Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus.
Glou. Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious
wreaths;

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled
front;

11

And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's
majesty

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time 20
Into this breathing world, scarce half made
up,

30

And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clar-

ence comes.

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But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest

As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wizard told him that by G
His issue disinherited should be;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these CO
Have moved his highness to commit me now.
Glou. Why, this it is, when men are ruled

by women:

'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there,

That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,

From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. 70 Clar. By heaven, I think there's no man is

secure

But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds

That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress
Shore.

Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Glou. 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 favor 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 gentle-
women,

Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

80

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon

me;

His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glou. Even so; an't please your worship,
Brakenbury,

You may partake of any thing we say :
We speak no treason, man: we say the king 9C
Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing
tongue;

And that the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks :

How say you, sir? can you deny all this? Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

Glou. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone.

Brak.

What one, my lord?

100

Glou. Her husband, kuave wouldst thou betray me?

Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Glou. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.

110

Brother, farewell : will unto the king;
And whatsoever you will employ me in,
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glou. Well, your imprisonment shall not be
long;

I will deliver you, or else lie for you :
Meantime, have patience.

Clar.
I must perforce. Farewell.
[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard.
Glou. Go, tread the path that thou shalt

ne'er return,

Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Has-
tings?

Enter LORD HASTINGS.

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord !

Glou. As much unto my good lord chamberlain !

Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:

But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glou. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall

Clarence too;

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 so much for love As for another secret close intent,

By marrying her which I must reach untc. But yet I run before my horse to market: 160 Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and

reigns:

When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit.

SCENE II. The same. Another street. Enter the corpse of KING HENRY the Sixth, Gentlemen with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down your honorable load,

If honor may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, 10
Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these

wounds!

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! 20
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
As miserable by the death of him
As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
Come, now towards Chertsey with your ho
load,

Glou. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend,

To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glou. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,

I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

Glou. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command:

Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, 40
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn 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 hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have; therefore be
gone.

Glou. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;

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For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood
dwells;

Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.

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O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!

O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death!

Either heaven with lightning strike the mur

derer dead,

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself. Glou. By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Anne. And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused;

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. Glou. Say that I slew them not?

Anne. Why, then they are not dead : But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. Glou. I did not kill your husband. 91 Anne. Why, then he is alive. Glou. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Anne, In thy foul throat thou liest : Queen Margaret saw

Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood: The which thou once didst bend against her ⚫ breast,

But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glou. I was provoked by her slanderous

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words;

But, now thy beauty is proposed my fee, 170 My proud heart sues and prompts my tongue to speak. [She looks scornfully at him. Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were 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 bosom,
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. 181
Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young
Edward,

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[Here 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 the executioner.

Glou. Then bid me kill myself, and I will

do it.

Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;

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To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary.

Anne. I would I knew thy heart.

Glou. 'Tis figured in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me both are false.
Glou. Then never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glou. Say, then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.
Glou. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glou. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take is not to give.

200

Glou. 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 suppliant may
But beg one favor at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it?

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Glou. That it would please thee 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 monastery 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, 220