But penetrable to your kind Entreaties,
Albeit against my Confcience and my Soul.
Enter Buckingham and the reft.

Coufin of Buckingham, and fage, grave Men,
Since you will buckle Fortune on my Back,
To bear her Burthern, whether I will or no,
I must have patience to endure the Load:
But if black Scandal, or foul-fac'd Reproach,
Attend the fequel of your Impofition,
Your meer enforcement fhall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof,
For God doth know, and you may partly fee,
How far I am from the defire of this.

Mayor. God bless your Grace, we fee it, and will fay it.
Glo. In faying fo, you fhall but fay the truth.
Buck. Then I falute you with this Royal Title,
Long live King Richard, England's worthy King.

All. Amen.

Buck. To morrow may it please you to be Crown'd. Glo. Even when you pleafe, for you will have it so. Buck. To morrow then we will attend your Grace, And fo moft joyfully we take our leave.

Glo. Come, let us to our holy Work again. Farewel my Coufins, farewel gentle Friends.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

[Exeunt.

Enter the Queen, Anne Dutchess of Gloucefter, the Duchefs of York, and Marquess of Dorfet.

Dutch.
WHO meets us here?

My Neice Plantagenet,

Led in the Hand of her kind Aunt of Glo'fter?
Now, for my Life, fhe's wandring to the Tower,
On pure Heart's Love, to greet the tender Prince.
Daughter, well mer.

Anne. God give your Graces both a lappy
And a joyful time of Day.

Queen

Queen. As much to you, good Sifter; whither away? Anne. No farther than the Tower, and as I guess, Upon the like devotion as your felves,

To gratulate the gentle Princes there.

Queen. Kind Sifter thanks, we'll enter all together.

Enter the Lieutenant.

And in good time, here the Lieutenant comes.
Mafter Lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the Prince, and my young Son of York?
Lieu. Right well, dear Madam; by your patience,
I may not fuffer you to vifit them;

The King hath ftrictly charg'd the contrary.
Queen. The King? who's that?

Lieu. I mean the Lord Protector.

Queen. The Lord protect him from that Kingly Title.
Hath he fet bounds between their love, and me?
I am their Mother, who fhall bar me from them?
Dutch. I am their Father's Mother, I will fee them?
Anne. Their Aunt I am in Law, in love their Mother;
Then bring me to their fights, I'll bear thy blame,
And take thy Office from thee, on my peril.

Lien. No, Madam, no, I may not leave it fo:
I am bound by Oath, and therefore pardon me.

Enter Stanley.

[Exit Lieutenant.

Stan. Let me but meet you Ladies one hour hence,
And I'll falute your Grace of York as Mother,
And reverend looker on of two fair Queens.
Come Madam, you must ftraight to Westminster,
There to be Crowned Richard's Royal Queen.
Queen. Ah, cut my Lace afunder,

That my pent Heart may have fome fcope to beat,
Or elfe I fwoon with this dead-killing News.

Anne. Defpightful tidings, O unpleafing News.
Dorf. Be of good Chear: Mother, how fares your Grace,
Queen. O Dorfet, fpeak not to me, get thee gone,
Death and Deftruction dogs thee at thy heels,
Thy Mother's Name is ominous to Children.
If thou wilt out-ftrip Death, go cross the Seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of Hell.
Go hye thee, hye thee from this Slaughter-hole,
VOL. IV.

L

Let

Left thou increase the number of the dead,
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's Curfe,
Nor Mother, Wife, nor England's counted Queen.
Stan. Full of wife Care is this your Counsel, Madam;
Take all the swift advantage of the Hours;
You fhall have Letters from me to my Son,
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwife delay.

Dutch. O ill difperfing Wind of Mifery,
O my accurfed Womb, the Bed of Death:
A Cockatrice haft thou hatch'd to the World,
Whose unavoided Eye is Murtherous.

Stan. Come, Madam, come, I in all hafte was fent.
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go.
O would to God, that the inclufive Verge
Of Golden Metal, that muft round my Brow,
Were red hot Steel, to fear me to the Brains.
Anointed let me be with deadly Venom,
And die e'er Men can fay, God fave the Queen.
Queen. Go, go, poor Soul, I envy not thy Glory,
To feed my humour with thy felf no harm.

Anne. No! why? When he that is my Husband now, Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's Coarfe:

When scarce the Blood was well wash'd from his Hands,
Which iffued from my other Angel Husband,

And that dear Saint, which then I weeping follow'd:
O when, I fay, I look'd on Richard's Face,
This was my Wish; Be thou, quoth I, accurft,
For making me, fo young, fo old a Widow:
And when thou wed'ft, let Sorrow haunt thy Bed;
And be thy Wife, if any be fo mad,

More miferable, by the Life of thee,

Than thou haft made me, by my dear Lord's Death.
Loe, e'er I can repeat this Curse again,
Within fo fmall a time, my Woman's Heart
Grofsly grew captive to his Honey words,

And prov'd the fubject of mine own Soul's Curfe;
Which hitherto hath held mine Eyes from reft:
Fer never yet one hour in his Bed

Did I enjoy the golden dew of Sleep,

But with his timorous Dreams was still awak'd.

Befides.

Befides, he hates me for my Father Warwick,
And will, no doubt, fhortly be rid of me.

Queen. Poor Heart, adieu, I pity thy complaining. Anne. No more than with my Soul I mourn for yours. Dorf. Farewel, thou woful welcomer of Glory.

Anne. Adieu, poor Soul, that tak'st thy leave of it. Dutch. Go thou to Richmond, and good Fortune guide thee, [To Dorfet. Go thou to Richard, and good Angels tend thee, [To Anne. Go thou to Sanctuary, and good Thoughts poffefs thee, [To the Queen. I to my Grave, where Peace and Ref lye with me. Eighty odd Years of forrow have I seen,

And each Hours joy wrack'd with a Week of teen.
Queen. Stay, yet look back, with me, unto the Tower.
Pity, you ancient Stones, thofe tender Babes,
Whom Envy hath immur'd within your Walls,
Rough Cradle for fuch little pretty ones,
Rude ragged Nurfe, old fullen Play-fellow,
For tender Princes; ufe my Babies well;
So foolish Sorrow bids your Stones farewel.

SCENE II.

[Exeunt.

Flourish of Trumpets. Enter Gloucester as King, Bucking ham, Catesby, Ratcliff, and Lovel.

K. Rich. Stand all apart

Buck. My gracious Soveraign.

Coufin of Buckingham.

K. Rich. Give me thy Hand. Thus high by thy advice, And thy affiftance, is King Richard feated:

But shall we wear thefe Glories for a Day?

Or fhall they laft, and we rejoice in them?
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them laft.
K. Rich. Ah Buckingham, now do I play the Touch,
To try if thou be current Gold indeed?

Young Edward lives---think now what I would speak.
Buck. Say on, my loving Lord.

K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I fay I would be King.
Buck. Why fo you are, my thrice renowned Lord.

K. Rich.

K. Rich. Ha! am I King? 'tis fo--but Edward lives-.Buck. True, noble Prince.

K. Rich. O bitter Confequence!

That Edward ftill fhould live, True noble Prince.
Coufin, thou waft not wont to be fo dull.

Shall I be plain? I wish the Baftards dead,
And I would have it fuddenly perform'd.
What fay'st thou now? speak fuddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your Grace may do your Pleasure.

K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all Ice, thy kindness freezes: Say, have I thy confent, that they shall die?

Buck. Give me fome little breath, fome paufe, dear Lord, Before I pofitively speak in this:

I will refolve you herein prefently.

[Exit Buckingham.

Catef. The King is angry, fee he gnaws his Lip.

K. Rich. I will converfe with Iron-witted Fools,
And unrespective Boys; none are for me,
That look into me with confiderate Eyes,
High-reaching Buckingham grows circumfpect.
Boy.

Page. My Lord.

K. Rich. Know ft thou not any, whom corrupting Gold Will tempt unto a close exploit of Death?

Page. I know a difcontented Gentleman,

Whole humble means match not his haughty Spirit:
Gold were as good as twenty Orators,

And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.

K. Rich. What is his Name?

Page. His Name, my Lord, is Tirrel.

K. Rich. I partly know the Man; go call him hither,

Boy.

The deep revolving witty Buckingham,

No more fhall be the Neighbour to my Counfels.
Hath he fo long held out with me untir'd,
And ftops he now for Breath? Well, be it fo.

Enter Stanley.

How now, Lord Stanley, what's the News?

[Exit.

Stan. Know, my loving Lord, the Marquis Dorset, As I hear, is fled to Richmond,

In the Parts where he abides.

R. Rich.