K. Edw. Why then, thy Husband's Lands I freely give thee, Gray. I take my leave with many thousand Thanks. Glo. The match is made, the feals it with a Curtfie. K. Edw. But ftay thee, 'tis the fruits of Love I mean, Gray. The fruits of Love, I mean, my loving Liege. K. Edw. Ay, but I fear me in another sense. What Love, think'ft thou, I fue so much to get? Gray. My Love'till Death, my humble Thanks, my Prayers. That Love which Virtue begs, and Virtue grants, K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean fuch Love. Gray. Why then you mean not as I thought you did. K. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my Mind. Gray. My Mind will never grant what I perceive Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright. K. Edy. To tell thee plain, I aim to lye with thee. Gray. To tell you plain, I had rather lye in Prison. K. Edw. Why then thou shalt not have thy Husband's Lands. Gray. Why then mine Honefty fhall be my Dower, For by that Lofs I will not purchase them. K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'ft thy Children mightily. Gray. The No, my Lord; my Suit is at an end. K. Edw. Her Looks do argue her repleat with Modefty, Her Words do fhew her Wit incomparable, All her Perfections challenge Sovereignty, One way or other fhe is for a King, And she shall be my Love, or else my Queen. But far unfit to be a Sovereign, K. Edw. Sweet Widow, by my State I swear to thee, I I speak no more than what my Soul intends, Gray. And that is more than I will yield unto: And yet too good to be your Concubine. K. Edw. You cavil, Widow, I did mean my Queen, Gray. 'Twill grieve your Grace, my Sons fhall call you K. Edw. No more than when my Daughters Call thee Mother. Thou art a Widow, and thou haft fome Children, Anfwer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen. [Father. Glo. The Ghoftly Father now hath done his Shrift. Clar. When he was made a Shriver, it was for a shift. K. Edw. Brother, you muse what Chat we two have had. Glo. The Widow likes it not, for the looks fad. K. Edw. You'ld think it ftrange, if I should marry her. Clar. To whom, my Lord? K. Edw. Why Clarence, to my felf. Gle. That would be ten days wonder at the leaft K. Edw. Well, jeft on, Brothers, I can tell you both, Nob. My gracious Lord, Henry your Foe is taken, And brought your Prifoner to your Palace Gate. K. Edw. See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, Brothers, to the Man that took him, To queftion of his Apprehenfion. Widow, go you along: Lords, ufe her honourably. Manet Gloucester. [Exeunt. Glo. Ay, Edward will ufe Women honourably. Is Clarence, Henry, and his Son young Edward, My Eye's too quick, my Heart o'er-weens too much, And 'witch fweet Ladies with my Words and Looks. Oh monftrous Fault, to harbour fuch a Thought. I'll make my Heaven to dream upon the Crown, Be Be round impaled with a glorious Crown, That rents the Thorns, and is rent with the Thorns I'll drown more Sailors than the Mermaid fhall, [Exit Flourish. Enter King Lewis, Bona, Bourbon, Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis fits, and rifeth up again. K. Lew. Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, And Birth, that thou fhould'ft ftand, whiles Lewis fits. Where Where I must take like feat unto my Fortune, K. Lew. Why fay, fair Queen, whence fprings this deep despair? Queen. From fuch a caufe as fills mine Eyes with Tears, And ftops my Tongue, while Heart is drown'd in Cares. K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou ftill like thy felf, And fit thee by our fide, [Seats her by him. Yield not thy Neck to Fortune's yoak, But let thy dauntless Mind ftill ride in triumph Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy Grief, It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. Queen. Thole gracious Words revivemy drooping Thoughts, And give my Tongue-ty'd Sorrows leave to speak. Now therefore be it known to Noble Lewis, That Henry, fole poffeffor of my Love, Is, of a King, become a banifh'd Man, K. Lew, Renowned Queen, with patience calm the Storm, While we bethink a means to break it off. Queen. The more we ftay, the ftronger grows our Foe. K. Lew. The more I ftay, the more I'll fuccour thee. Queen. O, but impatience waiteth on true Sorrow. And fee where comes the breeder of my Sorrow. Enter Warwick. K. Lew. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence? Queen. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest Friend. K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick, what brings thee to France? [He defcends. She arifeth. Queen. |