Q. Mar. And leffen'd be that fmall, God I befeech him: Thy Honour, State and Seat, is due to me.
Glo. What! threat you me with telling of the King? I will avouch't in prefence of the King:
I dare adventure to be fent to th' Tower.
"Tis time to fpeak,
My Pains are quite forgot.
Q. Mar. Out Devil!
I do remember them too well:
Thou kill'dft my Husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor Son, at Tewksbury.
Glo. E'er you were Queen,
Ay, or your Husband King,
I was a pack-Horfe in his great Affairs;
A weeder out of his proud Adverfaries,
A liberal Rewarder of his Friends;
To Royalize his Blood I spent mine own.
Q.Mar. Ay, and much better Blood
Glo. In all which time, you and your Husband Gray
Were factious for the Houfe of Lancaster;
And Rivers, fo were you; was not your Husband,
In Margaret's Battei, at Saint Albans flain?
Let me put in your Minds, if you forget,
What you have been e'er this, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.
Q. Mar. A murth'rous Villian, and fo ftill thou art.
Glo. Poor Clarence did forfake his Father Warwick,
Ay, and forfwore himself, which Jesu pardon-
Q. Mar. Which God revenge.
Glo. To fight on Edward's party for the Crown,
And for his meed, poor Lord, he is mewed up:
I would to God my Heart were Flint, like Edward's,
Or Edward's, foft and pitiful, like mine;
I am too childish foolish for this World.
9. Mar. Hie thee to Hell for fhame, and leave this World, Thou Cacodæmon, there thy Kingdom is.
Riv. My Lord of Glofter, in those bufie Days,
Which here you urge, to prove us Enemies,
We follow'd then our Lord, our Sovereign King;
So fhould we you, if you should be our King.
t
Glo. If I fhould be!I had rather be a Pedlar; Far be it from my Heart, the thought thereof. Queen. As little Joy, my Lord, as you fuppofe You should enjoy, were you this Country's King, As little Joy you may fuppofe in me,
That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.
Q. Mar. A little Joy enjoys the Queen thereof; For I am fhe, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.
Hear me, you wrangling Pyrates, that fall out
In fharing that which you have pill'd from me;
Which of you trembles not that looks on me?
If not that I am Queen, you bow like Subjects;
Yet that by you depos'd, you quake like Rebels.
Ah gentle Villain do not turn away.
Glo. Foul wrinkl'd Witch, what mak'ft thou in my fight? Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou haft marr'd,
That will I make, before I let thee go.
Glo. Wer't thou not banifhed on pain of Death?
Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in Banishment, Than Death can yield me here by my abode.
A Husband and a Son thou ow'ft to me,
And thou a Kingdom, all of you Allegiance; [To the Queen. This Sorrow that I have by Right is yours,
And all the Pleafures you ufurp are mine.
Glo. The Curfe my Noble Father laid on thee,
When thou didft Crown his warlike Brows with Paper,
And with thy Scorns drew'ft Rivers from his Eyes,
And then to dry them, gav'ft the Duke a Clout,
Steep'd in the faultlefs Blood of pretty Rutland;
His Curfes, then from bitterness of Soul
Denounc'd against thee, are now fall'n upon thee;
And God, not we, have plagu'd thy bloody Deed.
Q. Mar. So juft is God, to right the Innocent.
Haft. O, 'twas the fouleft Deed to flay that Babe,
And the most merciless that e'er was heard of.
Riv. Tyrants themselves wept, when it was reported.
Dorf. No Man but prophefied revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then prefent, wept to fee it.
Q. Mar. What! were you fnarling all before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the Throat,
And turn you all your hatred now on me?
Did York's dread Curfe prevail fo much with Heav'n,
That Henry's Death, my lovely Edward's Death,
Their Kingdom's lofs, my woful Banishment,
Should all but answer for that peevish Brat?
Can Curfes pierce the Clouds, and enter Heaven?
Why then give way, dull Clouds, to my quick Curfes.
Though not by War, by Surfeit dye your King,
As ours by Murther to make him a King.
Edward thy Son, that now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward our Son, that was Prince of Wales,
Die in his Youth, by like untimely Violence.
Thy felf a Queen, for me that was a Queen,
Out-live thy Glory, like my wretched felf:
Long may'ft thou live to wail thy Childrens Death,
And fee another, as I fee thee now,
Deck'd in thy Rights, as thou art ftall'd in mine.
Long die thy happy Days, before thy Death,
And after many length'ned hours of Grief,
Die neither Mother, Wife, nor England's Queen.
Rivers and Dorfet, you were Standers-by,
And fo waft thou, Lord Haftings, when
my Son
Was ftabb'd with bloody Daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may live his natural Age,
But be by fome unlook'd-for Accident cut off.
Gle. Have done thy Charm, thou hateful wither'd Hag.
Q. Mar. And leave out thee? Stay Dog, for thou shalt
If Heavens have any grievous Plague in store,
Exceeding thofe that I can with upon thee,
O let them keep it, 'till thy Sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their Indignation
On thee, thou troubler of the poor World's peace.
The worm of Confcience ftill be-gnaw thy Soul,
Thy Friends fufpect for Traitors while thou liv'ft,
And take deep Traitors for thy dearest Friends:
No fleep clofe up that deadly Eye of thine,
Unless it be while fome tormenting Dream
Affright thee with a Hell of ugly Devils.
Thou elvish-markt, abortive rooting Hog,
Thou that waft feal'd in thy Nativity
The Slave of Nature, and the Son of Hell:
Thou flander of thy heavy Mother's Womb,
Thou loathed Iffue of thy Father's Loins,
Thou Rag of Honour, thou detefted-
Glo. Margaret.
Q.Mar. Richard.
Glo. Ha!
Q. Mar. I call thee not.
Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think That thou had'ft call'd me all these bitter Names. Q. Mar. Why fo I did, but look'd for no reply. Oh let me make the Period to my Curfe.
Glo. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret.
Queen. Thus have you breath'd your Curie against your self.
O. Mar. Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my Fortune,
Why ftrew'st thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider,
Whofe deadly web enfnareth thee about?
Fool, Fool, thou wher'ft a Knife to kill thy felf:
The Day will come that thou shalt wish for me,
To help thee curfe this poyfonous Bunch-back'd Toad.
Haft. Falfe boading Woman, end thy frantick Curfe,
Left to thy harm thou move our Patience.
Q. Mar. Foul fhame upon you, you have all mov'd mine.
Riv. Were you well ferv'd, you would be taught yourDuty.
Q. Mar. To ferve me well, you all fhould do me Duty,
Teach me to be your Queen, and you my Subjects:
O ferve me well, and teach your felves that Duty,
Dorf. Difpute not with her, he is Lunatick.
Q. Mar. Peace, Mafter Marquefs,!you are malapert,
Your fire-new ftamp of Honour is fcarce currant,
O that your young Nobility can judge
What 'twere to lofe it, and be miferable.
They that ftand high have many biafts to shake them,
And if they fall, they dafh themselves to pieces.
Glo. Good Counfel marry, learn it, learn it, Marquefs.
Dorf. It touches you, my Lord, as much as me.
Glo. Ay, and much more; but I was born fo high;
Our airy buildeth in the Cedar's top,
And dallies with the Wind, and fcorns the Sun.
Q. Mar. And turns the Sun to fhade; alas! alas! Witness my Son now in the fhade of Death, Whole bright out-fbining beams, thy cloudy Wrath
Hath in eternal Darkness folded up.
Your airy buildeth in our airies Neft;
O God, that feeft it, do not fuffer it,
As it is won with Blood, loft be it fo.
Buck. Peace, peace for fhame, if not for Charity,
Q. Mar. Urge neither Charity nor Shame to me;
Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And fhamefully my hopes, by you, are butcher'd.
My Charity is Outrage, Life my Shame,
And in that Shame, ftill live my Sorrow's rage.
Buck. Have done, have done.
Q.Mar. O Princely Buckingham, I'll kifs thy Hand,
In fign of League and Amity with thee:
Now fair befall thee and thy Noble Houfe;
Thy Garments are not spotted with our Blood;
Nor thou within the compafs of my Curfe.
Buck, Nor no one here; for Curfes never pafs
The Lips of thofe that breathe them in the Air.
Q.Mar. I will not think but they afcend the Sky,
And there awake God's gentle fleeping Peace.
O Buckingham, take care 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 fet their marks on him,
And all their Minifters attend on him.
Glo. What doth the fay, my Lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I refpact, my gracious Lord.
Q. Mar. What, doft thou fcorn me
For my gentle Counsel?
And footh the Devil that I warm thee from?
O but remember this another Day;
When he fhalt fplit thy very Heart with Sorrow;
And fay poor Margaret was a Prophetefs.
Live each of you the Subjects to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's.
Buck My Hair doth ftand an end to hear her Curfes. Riv. And fo doth mine: I mufe why he'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.
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