Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, Glo. I grant ye. Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too, Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed! Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath him. come. 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. name it. Anne. Some dungeon. Glo. Your bed-chamber. Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! 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, 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 kill'd 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 upon the earth. Glo. Anne. Plantagenet. 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 9! 11 Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once; And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to [She looks scornfully at him. speak. 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:- 11 Pitiful. 12 Here is an apparent reference to King Henry VI, Part 111. Act ii. Sc. 1. Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made ́ Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, [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 up 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. Glo. That was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. Glo. Then never man was true. Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 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? [She puts on the ring. But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs 14 To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, 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: 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. |