Derby. I will not rife, unless your Highness hear me. K. Edw. Then fay at once, what is it thou requeft'ft. Derby. The forfeit, Soveraign, of my Servant's Life, Who flew to day a riotous Gentleman, Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. K. Edw. Have I a Tongue to doom my Brother's Death? And fhall that Tongue give pardon to a Slave? My Brother kill'd no Man, his Fault was Thought, And yet his punishment was bitter Death. Who fued to me for him? Who, in my wrath, Kneel'd at my Feet; and bid me be advis'd? Who spoke of Brotherhood? who spoke in love? Who told me, how the poor Soul did forfake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the Field at Tewksbury, When Oxford had me down, he rescued me? And faid, dear Brother live, and be a King? Who told me, when we both lay in the Field, Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his Garments, and did give himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold Night? All this from my Remembrance, brutish wrath Sinfully pluckt, and not a Man of you Had fo much Grace to put it in my Mind. But when your Carters, or your waiting Vaffals Have done a drunken Slaughter, and defac'd The precious Image of our dear Redeemer, You ftraight are on your Knees for Pardon, Pardon, And I, unjustly too, muft grant it you. But for my Brother, not a Man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, fpake unto my felf For him, poor Soul. The proudeft of you all, Have been beholding to him in his Life: Yet none of you, would once beg for his Life. O God! I fear thy Juftice will take hold On me, and you; and mine, and yours for this. Come Haftings help me to my Clofet. Ah poor Clarence. [Exeunt fome with the King and Queen. Glo. This is the fruits of Rafhnefs: Mark'd you not, How that the kindred of the Queen Look'd Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence's Death ? Buck. We wait upon your Grace. SCENE II. [Exeunt. Enter the Dutchess of York, with the two Children of Son. Good Grandam tell us, is our Father dead? Dutch. No, Boy. Daugh. Why do you weep fo oft? and beat your Breaft? And cry, O Clarence! my unhappy Son? Son. Why do you look on us, and fhake your Head, And call us Orphans, Wretches, Caftaways. If that our Noble Father were alive? Dutch. My pretty Coufins, you miftake me both, I do lament the Sicknefs of the King, As loth to lofe him, not your Father's Death; It were loft Sorrow to wail one that's loft. Son. Then you conclude, my Grandam, he is dead: God will revenge it, whom I will importure Daugh. And fo will I. Dutch. Peace, Children, peace; the King doth love you Incapable and fhallow Innocents, [well. You cannot guess who caus'd your Father's Death. Dutch. Ah! that Deceit fhould fteal fuch gentle Shape, I 2 Son. Son. Think you my Uncle did dissemble, Grandam? Son. I cannot think it. Hark, what noise is this? Enter the Queen with her Hair about her Ears, Rivers and Dorfet after her. Queen. Ah! who fhall hinder me to wail and weep? Dutch. What means this Scene of rude Impatience? That our fwift-winged Souls may catch the King's, To his new Kingdom of ne'er changing Night. I have bewept a worthy Husband's Death, But now two Mirrors of his Princely femblance, To over-go thy Woes, and drown thy Cries. Son. Ah Aunt! you wept not for our Father's Death; How can we aid you with our Kindred Tears? Daugh. Our Fatherless distress was left unmoan'd, Your Widow dolour likewife be unwept. Queen. Give me no help in Lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth Complaints: All Springs reduce their currents to mine Eyes, That I being govern'd by the watry Moon, May May fend forth plenteous Tears to drown the World. Chil. Were never Orphans had fo dear a Lofs. Dorf. Comfort, dear Mother; God is much difpleas'd, That you take with unthankfulness his doing. In common worldly Things 'tis call'd ungrateful, Rivers. Madam, bethink you like a careful Mother Glo. Sifter, have comfort, all of us have caufe I crave your Bleffing. Dutch. God bless thee, and put Meeknefs in thy Breaft, Love, Charity, Obedience, and true Duty. I 3 Gle. Glo. Amen, and make me die a good old Man, Buck. You cloudy Princes, and heart-forrowing Peers, My Lord of Buckingham? Buck. Marry, my Lord, left, by a Multitude, Glo. I hope the King made Peace with all of us, Riv. And fo in me, and so, I think, in all, Which haply by much Company might be urg'd; That it is meet fo few fhould fetch the Prince. Glo. Then be it fo, and go we to determine Who they fhall be that ftreight fhall post to London. To give your Cenfures in this Bulinefs? [Exeunt [Manent Buckingham and Gloucefter. Buck. My Lord, whoever journies to the Prince, For God's fake ler not us two ftay at home; For by the way, I'll fort occafion, As |