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K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high, imperial type of this earth's glory.
Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it. Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honor, Canst thou demise to any child of mine?
K. Rich. Even all I have; ay, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs, Which thou supposest I have done to thee.
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul, I love thy
daughter. Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. K. Rich. What do you think?
Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter, from thy soul: So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers; And from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.
K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning. I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, And do intend to make her queen of England. Q Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be her
king ? K. Rich. Even he that makes her queen. Who else
should be ? Q. Eliz. What, thou? K. Rich.
Even so. How think you of it? Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo 'her ? K. Rich.
That I would learn of you, As one being best acquainted with her humor.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?
Madam, with all my heart.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not the way To win your daughter. Q. Eliz.
There is no other way; Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this.
K. Rich. Say that I did all this for love of her?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then, indeed, she cannot choose but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now amended; Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. If I have killed the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. A grandam's name is little less in love, Than is the doting title of a mother; They are as children, but one step below Even of your mettle, of your very blood; Of all one pain,- save for a night of groans Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss you have, is but-a son being king. And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would, Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset, your son, that with a fearful soul Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, This fair alliance quickly shall call home To high promotions and great dignity. The king, that calls your beauteous daughter, -wife, Familiarly shall call thy Dorset - brother; Again shall you be mother to a king, And all the ruins of distressful times Repaired with double riches of content. What! we have many goodly days to see; The liquid drops of tears that you have shed, Shall come again, transformed to orient pearl ; Advantaging their loan, with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness. Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go; Make bold her bashful years with your experience; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale; Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? Her father's brother
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead ;-
By nothing; for this is no oath. Thy George, profaned, hath lost his holy honor; Thy garter, blemished, pawned his knightly virtue; Thy crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory: If something thou wouldst swear to be believed, Swear then by something that thou hast not wronged.
K. Rich. Now by the world,
'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. K. Rich. My father's death, Q. Eliz.
Thy life hath that dishonored. K. Rich. Then, by myself, Q. Eliz.
Thyself is self misused. K. Rich. Why then, by God, — Q. Eliz.
God's wrong is most of all. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him, The unity, the king thy brother made, Had not been broken, nor my brother slain. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him, The imperial metal, circling now thy head, Had graced the tender temples of my child; And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender bedfellows for dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now? K. Rich.
By the time to come.
K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent !
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve.
Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus ?
Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will ?
Q. Eliz. I go.— Write to me very shortly,
[Kissing her. Erit Q. ELIZABETH. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman! How now? what news?
Enter RATCLIFF; CATESBY following.
K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of Norfolk; Ratcliff, thyself,— or Catesby; where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.
Catesby, fly to the duke. Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.
K. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither; post to Salisbury; When thou com’st thither,- Dull, unmindful villain,
[To CATESBY. Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke?
Čate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' pleasure, What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
K. Rich. O, true, good Catesby.--Bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. Cate. I go.
[Exit. Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? K. Rich. Why, what would'st thou do there, before I go? Rat. Your highness told me I should post before.