To have him fuddenly convey'd from hence: Queen. O thou didft Prophefie the time would come, Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my Fortune : The flattering Index of a direful Pageant, Where is thy Husband now? where be thy Brothers? Farewel York's Wife, and Queen of fad Mischance, Queen Queen. O thou well skill'd in Curfes, ftay a while, And teach me how to curfe mine Enemies. Q. Mar. Forbear to fleep the Night, and fast the Day: Compare dead Happiness with living Woe; Think that thy Babes were fweeter than they were, Queen. My Words are dull, O quicken them with thine. [Exit Margaret. Dutch. Why fhould Calamity be full of Words? Queen. Windy Attorneys to their Client's Woes, Airy fucceeders of inteftine Joys, Poor breathing Orators of Miseries, Let them have fcope, though what they will impart Dutch. If fo, then be not Tongue-ty'd; go with me, Enter King Richard and his Train, K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my Expedition? Dutch. O fhe that might have intercepted thee, By ftrangling thee in her accurfed Womb, From all the flaughters, Wretch, that thou haft done. Queen. Hid't thou that Forehead with a Golden Crown, Where't should be branded, if that right were right? The flaughter of the Prince that ow'd that Crown, And the dire death of my poor Sons and Brothers. Tell me, thou Villain-flave, where are my Children? Dutch. Thou Toad, thou Toad, Where is thy Brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet his Son? Queen. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Gray? K. Rich. A flourish, Trumpets; ftrike Alarum Drums: Let not the Heav'ns hear thefe Tell-tale Women Rail on the Lord's Anointed. Strike, I fay. Either be patient, and intreat me fair, [Flourish, Alarums. Or Or with the clamorous reports of War K. Rich. Ay, I thank God, my Father, and your felf. K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your Condition, That cannot brook the accent of Reproof. Dutch. O let me speak. K. Rich. Do then, but I'll not hear. Dutch. I will be mild and gentle in my Words. K. Rich. And came I not at laft to comfort you? Tetchy and wayward was thy Infancy; Thy School-days frightful, defperate, wild and furious, K. Rich. Faith none but Humphry Hower, To breakfast once, forth of my Company. Let me march on and not offend you, Madam. Strike up the Drum. Dutch. prithee hear me fpeak. K. Rich. You fpeak too bitterly. For I fhall never fpeak to thee again. K. Rich. So. Dutch. Either thou wilt die by God's just Ordinance, E'er from this War thou turn a Conqueror; Or I with Grief and extream Age shall perish, Therefore take with thee my moft grievous Curfe, Than Than all the compleat Armor that thou wear'fl. And there the little Souls of Edward's Children And promise them Succefs and Victory, Shame ferves thy Life, and doth thy Death attend. [Exit. Queen. Tho' far more Caufe, yet much lefs Spirit to curfe Abides in me, I fay Amen to her. K. Rich. Stay, Madam, I must talk a Word with you. Queen. I have no more Sons of the Royal Blood For thee to flaughter; for my Daughters, Richard, They fhall be praying Nuns, not weeping Queens; And therefore level not to hit their Lives. K. Rich. You have a Daughter call'd Elizabeth, Queen. And muft fhe die for this? O let her live, So fhe may live unfcarr'd of bleeding Slaughter, K. Rich. Wrong not her Birth, fhe is a Royal Princefs. If Grace had bleft thee with a fairer Life. K. Rich. You speak as if that I had flain my Coulins ? Queen. Coufins indeed, and by their Uncle cozen'd, Of Comfort, Kingdom, Kindred, Freedom, Life. Whofe Hands foever lanch'd their tender Hearts, Thy Head, all Indirectly, gave Direction, No doubt the murd'rous Knife was dull and blunt, 'Till it was whetted on thy Stone-hard Heart, To revel in the Intrails of my Lambs. But that still ufe of Grief makes wild Grief tame, My My Tongue should to thy Ears not name my Boys, K. Rich. Madam, fo thrive I in my Enterprize, Queen. What good is cover'd with the Face of Heav'n, To be discover'd, that can do me good? K. Rich. Th'Advancement of your Children, gentle Lady. Queen. Up to fome Scaffold, there to lofe their Heads. K. Rich. Unto the dignity and heighth of Fortune, The high Imperial Type of this Earth's Glory. Queen. Flatter my Sorrow with report of it; Tell me, what State, what Dignity, what Honour Canft thou devife to any Child of mine? K. Rich. Ev'n all I have; ay, and my felf and all, Will I withal endow a Child of thine: So in the Lethe of thy angry Soul Thou drown the fad remembrance of thofe Wrongs, Queen. Be brief, left that the process of thy kindness K. Rich. Then know, That from my Soul I love thy Daughter. Queen. My Daughter's Mother thinks it with her Soul. K. Rich. What do you think? Queen. That thou doft love my Daughter from thy Soul. K. Rich. Be not fo hafty to confound my meaning; Queen. Well then, who doft thou mean fhall be her King. Queen. What, thou! K. Rich. Even fo; how think you of it? Queen. |