, her conscience, and these bars I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

against me,

And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!


Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,

Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,
The spacious world cannot again afford:
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet


And made her widow to a woeful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt and am misshapen thus ?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier
I do mistake my person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass,
And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave,
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.



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Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accus'd on true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Stanley ?

Stan. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty.

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer

with him?

Buck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atonement

Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,

And between them and my lord chamberlain ;
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
Q. Eliz. Would all were well! But that will
never be.

I fear our happiness is at the highest.

Eater GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET. Glou. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:

Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not! By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.

Because I cannot flatter and speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?


Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?

Glou. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.
When have linjur'd thee? when done thee wrong?
Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all! His royal person,
Whom God preserve better than you would wish!
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, 60
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake
the matter.

The king, of his own royal disposition,
And not provok'd by any suitor else,
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward action shows itself
Against my kindred, brothers, and myself,
Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

Glou. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch:


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That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.

Q. Eliz. By him that rais'd me to this careful height

From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
I never did incense his majesty
Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury,
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
Glou. You may deny that you were not the mean
Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
Rir. She may, my lord; for-


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Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech him!

Thy honour, state and seat is due to me.

Glou. What! threat you me with telling of the king?

Tell him, and spare not look! what I have said
I will avouch in presence of the king:
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot.

Q. Mar. Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.


Glou. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king,

I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends;

To royalise his blood I spilt mine own.

Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or thine.

Glou. In all which time you and your husband

Were factious for the house of Lancaster ;
And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? 130
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere now, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar. A murderous villain, and so still thouart.
Glou. Poor Clarence did forsake his father

Ay, and forswore himself, which Jesu pardon! Q. Mar. Which God revenge!

Glou. Tofight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's, Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine: I am too childish-foolish for this world.


Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world,

Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is.

Riv. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king; So should we you, if you should be our king. Glou. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar. Far be it from my heart the thought thereof! 150 Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.


Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? 160 If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? Ah! gentle villain, do not turn away.

Glou. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my sight?

Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go.

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