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Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er re
turn, Simple, plain Clarence !
I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?
Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord !
Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to this open air, How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment ? Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners
must : But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, That were the cause of my imprisonment.
Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence
For they, that were your enemies, are his,
Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites, and buzzards prey at liberty.
Glo. What news abroad?
Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home;The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad in
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
reigns; When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
Enter the Corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne in
an open coffin; Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; and Lady ANNE as Mourner. Anne. Set down, set down your honourable
load, If honour
be shrouded in a hearse,
$ With becoming reverence for the dead.
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb’d by the self-same hand that made these
wounds! Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, I pour
the helpless balm of my poor eyes :0, cursed be the hand that made these holes! Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness ! If ever he have wife, let her be made More mis able by the death of him, Than I am made by my young lord, and thee !Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; And, still as you are weary of the weight, Rest you,
whiles I lament king Henry's corse. [The Bearers take up the Corpse, and advance.
Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it
down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this
fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds ? Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint
Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coftin
Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com
[The bearers set down the coffin. Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid ? Alas, I blame
you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, begone.
Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. Anne. Foul devil, for heaven's sake, hence, and
trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries :O; gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeald mouths, and bleed afresh!-Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deforinity ; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells ; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O Thou, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his
death! Either, Heaven, with lightning strike the murderer
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
man; No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no
Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou
canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself.
Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand ex
Glo. Say, that I slew them not ?
Why then, they are not dead :
Why, then he is alive. Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's
hand. Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen Mar
garet saw Thy murd'rous faulchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dreamt on aught but butcheries : Didst thou not kill this king ?