Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. • Grim visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled frout:

And now,-instead of mounting barbed + steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,-
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I that an rudely stamp'd, and want love's ma-
jesty,

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
1, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unánish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore-since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,-
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, linels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if king Edward be as true and just,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up;
About a prophecy, which says-that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderers shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence

comes.

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKEN

BURY.

His majesty hath straitly given in charge,
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Bia kenbury,

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 bouny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, Sir? can you deny all this?
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have naught
to do.

Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.
Brak. What one, my lord?

Glo. Her husband, kuave :-Would'st thou betray me?

Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me, and, withal,

Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed,
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
Glo. Upon what cause?

Clar. Because my name is-George.

Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of your's;

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and

will obey.

will deliver you, or else lie for you: Mean time, have patience.

Clar. I must perforce; farewell.

[Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard.

Glo. 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.
But who comes here? the new deliver'd Hast-
ings?

Enter HASTINGS.

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

Glo. 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

must:

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

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Cla

rence too;

For they, that were your enemies, are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

The Queen and Shore. 1 Lowest of subjecta.

While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. 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.

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

Oh he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person;
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed?

Hast. He is.

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit HASTINGS. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die, Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to

heaven.

I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take king Edward to his
mercy,

And leave the world for me to bustle in 1

For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:

What! though I kill'd her husband and her father,

The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is to become her husband, and her father:
The which will 1; not all so much for love,
As for another secret clos: intent,

By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes: Edward still lives and
reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my
gains.
[Exit.
SCENE II.-The same. Another Street.
Enter the corpse of King HENRY the Sixth,
borne in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing
halberts 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 a while 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
wounds!

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes:-
Oh! cursed be the hand that made these holes!
Cursed the heart, that bad 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 be have child, abortive be it,
Prodigions, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect

May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to bis unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him,
Thau I am made by my young lord
thee!-
Come, now, toward Chertsey with your
load,

and

holy

And, still as yon are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's

ex

For thou hast made the happy earth thy bell,
Fill'd it with
cursing cries, and deep
claims.
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 blood
dwells;

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

O God, which this blood madest, revenge bis death!

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

Either, heaven, with lightning strike the nur

derer 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!
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which

renders good for bad, blessings for

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others..
Glo. Say, that I slew them not?

Anne. Why then, they are not dead :

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne. Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen Margaret saw

Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast,

But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongre,

That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,

That never dreamt on aught but butcheries :
Didst thou not kill this king?

To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my hus band.

Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy hnsband,

Did it to help thee to a better husband. Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

Glo. He lives that loves you better than be could.

Anne. Name him.

Glo. Plantagenet.

Anne. Why, that was he.

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature.

Anne. Where is he?

Glo. Here: [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me ?

Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once ;

For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,

Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops;

These eyes, which never shed remorseful. tear,

Not, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at
him:

Nor when thy warlike 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**

liest!

Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.

Glo. I know so.-But, gentle lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method;
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

Anne. Thon wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect.

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;

Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep, To undertake the death of all the world,

So I might live one hour in your sweet bo

som.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,

These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

Glo. These eyes would 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!

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

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on

thee.

Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,

To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,

breast,

And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upou 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 despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young
Edward;

[She again offers at his breast. 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 death,

I will not be thy executioner.

• Pitiful.

it.

Anne. I have already.

Glo. That was in thy rage:

Speak it again, and, even with the word, This band, which, for thy love, did kill love,

Shall for thy love, kill a far truer love:
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would I knew thy heart.
Glo. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then man was never true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope!
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vonchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take, is not to give.

[She puts on the ring. Glo. 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?

Glo. 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 monast'ry, 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.
Glo. Bid me farewell.

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

[Exeunt Lady ANNE, TRESSEL, and
BERKELEY.

Glo. Take up the corse, Sirs.
Kent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my
coming.

[Exeunt the rest, with the corse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ?
Was ever woman in this humour wou?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and

father

his

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 you fellow in his grave; ́
And then return lamenting to any love.-
Shine out, fair suu, till I have bought a
glass,

That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Erit.
SCENE III.-The rame.-A Room in the
Palace.

Enter Queen ELIZABETH, Lord RIVERS, and Lord GREY.

goodly son,

To be your comforter when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah! he is young; and his minority Is put into the trust of Richard Gloster, 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 tuy 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,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
Stan. I do beseech you either not believe
The envious slanders of her false acensers;
Or if she be accus'd on true report,
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, pro-
ceeds

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: bis grace speaks cheerfully.

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

Buck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atonement

prince,

And made her widow to a woeful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?

In Bishopsgale-street.