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.—

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!

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

Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead,

Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick; 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, blessings for curses. Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God

nor man;

No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
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 evils, 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 self.

Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have

Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

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

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd;

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

Anne. Why then, they are not dead:

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never

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. Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

Anne. Some dungeon.

Glo. Your bed-chamber.

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 ?

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect.

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;

Glo. I did not kill your

husband.

Anne. Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen Margaret saw

Thy murderous faulchion 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 iny guiltless shoulders. Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king?

Glo. I grant ye.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant me too,

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

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. He lives, that loves you better than he could.

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!

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at

once ;

For now they kill me with a living death. 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 tear,-
Not 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 story of my 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 tear ;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with
weeping.

I never sued 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.
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.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I, that stabb'd young
Edward-Sheagain 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.

Gio. That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and even with the word,

Glo. Then man Was never true.

Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know
Hereafter.

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 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 monast'ry, 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,

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. Take up the corse, sirs.

Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?
Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my

coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the corse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
Was ever woman in this humour won?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
With God, her conscience, and these bars against

me,

And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her,-all the world to nothing!

Clo. 'Tis figur'd in

My tongue.

Anne. I fear me, both are false.

Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I some three months

since,

Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,— Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,-
The spacious world cannot again afford:
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus!
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-plass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave;
And then return lamenting to my love.-
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit.
SCENE III.-The same. A room in the palace.
Enter Queen ELIZABETH, Lord RIVERS, and
Lord GREY.

Rir. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt his majesty

Will soon recover his accustom'd health.
Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him

worse:

Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,

And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me?

Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms.

Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,

To be your comforter, when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority Is put into the trust of Richard Gloster, À man, that loves not me, nor none of you. Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector? Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY. Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace! Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley,

To your good prayer will scarcely say-amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers;
Or, if she be accused on true report,

Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers,
And between them and my lord chamberlain ;
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
Q. Eliz. 'Would all were well!-But that
will never be ;-

I fear, our happiness is at the height.

Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET. Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it :

Who are they, that complain unto the king,
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly,
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours,
Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?

Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace.

When have I injur'd thee? when done thee

wrong?

Or thee?-or thee?-or any of your faction?
A plague upon you all! His royal grace,-
Whom God preserve better than you would
wish!-

Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.
Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the

matter:

The king, of his own royal disposition,
And not provok'd by any suitor else;
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward action shows itself,
Against my children, brothers, and myself,
Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it.

Glo. I cannot tell;-The world is grown so bad,

That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch:

Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloster;

You envy my advancement, and my friends s;
God grant, we never may have need of you!
Glo. Meantime, God grants that we have need
of you!

Our brother is imprison'd by your means,
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility

Held in contempt; while great promotions
Are daily given, to enoble those

That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.

Q. Eliz. By Him, that rais'd me to this careful height

From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
I never did incense his majesty
Against the duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury,
Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
Glo. You may deny that you were not the

cause

Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
Riv. She may, my lord; for-

Glo. She may, lord Rivers?—why, who knows not so?

She may do more, sir, than denying that:
She may help you to many fair preferments;
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
And lay those honours on your high desert.
What may she not? She may,-ay, marry, may
she,-

Riv. What, marry, may she?

Glo. What, marry, may she? marry with a king,

A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:
I wis, your grandam had a worser match.

Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long

borne

Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs:
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty
Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd.
I had rather be a country servant-maid,
Than a great queen, with this condition-
To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at:
Small joy have I in being England's queen.

Enter Queen MARGARET, behind.

I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends;
To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own.
Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his,
or thine.

Glo. In all which time, you, and your hus-
band Grey,

Were factious for the house of Lancaster ;— And, Rivers, so were you :-Was not your hus band

In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere now, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still
thou art.

Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father
Warwick,

Ay, and forswore himself,-Which Jesu pardon!

Q. Mar. Which God revenge!

Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown; And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up: I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's,

Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine;
I am too childish-foolish for this world.

Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave
this world,

Thou cacodamon! there thy kingdom is.

Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days, Which here you urge, to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king; So should we you, if you should be our king. Glo. If I should be?—I had rather be a ped

lar:

Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you sup

pose

beseech thee!

If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects; bels?

Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like re

Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!

Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my sight?

Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;

That will I make, before I let thee go.

Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banishment, Than death can yield me here by my

abode.

A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me,-
And thou, a kingdom;-all of you, allegiance:
This sorrow, that I have, by right is yours;
And all the pleasures, you usurp, are mine.

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,

And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes; And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland;His curses, then from bitterness of soul

Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,

And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. Rie. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all, before I came,

Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with
heaven,

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?—
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick
curses!-

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder, to make him a king!
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss;
And see another, as I see thee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
Rivers, and Dorset, you were standers by,-
And so wast thou, lord Hastings,-when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray

him,

That none of you may live your natural age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag.

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
0, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!

Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be, while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
Thou, that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature, and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour! thou detested-
Glo. Margaret.

Q. Mar. Richard!
Glo. Ha?

Q. Mar. I call thee not,

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names. Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse. Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in-Margaret. Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself.

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of
my fortune!

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider,
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd
toad.

Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic