Glo. Why fhould fhe live, to fill the world with words? K. Edw. What? doth the fwoon? ufe Means for her Recovery.
Glo. Clarence, excufe me to the King my Brother: I'll hence to London on a ferious Matter,
E'er ye come there, be fure to hear fome News.
Clar. What? what?
Glo. Tower, the Tower.
Queen. Oh, Ned, fweet Ned, speak to thy Mother, Boy. Can'it thou not speak? O Traitors, Murderers! They that stabb'd Cafar, thed no Blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy Blame, If this foul Deed were by, to 'equal it. He was a Man; this (in respect) a Child, And Men ne'er spend their Fury on a Child. What's worse than Murtherer, that I may name it? No, no, my Heart will burft, and if I fpeak And I will speak, that fo my Heart may burst. Butchers and Villains, bloody Cannibals, How sweet a Plant have you untimely cropt: You have no Children, Butchers; if you had, The thought of them would have ftirr'd up Remorse; But if you ever chance to have a Child,
Look in his Youth to have him fo cut off,
As deathsmen you have rid this sweet young Prince.
K. Edw. Away with her, go bear her hence by force.
Queen. Nay, never bear me hence, difpatch me here:
Hear theath thy Sword, I'll pardon thee my Death:
What? wilt thou not? then Clarence do it thou.
Clar, By Heaven, I will not do thee fo much Eafe.
Queen. Good Clarence do, fweet Clarence do thou do it.
Clar. Did'ft thou not hear me fwear I would not do it?
Queen. Ay, but thou ufeft to forfwear thy felf:
'Twas Sin before, but row 'tis Charity.
What, wilt thou not? where is that Devil's Butcher, Richard,
Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
Thou art not here: Murther is thy Almfdeed.
Petitioner for Blood thou ne'er pull'st back.
K. Edw. Away, I fay, I charge ye bear her hence.
Queen. So come to you and yours, as to this Prince.
K. Edw. Where's Richard gone?
Cla. To London all in poft, and as I guess, To make a bloody Supper in the Tower.
K. Edw. He's fudden, if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence, difcharge the common fort
With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
And fee our gentle Queen how well the fares.
By this, I hope, fhe hath a Son for me.
Enter King Henry, and Glocefter, with the Lieutenant on the Tower Walls.
Glo. Good day, my Lord; what at your Book fo hard? K. Henry, Ay, my good Lord; my Lord, I fhould fay rather, 'Tis fin to flatter, Good was little better:
Good Glofter, and good Devil, were alike,
And both prepofterous; therefore, not Good Lord.
Glo. Sirrah, leave us to our felves, we muft confer.
[Exit Lieutenant.
K. Kenry. So flies the wreaklefs Shepherd from the Wolf,
So firft the harmlefs Flock doth yield his Fleece,
And next his Throat unto the Butcher's Knife.
What Scene of Death hath Roffius now to a&?
Glo. Sufpicion always haunts the guilty mind,
The Thief doth fear each Bufh an Officer.
K. Henry. The Bird that hath been limed in a Bush,
With trembling Wings misdoubteth every Bush;
And I, the helpless Male to one fweet Bird,
Have now the fatal Object in my Eye,
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught and kill'd.
Glo. Why what a peevish Fool was that of Creet,
That taught his Son the Office of a Fowi?
And yet, for all his Wings, the Fool was drown'd.
K. Henry. I, Dedalus; my poor Boy, Icarus;
Thy Father, Minos, that deny'd our courfe;
The Sun that fear'd the Wings of my fweet Boy,
Thy Brother Edward; and thy felf, the Sea,
Whofe envious Gulf did fwallow up his Life:
Ah, kill me with thy Weapon, not with Words,
By Breaft can better brook thy Dagger's point,
Than can my Eyes that tragick Hiftory.
But wherefore doft thou come? Is't for my Life?
Glo. Think'ft thou I am an Executioner?
K. Henry. A Perfecutor I am fure thou art;
If murthering Innocents be Executing,
Why then thou art an Executioner.
Glo. Thy Son I kill'd for his Prefumption.
K. Henry. Hadft thou been kill'd when first thou didst preThou hadít not liv'd to kill a Son of mine:
And thus I prophefie, that many a thoufand,
Which now miftruft no parcel of my fear,
And many an old Man's figh, and many a Widow's,
And many an Orphan's water-ftanding Eye,
Men for their Sons, Wives for their Husbands fate,
And Orphans for their Parents timeless Death,
Shall rue the Hour that ever thou waft born.
The Owl fhriek'd at thy Birth, an evil fign,
The Night-Crow cry'd, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous Tempest shook down Trees;
The Raven rook'd her on the Chimney's top,
And chattering Pyes in difmal Discords fung:
Thy Mother felt more than a Mother's pain,
And yet brought forth lefs than a Mother's hope,
To wit, an indigefted deform'd Lump,
Not like the Fruit of fuch a goodly Tree.
Teeth haft thou in thy Head when thou waft born,
To fignifie thou cam'ft to bite the World:
And, if the reft be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'ft
Glo. I'll hear no more:
Die, Prophet, in thy Speech;
For this, amongst the reft, was I ordain'd.
K. Henry. Ay, and for much more Slaughter after this
O God, forgive my Sins, and pardon thee.
Glo. What? will th' afpiring Blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See how my Sword weeps for the poor King's death.
O may fuch purple Tears be alway fhed
From thofe who wish the downfal of our Houfe.
If any spark of Life be yet remaining,
Down, down to Hell, and fay I sent thee thither,
I, that have neither piry, love, nor fear.
Indeed 'tis true that Henry told me of:
For I have often heard my Mother fay,
I came into the World with my Legs forward.
Had I not reason, think ye, to make hafte,
And seek their Ruin, that ufurp'd our Right?
The Midwife wonder'd, and the Women cry'd,
O Jefus blefs us, he is born with Teeth!
And fo I was, which plainly fignified,
That I fhould foarle, and bite, and play the Dog:
Then fince the Heav'ns have fhap'd my Body fo,
Let Hell make crook'd my Mind to answer it.
I have no Brother, I am like no Brother:
And this word [Love] which grey Beards call Divine,
Be refident in Men like one another,
And not in me: I am my felf alone.
Clarence beware, thou keep'ft me from the light,
But I will fort a pitchy Day for thee:
For I will buz abroad fuch Prophecies,
That Edward fhall be fearful of his Life,
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy Death.
King Henry, and the Prince his Son, are gone,
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the reft;
Counting my felf but bad, 'till I be best.
I'll throw thy Body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of Doom.
Enter King Edward, Queeen, Clarence, Gloucefter, Haftings, Nurfe, and Attendants.
K, Edw. Once more we fit on England's Royal Throne, Re-purchas'd with the Blood of Enemies:
What valiant Foe-men, like to Autumn's Corn,
Have we mow'd down in top of all their Pride?
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold Renown'd,
For hardy and undoubted Champions:
Two Cliffords, as the Father and the Son,
And two Northumberlands; two braver Men
Ne'er fpurr'd their Courfers at the Trumpets found.
With them, the two brave Bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their Chains fetter'd the Kingly Lion,
And made the Foreft tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we fwept Sufpicion from our Seat,
And made our Footftool of Security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kifs my Boy:
Young Ned, for thee, thine Uncles, and my self,
Have in our Armours watch'd the winter Night,
Went all a-foot in Summers fcalding heat,
That thou might'ft repoffefs the Crown in peace,
And of our Labours thou shalt reap the Gain.
Glo. I'll blaft his Harveft, if your Head were laid,
For yet I am not look'd on in the World.
This Shoulder was ordain'd fo thick, to heave,
And heave it shall fome weight, or break my back;
Work thou the way, and that fhall execute.
[Afide.
K. Edw. Clarence and Glo'fter, love my lovely Queen,
And kifs your Princely Nephew, Brothers both.
Clar. The duty that I owe your Majefty,
I feal upon the Lips of this fweet Babe.
K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence, worthy Brother, thanks. Glo. And that I love the Tree from whence thou fpra g'ft, Witness the loving Kiss I give the Fruit:
To fay the truth, fo Judas kifs'd his Master,
And cry'd, all hail, when as he meant all harm.
K. Edw. Now am I feated as my Soul delights,
Having my Country's peace, and Brothers loves.
Clar. What will your Grace have done with Margaret? Reignier her Father, to the King of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Ferufalem,
And hither have they fent it for her Ransom.
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to France: And now what refts, but that we spend the time
With ftately Triumphs, mirthful Comick Shows,
Such as befits the Pleasure of the Cout?
Sound Drums and Trumpets, farewel fowr Annoy,
For here, I hope, begins our lafting Joy. [Exeunt omnes.
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