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Thy murderous falchion 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 tongue, 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 ?

Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog ? then, God grant

me too,
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
0, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath him.
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never

I grant ye.


Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him

For he was fitter for that place, than earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me

name it.
Anne. Some dungeon.

Your bed-chamber.
Anne. Ill 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. 8 i.e. the crime of my brothers. He has just charged the murder of Lady Anne's husband on Edward.

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 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: 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, To be reveng'd on him that killd my husband:

Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. Anne. His better doth not breathe


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?

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 9! Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death 10. 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 11 tear,No,-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


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 tear12 ; 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.

story of

9 See notes on King Henry V. Act v. Sc. 2, p.517; and King Henry VI. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2, p. 198.

10 We have the same expression in Venus and Adonis applied to love :

For I have heard it is a life in death

That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.' Pope adopts it:

a living death I bear, Says Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair.' And in Watson's Sonnets, printed about 1580 :

• Love is a sowre delight, a sugred griefe,

A living death, and ever-dying life.' 11 Pitiful.

12 Here is an apparent reference to King Henry VI. Part 11. Act ii, Sc. 1.

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 13. 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


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.
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 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 never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.

13 Shakspeare countenances the observation that no woman can ever be offended with the mention of her beauty.

Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live 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

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place 14 :
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 15 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 Berkley, go along with me.

Glo. Bid me farewell.

'Tis more than


deserve: 14 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 neighbouring church of St. Helen the Great.

15 i. e. expeditious.

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