Glo. If I fhould be!I had rather be a Pedlar; Far be it from my Heart, the thought thereof. Queen. As little Joy, my Lord, as you fuppofe You should enjoy, were you this Country's King, As little Joy you may fuppofe in me,
That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.
Q. Mar. A little Joy enjoys the Queen thereof; For I am fhe, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.
Here me, you wrangling Pyrates, that fall out
In fharing that which you have pill'd from me;
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not that I am Queen, you bow like Subjects;
Yet that by you depos'd, you quake like Rebels.
Ah gentle Villain do not turn away.
Glo. Foul wrinkl'd Witch, what mak'ft thou in my fight? Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou haft marr'd,
That will I make, before I let thee go.
Glo. Wer't 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'ft to me,
{To Glo. And thou a Kingdom, all of you Allegiance; [To the Queen. This Sorrow that I have by Right is yours,
And all the Pleasures you ufurp are mine.
Glo. The Curfe my Noble Father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike Brows with Paper And with thy Scorns drew'ft Rivers from his Eyes, And then to dry them, gav'ft the Duke a Clout, Steep'd in the faultlefs Blood of pretty Rutland; His Curfes, then from bitterness of Soul Denounc'd against thee, are now fall'n upon thee;. And God, not we, have plagu'd thy bloody Deed. Q. Mar. Sɔ juft is God, to right the innocent. Haft. O, 'twas the fouleft Deed to flay that Babe, And the moft merciless that e'er was heard of. Riv. Tyrants themselves wept, when it was reported. Dorf. No Man but prophefied revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then prefent, wept to fee it. Q. Mar. What! were you fnarling 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 Curfe prevail fo much with Heav'n,
That Henry's Death, my lovely Edward's' Death,
Their Kingdom's lof, my woful Banithment,
Should all but anfwer for that peevish Brat?
Can Curfes pierce the Clouds, and enter Heaven?
Why then give way, dull Clouds, to my quick Curfes.
Though not by War, by Surfeit dye your King,
As ours by Murther to make him a King.
Edward thy Son, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward our Son, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his Youth, by like untimely Violence.
Thy felf a Queen, for me that was a Queen,
Out-live thy Glory, like my wretched felf:
Long may'ft thou live to wail thy Childrens Death,
And fee another, as I fee thee now,
Deck'd in thy Rights, as thou art ftall'd in mine.
Long die thy happy Days, before thy Death,
And after many length'ned hours of Grief,
Die neither Mother, Wife, nor England's Queen.
Rivers and Dorfet, you were Standers-by,
And fo waft thou, Lord Haftings, when my Son
Was ftabb'd with bloody Daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live his natural Age,
But be by f me unlook'd-for Accident cut off.
Glo. Have done thy Charm, thou hateful wither'd Hag.
Q. Mar. And leave out thee? Stay Dog, for thou fhalt
If Heavens have any grievous Plague in ftore,
Exceeding thofe that I can wish upon thee,
O let them keep it, 'till thy Sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their Indignation
On thee, thou troubler of the poor World's peace.
The worm of Confcience ftill be-gnaw thy Soul,
Thy Friends fufpe&t for Traitors while thou liv'ft,
And take deep Traitors for thy deareft Friends:
No fleep close up that deadly Eye of thine,
Unless it be while fome tormenting Dream
Affright thee with a Hell of ugly Devils.
Thou elvish-markt, abortive rooting Hog,
Thou that waft feal'd in thy Nativity
The Slave of Nature, and the Son of Hell:
Thou flander of thy heavy Mother's Womb,
Thou loathed Iffue of thy Father's Loins,
Thou Rag of Honour, thou detefted-
Glo. Margaret.
O. Mar. Richard.
Glo. Ha!
Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think
That thou had'ft call'd me all thefe bitter Names.
Q. Mar. Why fo I did, but look'd for no reply.
Oh let me make the Period to my Curfe.
Glo. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret.
Queen. Thus have you breath'd your Curfe against your fe!f.
Q. Mar. Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my Fortune,
Why ftrew'st thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider,
Whofe deadly web enfnareth thee about?
Fool, Fool, thou whet'ft a Knife to kill thy felf:
The Day will come that thou shalt with for me,
To help thee curfe this poyfonous Bunch-back'd Toad.
Haft. Falfe boading Woman, end thy frantick Curse,
Left to thy harm thou move our Patience.
Q. Mar. Foul fhame upon you, you have all mov'd mine.
Riv. Were you well ferv'd, you would be taught your Duty
Q. Mar. To ferve me well, you all fhould do me Duty,
Teach me to be your Queen, and you my Subjects:
O ferve me well, and teach your felves that Duty.
Dorf. Difpute not with her, the is Lunatick.
Q. Mar. Peace, Mafter Marquefs, you are malapert,
Your fire-new ftamp of Honour is fcarce currant.
O that your young Nobility can judge
What 'twere to lofe it, and be miferable.
They that ftand high have many blafts to shake them,
And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.
Glo. Good Counsel marry, learn it, learn it, Marquefs.
Dorf. It touches yo, my Lord, as much as me.
Glo. Ay, and much more; but I was born fo high;
Or airy buildeth in the Cedar's top,
And dallies with the Wind, and fcorns the Sun.
Q. Mar. And turns the Sun to fhade; alas! alas!
Witness my Son now in the fhade of Death,
Whofe bright out-fhining beams, thy cloudy Wrath
Hath in eternal Darkness folded up.
Your airy buildeth in our airies Neft:
O God, that feeft it, do not fuffer it,
As it is won with Blood, loft be it fo.
Buck. Peace, peace for fhame, if not for Charity.
Q. Mar. Urge neither Charity nor Shame to me;
Uncharitably with me have you deal,
And shamefully my hopes, by you, are butcher'd.
My Charity is Outrage, Life my Shame,
And in that Shame, ftill live my Sorrow's rage.
Buck. Have done, have done.
Q. Mar. O Princely Buckingham, I'll kifs thy Hand,
In fign of League and Amity with thee:
Now fair befall thee and thy Noble House;
Thy Garments are not fpotted with our Blood;
Nor thou within the compafs of my Curse.
Buck, Nor no one here; for Curfes never pafs
The Lips of those that breathe them in the Air.
Q. Mar. I will not think but they afcend the Sky,
And there awake God's gentle fleeping Peace.
O Buckingham, take care of yonder Dog;
Look when he fawns he bites; and when he bites,
His venom Tooth will rankle to the Death;
Have not to do with him, beware of him,
Sin, Death and Hell have fet their marks on him,
And all their Minifters attend on his.
Glo. What doth fhe fay, my Lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I refpect, my gracious Lord.
Q. Mar. What, doft thou fcorn me
For my gentle Counsel?
And footh the Devil that I warn thee from?
O but remember this another Day;
When he shall split thy very Heart with Sorrow;
And fay poor Margaret was a Prophetef.
Live each of you the Subje& to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's.
Buck. My Hair doth ftand an end to hear her Curles. Riv. And fo doth mine: I mufe why he's at Liberty. Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy Mother, She hath had too much wrong, and I repent
My part thereof, that I have done to her.
Dorf. I never did her any, to my knowledge.,
Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong:
I was too hot, to do fome body good,
That is too cold in thinking of it now:
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repay'd;
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains,
God pardon them that are the cause thereof.
Riv. A virtuous and a Chriftian-like conclufion,
To pray for them that have done fcathe to us.
Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd.
For had I curft now, I had curft my felf.
Catef. Madam, his Majefty doth call for you, And for your Grace, and yours, my gracious Lord. Queen. Catesby, I come; Lords, will you go with me? Riv. We wait upon your Grace,
[Exeunt all but Gloucefter.
Glo. I do the wrong, and firft begin to brawl.
The fecret Mischief that I fet a-broach,
I lay unto the grievous Charge of others.
Clarence, whom I indeed have caft in Darkness,
I do beweep to many fimple Gulls,
Namely to Derby, Haftings, Buckingham,
And tell them, 'tis the Queen and her Allies
That ftir the King against the Duke my Brother.
Now they believe it, and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Gray.
But then I figh, and with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I cloath my naked Villany
With odd old Ends, ftoln forth of Holy Writ,
And feem a Saint, when moft I play the Devil,
Enter two Villains.
But foft, here come my Executioners:
How now my hardy ftout refolved Mates,
Are you now going to dispatch this thing?
I Vil. We are, my Lord, and come to have the warrant,
That we may be admitted, where he is.
Glo. Well thought upon, I have it here about me: When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.
But, Sirs, be fudden in the Execution,
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