But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds,
That trudge between the King and Mistress Shore.
Heard you not what an humble fuppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

1

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity,
Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the King,
To be her men, and wear her livery.
The jealous o'erworn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beg your Graces both to pardon me:
His Majesty has straitly giv'n in charge,
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree foever, with your brother.

Gl2. Ev'n fo, an't please your Worship, Brakenbury! You may partake of any thing we fay: We fpeak no treason, man we say the King Is wife and virtuous; and his Noble Queen Well strook in years; fair, and not over-jealous We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,... A cherry lip, a paffing pleasing tongue: That the Queen's kindred are made gentle-folk. How fay you, Sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my Lord, myself have nought to do. Glo. What, fellow? nought to do with Mistress Shore? I tell you, Sir, he that doth naught with her, Excepting one, were best to do it secretly. Brak. What one, my Lord?

:

Glo. Her husband, knave-wouldst thou betray me? Brak. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, : And to forbear your conf'rence with the Duke.

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will

obey.

Glo. We are the Queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewel; I will unto the King, And whatfoe'er you will employ me in, (Were it to call King Edward's widow fister), I will perform it to infranchise you. Mean time, this deep disgrace of brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

:

Clar.

Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

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

Clar. I must perforce; farewel. (Exe. Brak. Clar.
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 foul to heav'n,
If heav'n will take the present at my hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Haftings?

Enter Lord Hastings.

:

Haft. Good time of day unto my gracious Lord. Glo. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain ! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your Lordship brook'd imprisonment ? Haft. With patience, Noble Lord, as pris'ners muft; 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 Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

Haft. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. Glo. What news abroad?

Haft. No news fo bad abroad as this at home:

The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy;
And his phyficians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by St. Paul, that news is bad indeed.

O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much confum'd his royal perfon:
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
Where is he? in his bed?

Haft. He is, my Lord.

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.

[Exit Hallings.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
Till George be pack'd with poft-horse up to heav'n.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well fteel'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 !

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 I, not all fo much for love,
As for another secret close intent,
Which I, by marrying her, 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.

:

SCENE II. Changes to a street.

[Exit.

Enter the corse of Henry the Sixth, with halberts to guard it, Lady Anne being the mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a herse; Whilft I a while obsequioufly lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor clay-cold figure of a holy King! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be't lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd fon; Stabb'd by the self-fame hand that made these wounds. Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Curs'd be the hand that made these fatal holes ! Curs'd be the heart that had the heart to do it! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, fpiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural afpect May fright the hopeful mother at the view: And that be heir to his unhappiness!

If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miferable by the death of him,
Than I am made by my young Lord and thee !
Come now tow'rds Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there.
And ftill, as you are weary of this weight,
Reft you, while I lament King Henry's corsfe.

Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester.

Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds ?

Glo. Villains fet down the corse, or, by St. Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Gen. My Lord, ftand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I command; Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by St. Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And fpurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas! I blame you not, for you are mortal; And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadit but power over his mortal body; His foul thou can't not hurt; therefore be gone. Glo. Sweet faint, for charity, be not so curs'd. Anne. Foul dev'l! for God's fake, hence, trouble us For thou haft made the happy earth thy hell; [not; Fill'd it with curfing cries, and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. Oh, gentlemen, see! fee dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy prefence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells. Thy deeds, inhumane and unnatural. Provoke this deluge most unnatural.

O God! which this blood mad'st, revenge his death : O Earth! which this blood drink'st, revenge his death. Or, Heav'n, with lightning strike the murth'rer dead, Or, Earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick;

As

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, bleflings for curfes.
Anne. Villain, thou know'it nor law of God nor man;
No beast so fierce, but knows fome touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beaft.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!-
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed crimes, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed felf.

Glo, Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leifure to excuse myself.

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst No excufe current, but to hang thyself. [make

Glo. By fuch despair I should accuse myself. Anne. And by defpairing shalt thou stand excus'd, For doing worthy vengeance on thyfelf, That didit unworthy flaughter upon others. Glo. Say that I flew them not. Anne. Then fay they were not flain: But dead they are, and, devilish flave, by thee. * Glo. I did not kill your husband. Anne. Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead, and flain by Edward's hands. Anne. In thy foul throat thou ly'st. Queen Marg'ret Thy murd'rous faulchion smoking in his blood: [faw The which thou once didst bend against her breaft, 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 dream'd on aught but butcheries.
Didst thou not kill this King?

Glo. I grant ye.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then God grant me Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!

O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

[toe

Glo