Depriv'd of honour and inheritance: But now the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire* of men's miseries, Enter Richard Plantagenet. 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come? Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly ns'd, Your nephew, late-despised + Richard, comes. Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock, Why didst thou say-of late thou wert despis'd? Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mine arm; And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease‡. Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me: And for alliance' sake,-declare the cause Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me, And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth, i. e. He who terminates or concludes misery. + Lately-despised. Uneasiness, discontent. Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine, Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was; For I am ignorant, and cannot guess. Mor. I will; if that my fading breath permit, Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne: I was the next by birth and parentage; From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son But mark; as, in this haughty great attempt, Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last. Mor. True; and thou seest, that I no issue have; And that my fainting words do warrant death: Thou art my heir; the rest, I wish thee gather: But yet be wary in thy studious care. Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me: But yet, methinks, my father's execution Was nothing less than bloody tyranny. Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politick; As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my young years Might but redeem the passage of your age! Mor. Thou dost then wrong me; as the slaught'rer doth, Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill. And so farewell; and fair* be all thy hopes! [Dies. [Excunt Keepers, bearing out Mortimer. Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort:→ And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries, Which Somerset hath offer'd to my house,I doubt not, but with honour to redress: Lucky, prosperous. And therefore haste I to the parliament; Or make my ill the advantage of my good. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. The same. The Parliament-House. Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloster, Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk; the Bishop of Winchester, Richard Plantagenet, and others. Gloster offers to put up a billt; Winchester snatches it, and tears it. Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines, With written pamphlets studiously devis'd, Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse, Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge, Do it without invention suddenly; As I with sudden and extemporal speech Purpose to answer what thou canst object. Glo. Presumptuous priest! this place commands my patience, Or thou should'st find thou hast dishonour'd me. * My ill, is my ill usage. Froward by nature, enemy to peace; And for thy treachery, What's more manifest; Win. Gloster, I do defy thee.-Lords, vouchsafe To give me hearing what I shall reply. If I were covetous, ambitious, or perverse, As he will have me, How am I so poor? Or how haps it, I seek not to advance Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling? And for dissention, Who preferreth peace More than I do,-except I be provok'd? No, my good lords, it is not that offends; It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke: It is, because no one should sway but he; No one, but he, should be about the king; And that engenders thunder in his breast, And makes him roar these accusations forth. But he shall know, I am as good Glo. Thou bastard of my grandfather! As good? Win. Ay, lordly sir; For what are you, I But one imperious in another's throne? pray, Glo. Am I not the protector, saucy priest? Win. And am I not a prelate of the church? Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps, And useth it to patronage his theft. Win. Unreverent Gloster! Glo. Thou art reverent Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. Roam thither then. War. |