To wit an indigest deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify thou cam'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'st-
Glo. I'll bear no more:-Die, prophet, in thy
speech:
[Stabs him.
For this, among the rest, was I ordain'd.
K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after
this.
O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies.
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink into the ground? I thought it would have
mounted.
What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride
Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd
For hardy and undoubted champions:
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son
And two Northumberlands: two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's
sound;
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and
Montague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our footstool of security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy:
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace;
of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.
Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were
laid;
See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
O, may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfall of our house!
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down, to hell; and say I sent thee thither,-And
[Stabs him again.
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd: and the women cried,
"O Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!"
And so I was; which plainly signified
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother:
And this word love, which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me; I am myself alone.
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick to heave;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my
back:
Work thou the way, and thou shalt execute.
K. Edw. Clarence and Gloster, love my lovely
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Clar. The duty that I owe unto your majesty,
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.
K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy
brother, thanks.
Glo. And that I love the tree from whence thou
sprang'st
Clarence beware; thou keep'st me from the light. Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit:
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee:
For I will buzz abroad such prophesies,
That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry and the prince his son are gone:
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest,
Counting myself but bad till I be best.
I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.
SCENE VII.-The same. A Room in the Palace.
King EDWARD is discovered sitting on his throne;
Queen ELIZABETH, with the infant PRINCE,
CLARENCE, GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and others,
near him.
To say
the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master;
And cried-All hail! when as he meant - all harm.
[Aside.
K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.
Clar. What will your grace have done with
Margaret?
Reignier, her father, to the King of France
[Exit.] Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransom.
K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne, Repurchas'd with the blood of enemies.
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to
And now what rests, but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows,
Such as befit the pleasures of the court?
Sound, drums and trumpets!-farewell, sour
annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy.
EDWARD, Prince of WALES, afterwards King
Edward V., son to the King.
RICHARD, Duke of York, son to the King.
GEORGE, Duke of Clarence, brother to the King.
RICHARD, Duke of Gloster, afterwards King
Richard III., brother to the King.
A young Son of Clarence.
HENRY, Earl of Richmond, afterwards King
Henry VII.
Cardinal BOUCHIER, Archbishop of Canterbury.
THOMAS ROTHERAM, Archbishop of York.
JOHN MORTON, Bishop of Ely.
Duke of BUCKINGHAM.
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cat/books/content?id=Er0VAAAAYAAJ&hl=ca&output=html_text&pg=PA535&img=1&zoom=3&q=editions:OXFORD555076000&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U2tDaAATbHdWe_txrYVkxpmfcfO4Q&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=127,490,343,221)
Sir THOMAS VAUGHAN.
Sir RICHARD RATCLIFF.
Bir WILLIAM CATESBY.
Sir JAMES TYRREL
Sir JAMES BLOUNT,
Sir WALTER HERBERT,
Sir ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the
Tower.
CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a Priest.
A Priest.
Lord Mayor of London.
Sheriff of WILTSHIRE.
ELIZABETH, Queen of King Edward IV.
MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI.
Duchess of York, mother to King Edward IV.,
Clarence and Gloster.
Lady ANNE, widow of Edward Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI, afterwards married to the Duxe of Gloster.
A Young Daughter of Clarence. Lords, and other Attendants; two gentlemen, a Pursuivant Scrivener, Citizens, Murderera, Messengers, Ghosts, Boldiers, &c.
Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings; Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable, That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to see my shadow in the sun, And descant on mine own deformity. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murtherer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence
Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY. Brother, good day: What means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? Clar. His majesty, Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. Glo. Upon what cause?
Because my name is George. Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should for that commit your godfathers:O, belike, his majesty hath some intent That you should be new christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: But as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, And says, a wizard told him, that by G His issue disinherited should be; And for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he: These, as I learn, and such-like toys as these, Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.
Glo. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by
"Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower.
My Lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodville, her brother there,
That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.
Clar. By Heaven, I think there is no man
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
Heard you not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what,-I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men and wear her livery:
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.
Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother.
Glo. Even so; an please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of anything we say:
We speak no treason, man:-we say, the king
Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous:-
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing
tongue :
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?
Brak. With this, my lord, myself hath nought to do.
Glo. Naught to do with Mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.
Brak. What one, my lord?
Glo. Her husband, knave:-Wouldst thou betray me?
Brak. I do beseech your grace to pardon me;
Well are you welcome to this open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?
Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners
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 too;
For they that were your enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him as you.
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 St. Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And over-much consum'd his royal person; "Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he? in his bed?
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.cat/books/content?id=Er0VAAAAYAAJ&hl=ca&output=html_text&pg=PA536&img=1&zoom=3&q=editions:OXFORD555076000&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3l89f7ZHat5vZq5_XxYXlDyNFDyA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=497,430,264,19)
Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.
[Exit HASTINGS.
He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments:
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
What though I kill'd her husband and her father,
The readiest way to make the wench amends
Is, to become her husband and her father:
The which will I: not all so much for love
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and
reigns;
When they are gone then must I count my gains. [Exit.
SCENE II.-The same. Another Street. 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
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,-
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale aslies of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
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:
O, 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 miserable 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 coffin pass.
Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
[The bearers set down the coffin.
Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not; for 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 cans't not have; therefore be gone.
Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.
Anne. Foul devil, for God'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 congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh!
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!
Either, Heaven, with lightning strike the murtherer dead;
Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man;
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry! Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed crimes to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself.
Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, For these known evils but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.
Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee let me have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.
Anne. Fouler than heart can think, 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 excus'd,
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I slew them not.
Anne. Then say, they were not slain.
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Why, then he is alive. Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's
Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest; Queen Margaret saw
Thy murtherous faulchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once did bend against her breast. But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. ame. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dream'st on aught but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill this king?
Glo.
I grant ye.
Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God
grant me too,
Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.
Glo. The fitter for the king of heaven that hath
Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.
Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.
Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
Did it to help thee to a better husband.
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the
earth.
Glo. He lives that loves thee better than he could.
Anne. Name him.
Anne.
Why, that was he.
Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature.
Anne. Where is he?
Glo. Here: [She spits at him.] Why dost thou
spit at me?
Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison for thy sake! Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.
Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee
dead!
Glo. I would they were that I might die at once;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt
tears;
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,
No, when my father York and Edward wept
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death,
And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what these sorrows could not thence exale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with
weeping.
I never sued to friend, nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
speak. [She looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
[He lays his breast open; she offers
at it with his sword.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry;
But was thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young
Edward; [She again offers at his breast.
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[She lets fall the sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy
death,
I will not be thy executioner.
Anne. I would I knew thy heart.
Glo. "Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword
Glo. Say, then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take is not to give.
[She puts on the ring
Glo. Look how my ring encompasseth thy finger
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
Anne. What is it?
Glo. That it may please you leave these sad
designs
To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby House:
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monastery, this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
I will with all expedient duty see you:
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you
Grant me this boon.
Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too
To see you are become so penitent.
Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me.
Glo. Bid me farewell.
Anne.
'Tis more than you deserve: But, since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.
[Exeunt Lady ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKLEY. Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming.
[Exeunt the rest with the corse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
Was ever woman in this humour won?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against
And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her,-all the world to nothing!
Ha!
Hath she so forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months
since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,
The spacious world cannot again afford:
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince
And made her widow to a woeful bed?
Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
Anne. I have already.
Glo.
That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and even with the word,
This hand which for thy love did kill thy love,
Shall for thy love kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass.
|