Is Clarence, Henry, and his Son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for Ifsue of their Bodies, To take their Rooms e'er I can place my self: A cold premeditation for my purpose. Why then I do but dream on Sovereignty, Like one that stands upon a Promontory, And spys a far-off thore, where he would tread, Wishing his Foot were equal with his Eye, And chides the Sea that funders him from thence, Saying, he'll lave it dry to have his way: So do I wish the Crown, being so far off, And fo I chide the means that keep me from it, And fo (I fay) I'll cut the Causes off, Flattering me with Impoffibilities:
My Eye's too quick, my Heart o'er-weens too much, Unless my Hand and Strength could equal them. Well, fay there is no Kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the World afford ? I'll make my Heaven in a Lady's lap, And deck my Body in gay Ornaments, And 'witch sweet Ladies with my Words and Looks. Oh miferable thought! and more unlikely, Than to accomplish twenty Golden Crowns. Why, Love forswore me in my Mother's Womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft Laws, She did corrupt frail Nature with some Bribe, To shrink mine Arm like to a wither'd shrub, To make an envious Mountain on my Back, Where fits Deformity to mock my Body; To shape my Legs of an unequal fize, To disproportion me in every part: Like to a Chaos, or unlick'd Bear whelp That carries no impreffion like the Dam. And am I then a Man to be belov'd? Oh monstrous Fault, to harbour such a Thought. Then since this Earth affords no Joy to me, But to command, to check, to o'er-bear such As are of better Perfon than my felf; I'll make my Heaven to dream upon the Crown, And w! iles I live t'account this World but Hell, Until this mif-shap'd Trunk that bears this Head,
Be round impaled with a glorious Crown. And yet I know not how to get the Crown, For many Lives stand between me and home: And I, like one lost in a thorny Wood, That rents the Thorns, and is rent with the Thorns, Seeking a way, and straying from the way, Not knowing how to find the open Air, But toiling defperately to find it out, Torment my self to catch the English Crown; And from that torment I will free my self, Or hew my way out with a bloody Ax. Why I can smile, and murther whiles I smile, And cry, Content, to that which grieves my Heart, And wet my Cheeks with artificial Tears, And frame my Face to all Occasions. I'll drown more Sailors than the Mermaid shall, I'll flay more Gazers than the Bafilisk, I'll play the Orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more flily than Ulyffes could, And like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add Colours to the Camelion, Change shapes with Proteus for Advantages, And fit the murtherous Matchevil to School. Can I do this, and cannot get a Crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.
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Flourish.. Enter King Lewis, Bona, Bourbon, Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis fits, and riseth up again.
K. Lew. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, Sit down with us; it ill befits thy State, And Birth, that thou should'st stand, whiles Lewis fits. Queen. No, mighty King of France; now Margaret Must strike her Sail, and learn a while to serve, Where Kings command. I was, I must confefs, Great Albion's Queen, in former golden Days: But now mischance hath trod my Title down, And with dishonour laid me on the Gronud,
Where I must take like feat unto my Fortune, And to my humble feat confirm my self.
K. Lew. Why fay, fair Queen, whence springs this deep
Queen. From fuch a cause as fills mine Eyes with Tears, And stops my Tongue, while Heart is drown'd in Cares. K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thy felf,
And fit thee by our fide,
Yield not thy Neck to Fortune's yoak, But let thy dauntless Mind still ride in triumph Over all mischance.
Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy Grief, It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.
Queen. Those gracious Wordsrevivemy drooping Thoughts, And give my Tongue-ty'd Sorrows leave to speak. Now therefore be it known to Noble Lewis, That Henry, fole poffeffor of my Love, Is, of a King, become a banish'd Man, And forc'd to live in Scotland a Forlorn; While proud ambitious Edward, Duke of York, Usurps the Regal Title, and the Seat Of England's true anointed lawful King. This is the Cause that I, poor Margaret, With this my Son Prince Edward, Henry's Heir, Am come to crave thy just and lawful Aid: And if thou fail us, all our hope is done, Scotland hath Will to help, but cannot help: Our People, and our Peers, are both mif-led, Our Treasure seiz'd, our Soldiers put to flight, And, as thou seest, our Selves in heavy plight.
K. Lew. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the Storm, While we bethink a means to break it off.
Queen. The more we stay, the stronger grows our Foe. K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll fuccour thee. Queen. O, but impatience waiteth on true Sorrow. And fee where comes the breeder of my Sorrow.
K. Lew. What's he approacheth boldly to our prefence? Queen. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest Friend. K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick, what brings thee to
[He descends. She arifeth.
Queen. Ay, now begins a second Storm to rife, For this is he that moves both Wind and Tide..
War. From worthy Edward, King of Albion, My Lord and Sovereign, and thy vowed Friend, I come (in Kindness and unfeigned Love) First to do greetings to thy Royal Person, And then to crave a League of Amity; And lastly, to confirm that Amity With Nuptial Knor, if thou vouchsafe to grant That vertuous Lady Bona, thy fair Sifter, To England's King in lawful Marriage.
Queen. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. War. And gracious Madam,
I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Humbly to kiss your Hand, and with my Tongue To tell the paffion of my Sovereign's Heart; Where Fame, late entring at his heedful Ears, Hath plac'd thy Beauty's Image, and thy Virtue.
Queen. King Lewis, and Lady Bona, hear me speak, Before you answer Warwick. His demand Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest Love, But from Deceit, bred by Neceffity: For how can Tyrants safely govern home, Unless Abroad they purchace great Alliance? To prove him Tyrant, this reafon may fuffice, That Henry liveth still; but were he dead, Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's Son. Look therefore Lewis, that by this League and Marriage Thou draw not on thy Danger and Dishonour: For though Usurpers sway the Rule a while,
Yet Heavens are just, and Time fuppreffeth Wrongs. War. Injurious Margaret.
Prince. And why not Queen.
War. Because thy Father Henry did ufurp, And thou no more art Prince than she is Queen. Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did fubdue the greatest part of Spain; And after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, Wose Wisdom was a Mirror to the wisest; And after that wife Prince, Henry the Fifth,
Who by his Prowess conquered all France: From these our Henry lineally defcends.
War. Oxford, how haps it in this smooth Discourse,
You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath loft All that, which Henry the Fifth had gotten; Methinks these Peers of France should smile at that.
But for the reft; you tell a Pedigree Of threescore and two Years, a filly time To make prescription for a Kingdom's worth.
Oxf. Why Warwick, canft thou speak against my Liege Whom thou obey'dst thirty and fix Years, And not bewray thy Treason with a blush ?
War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, Now buckler falshood with a Pedigree? For shame leave Henry, and call Edward King.
Oxf. Call him my King, by whose injurious doom My elder Brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere Was done to Death? and more than so, my Father, Even in the downfal of his mellow'd Years, When Nature brought him to the door of Death? No Warwick, no; while Life upholds this Arm, This Arm upholds the House of Lancaster.
War. And I the House of York.
K. Lew. Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford
Vouchsafe at our request, to stand aside, While I use farther Conference with Warwick.
Queen. Heavens grant that Warwick's Words bewitch him
K. Lew. Now Warwick, tell me even upon thy Confcience, Is Edward your true King? for I were loth To link with him that were not lawful chofen.
War. Thereon I pawn my Credit, and mire Honour. K. Lew. But is he gracious in the People's Eyes? War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. K. Lew. Then further; all dissembling set aside,
Tell me for truth, the measure of his love
Unto our Sifter Bona.
War. Such it seems,
As may befeem a Monarch like himself: My felf have often heard him say and swear,
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