Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?

Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
Though not by war, by surfeit die your king!9
As ours by murder, to make him a king!
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence!
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss;
And see another, as I see thee now,

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! -
Rivers, and Dorset, — you were standers by,
And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live
your natural
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

-

age,

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd

hag.

Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt

hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul !
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

9 by surfeit die your king,] Alluding to his luxurious life.

Thou elvish-mark'd', abortive, rooting hog!2
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature3, and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour thou detested

Glo. Margaret.

Q. Mar.

Glo.

Q. Mar.

Richard!

Ha?

I call thee not.

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think,
That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names.
Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply.
O, let me make the period to my curse.

Glo. 'Tis done by me; and ends in - Margaret.
Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against
yourself.

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my for

tune!

4

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, *
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad.

1

· elvish-mark'd,] The common people in Scotland, (as we learn from Kelly's Proverbs,) have still an aversion to those who have any natural defect or redundancy, as thinking them mark'd out for mischief.

2

rooting hog! The expression is fine, alluding (in memory of her young son) to the ravage which hogs make, with the finest flowers, in gardens; and intimating that Elizabeth was to expect no other treatment for her sons. WARBURTON.

3 The slave of nature,] The expression is strong and noble, and alludes to the ancient custom of masters branding their profligate slaves; by which it is insinuated that his misshapen person was the mark that nature had set upon him to stigmatize his ill conditions. bottled spider,] A spider is called bottled, because, like other insects, he has a middle slender, and a belly protuberant. Richard's form and venom made her liken him to a spider.

41

Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantick curse; Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience.

Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd

mine.

Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your duty.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatick.

Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current: O, that your young nobility could judge,

What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!

They that stand high, have many blasts to shake them; And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.

Glo. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, marquis. Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. Glo. Ay, and much more: But I was born so high, Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,

And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade; alas!

alas!

Witness my son, now in the shade of death:5
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.

Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest :6
O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it;
As it was won with blood, lost be it so!

Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.
Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me;

5 Witness my son, &c.] Her distress cannot prevent her quibbling. It may be here remarked, that the introduction of Margaret in this place is against all historical evidence. She was ransomed and sent to France soon after Tewksbury fight, and there passed the remainder of her wretched life.

6 Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest :] An aiery is a hawk's or an eagle's nest.

Uncharitably with me have you dealt,

And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my shame,

And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage!
Buck. Have done, have done.

Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee : Now fair befal thee, and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass
The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
O Buckingham, beware of yonder dog;

Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
Have not to do with him, beware of him;

Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him;
And all their ministers attend on him.

Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.
Q. Mar. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle
counsel ?

And sooth the devil that I warn thee from?

O, but remember this another day,

When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow;

And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. —
Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's!

[Exit.

Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. Riv. And so doth mine; I muse, why she's at liberty. Glo. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother; She hath had too much wrong, and I repent My part thereof, that I have done to her.

Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge. Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do some body good,

That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains;7
God pardon them that are the cause thereof!
Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion,
Το for them that have done scath to us. 8
pray
Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd;-
For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.

Enter CATESBY.

Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you,

[Aside.

and you, my noble lords. come: - Lords, will you go with

Riv. Madam, we will attend upon† your grace.

[Exeunt all but GLOSTER.

Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,

I lay unto the grievous charge of others.

Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, —

I do beweep to many simple gulls ;

Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham;
And tell them—'tis the queen and her allies,
That stir the king against the duke my brother.
Now they believe it; and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey:
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture,
Tell them—that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villainy

With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

7 He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains:] A frank is an old English word for a hog-sty or pen. 'Tis possible he uses this metaphor to Clarence, in allusion to the crest of the family of York, which was a boar.

8

done scath to us.] Scath is harm, mischief. + Mr. Malone omits upon.