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Say, that I slew them not?
Why, then they are not dead; But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;
Glo. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue,
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
I grant ye.
Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant
Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.
Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;
For he was fitter for that place than earth.
Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
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?
Thou wast the cause, and most accursed effect.
Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
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.
Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck.
You should not blemish it, if I stood by ;
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. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he could. Anne. Name him.
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
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once;
For now they kill me with a living death.
My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word;
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
[He lays his breast open; she offers at it with
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry ;-
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabbed young
[She again offers at his breast. But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[She lets fall the sword.
the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be thy executioner.
Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
[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 favor at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness forever.
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 interred, At Chertsey monast'ry, this noble king,
1 Crosby Place is now Crosby Square, in Bishopsgate Street. This magnificent house was built in 1466, by sir John Crosby, grocer and woolman. He died in 1475. The ancient hall of this fabric is still remaining, though divided by an additional floor, and encumbered with modern galleries, having been converted into a place of worship for Antinomians, &c. The upper part of it was lately the warehouse of an eminent packer. Sir J. Crosby's tomb is in the neighboring church of St. Helen the Great.
And wet his grave with my repentant tears-
Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent.— Tressel, and Berkley, 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 BERKLEY.
Glo. Sirs, take up the corse.
Towards Chertsey, noble lord? Glo. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the corse.
Was ever woman in this humor wooed?
With God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
1 i. e. expeditious.
2 This fixes the exact time of the scene to August, 1471. King Edward, however, is introduced in the second act dying. That king died in April, 1483; consequently there is an interval between this and the next act of almost twelve years. Clarence, who is represented in the preceding scene as committed to the Tower before the burial of king Henry VI., was in fact not confined nor put to death till March, 1477-8, seven years afterwards.