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 ?
O! they did urge it ftill unto the King,
God will revenge it. Come, Lords, will you go,
To comfort Edward with our Company?

Buck. We wait upon your Grace.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Enter the Dutchess of York, with the two Children of
Clarence.

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:
The King mine Uncle is to blame for it.

God will revenge it, whom I will importure
With earnest Prayers, all to that effect.

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.
Son. Grandam, we can; for my good Uncle Glofter
Told me, the King, provok'd to it by the Queen,
Devis'd Impeachments to imprifon him;
And when my Uncle told me fo, he wept,
And pitied me, and kindly kift my Check;
Bad me rely on him, as on my Father,
And he would love me dearly as a Child.

Dutch. Ah! that Deceit fhould fteal fuch gentle Shape,
And with a virtuous Vizard hide deep Vice.
He is my Son, ay, and therein my Shame,
Yet from my Dugs he drew not this deceit.

I 2

Son.

Son. Think you my Uncle did dissemble, Grandam?
Dutch. Ay, Boy.

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?
To chide my Fortune, and torment my felf?
I'll join with black Despair against my Soul,
And to my felf become an Enemy

Dutch. What means this Scene of rude Impatience?
Queen. To make an act of Tragick Violence.
Edward, my Lord, thy Son, our King is dead.
Why grow the Branches, when the Root is gone?
Why wither not the Leaves that want their Sap?
If you will live, lament; if die, be brief;

That our fwift-winged Souls may catch the King's,
Or like obedient Subje&s follow him,

To his new Kingdom of ne'er changing Night.
Dutch. Ah, fo much intereft have I in thy Sorrow,
As I had Title to thy Noble Husband;

I have bewept a worthy Husband's Death,
And liv'd with looking on his Images;

But now two Mirrors of his Princely femblance,
Are crack'd in pieces, by malignant Death,
And I for comfort have but one falfe Glafs,
That grieves me when I fee my Shame in him.
Thou art a Widow, yet thou art a Mother,
And haft the comfort of thy Children left;
But Death hath fnatch'd my Husband from mine Arms,
And pluckt two Crutches from my feeble Hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what caufe have I,
(Thine being but a moiety of my moan)

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.
Ah, for my Husband-for my dear Lord Edward-
Chil. Ah, for our Father, for our dear Lord Clarence.
Dutch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence.
Queen. What stay had I, but Edward? and he's gone.
Chil. What ftay had we, but Clarence? and he's gone.
Queen. Was never Widow had fo dear a Lofs.

Chil. Were never Orphans had fo dear a Lofs.
Dutch. Was never Mother had fo dear a lofs.
Alas! I am the Mother of these Griefs,
Their Woes are parcell'd, mine is general.
She for an Edward weeps, and fo do I;
I for a Clarence weep, fo doth not the;
Thefe Babes for Clarence weep, fo do not they.
Alas! you three, on me threefold diftreft
Pour all your Tears, I am your Sorrows Nurse,
And I will pamper it with Lamentation.

Dorf. Comfort, dear Mother; God is much difpleas'd, That you take with unthankfulness his doing.

In common worldly Things 'tis call'd ungrateful,
With dull unwillingness to repay a Debt,
Which with a bounteous Hand was kindly lent:
Much more to be thus oppofite with Heav'n,
For it requires the Royal Debt it lent you.

Rivers. Madam, bethink you like a careful Mother
Of the
young Prince your Son; fend ftraight for him,
Let him be crown'd, in him your comfort lives.
Drown defperate Sorrow in dead Edward's Grave,
And plant your Joys in living Edward's Throne.
Enter Gloucefter, Buckingham, Derby, Haftings and
Ratcliff.

Glo. Sifter, have comfort, all of us have caufe
To wail the dimming of our fhining Star:
But none can help our harms by wailing them.
Madam, my Mother, I do cry you Mercy,
I did not fee your Grace. Humbly on my Knee

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,
That is the butt end of a Mother's Bleffing;
I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.

Buck. You cloudy Princes, and heart-forrowing Peers,
That bear this mutual heavy load of Moan,
Now cheer each other in each others Love;
Though we have spent our Harveft of this King,
We are to reap the Harveft of his Son.
The broken rancor of your high-fwoln hates,
But lately splinter'd, knit and join'd together,
Muft gently be preferv'd, cherisht and kept:
Me feemeth good, that with fome little Train,
Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be fet,
Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.
Riv. Why with fome little Train,

My Lord of Buckingham?

Buck. Marry, my Lord, left, by a Multitude,
The new-heal'd wound of Malice fhould break out,
Which would be fo much the more dangerous,
By how much the Eftate is green, and yet ungovern'd.
Where every Horfe bears his commanding Rein,
And may direct his courfe as please himself,
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent,
In my Opinion, ought to be prevented.

Glo. I hope the King made Peace with all of us,
And the compact is firm and true in me.

Riv. And fo in me, and so, I think, in all,
Yet fince it is but green it should be put
To no apparent likelyhood of breach,

Which haply by much Company might be urg'd;
Therefore I fay, with Noble Buckingham,

That it is meet fo few fhould fetch the Prince.
Haft. And fo fay I.

Glo. Then be it fo, and go we to determine

Who they fhall be that ftreight fhall post to London.
Madam, and you my Sifter, will you go,

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