excus'd;

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

Anne. Some dungeon.

Glo. Your bedchamber.

Anne. Il rest betide the chamber where thou 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. Thou 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,

band.

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

Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the

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. dost Out of my sight! thou 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 aspécts 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
bim:

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; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,

Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.

I never su'd to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word

But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

[She looks scornfully at him. Teach not thy lip such scora; 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 kiug 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,

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.

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 sha!! I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, five so.
Glo. Vouchsafe 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 I 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 won?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband,

father

and

his

The spacious world cannot again afford : And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

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. [Exit. 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

worse:

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 of 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 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 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,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
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, 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: his grace speaks cheerfully.

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

Buck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atonement

me:

Which of you trembles not, that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects;

Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like re

bels ?

Ah! gentle villain, do not turn away!

Glo. 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.

Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain death?

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain
banishment,

Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me,-
And thou, a kingdom;-all of you, allegiance :
This sorrow that I have, by right is your's;
And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine.

of

in

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee,

When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,

And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes;

And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland;

His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounc'd against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. Hast. O 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,

And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to

see it.

Q. Mar. What were you snarling all, before 1 came,

Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with
heaven,

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can cutses pierce the clouds, and enter hea-
ven ?-

Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick

curses!

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As our's by murder, to make him a king!
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth by like untimely violence!
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's
loss;

And see another, as I see thee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen !—
Rivers, and Dorset, you were standers by,
And so wast thon, lord Hastings, when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray
him,

That none of you may live your natural age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!
Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wi-
ther'd bag.

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,

• Pillaged.

The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul !
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity

The slave of nature, and the son of hell!
Thou ɛlander of thy mother's heavy womb;
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rug of honour ! thou detested–
Glo. Margaret.

Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience. Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd mine.

Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your duty.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty,

Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects:

O serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty.

Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert:

Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce cur. rent: +

O that your young nobility could judge,
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!
They that stand high, have many blast to shake
them;

And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

Glo. Good counsel, marry ;-learn it, learn it, marquis.

Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as