Imatges de pÓgina

Than all the compleat Armor that thou wear ft.
My Prayers on the adverse Party figh,
And there the little Souls of Edward's Children
Whisper the Spirits of thine Encmies,
And promise them Success and Victory.
Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end:
Shame serves thy Life, and doth thy D:a'h attcnd. [Exit

: Queen. Tho' far more Cause, yet much less Spirit to cuife Abides in me, I say Amen to her.

K. Rich. Stay, Madam, I must talk a Word with you. .

Queen. I have no more Sons of the Royal Blood For thee to Naughter; for my Daughters, Richard, They shall be praying Nuns, not weeping Queers ; And therefore level not to hit their Lives.

K. Rich. You have a Daughter callid Elizabeth,
Virtuous and Fair, Royal and Gracious.

Queen. And muft she die for this? O let her live,
And I'll corrupt her Manners, stain her Beauty,
Slander my self as false to Edward's Bed :
Throw over her the Vail of Infamy,
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding Slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's Daughter,

K. Rich. Wrong not her Birth, she is a Royal Princess.
Queen. To save her Life I'll lay she is not so.
K. Rich. Her Life is safest only in her Birth.
Queen. And only in that safety dy'd her Brothers.
K. Rich. Lo, at their Birth good stars were opposite.
Queen. No, to their Lives ill Friends were contrary.
K. Rich, All unavoided is the doom of Destiny.

Queen. True; when avoided Grace makes Destiny.
My Babes were destin'd to a fairer Death,
If Grace had bleft thee with a fairer Life.

K. Rich. You speak as if that I had Nain my Cousios?

Queen. Cousins indeed, and by their Uncle cozen'd,
of Tomfort, Kingdom, Kindred, Freedom, Life.
Whose Hands foever lanch'd their tender Hearts,
Thy Head, all indire&tly, gave Dire&ior.
No doubt the murd'rous Knife was dull and blent,
'Till it was whetted on thy Stone-hard Heart,
To revel in the Intrails of my Lambs.
But that till use of Grief makes wild Grief tame,


My Tongue Mould to thy Ears not name my Boys;
'Till that my Nails were anchor'd in thine Eyes;
And I in such a desprate Bay of Death,
Like a poor Bark of Sails and Tackling reft,
Rush all to pieces on thy Rocky Bosom.

K. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in'my Enterprize,
And dangerous success of bloody Wars,
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Than ever you or yours by me were harm’d.

Queen. What good is cover'd with the Face of Heav'n,
To be disco er'd, that can do me good?
K. Rich. Th’Advancement of your Children, gentle Lady:
Queen. Up to some Scaffold, there to lose their Heads.

K. Rich. Unto the dignity and heighth of Fortune, The high Imperial Type of this Earth’s Glory.

Queen. Flatter my Sorrow with report of it;
Tell me, what State, what Dignity, what Honour
Canst thou devise to any Child of mine?

K. Rich. Ev'n all I have; ay, and my felf and all,
Will I withal endow a Child of thine:
So in the Leche of thy angry Soul
I hou drown the sad remembrance of those Wrongs,
Which thou supposest I have done to thee.

Queen. Be brief, lest that the process of thy kindness
Last longer telling, than thy kindness date.

K. Rich. Then know,
That from my Soul I love thy Daughter.

Queen. My Daughter's Mother thinks it with her Soul:
K. Rich. What do

Queen. That thou dost love my Daughter from thy Soul:
So from thy Soul's love didst thou love her Brothers,
And from my Heart's love, I do thank thee for it.

K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning;
I mean, that with my Soul I love thy Daughter,
And do intend to make her Queen of England.

Queen. Well then, who doft thou mean shall be her King

K. Rich. Even he that makes her Queen;
Who else should be?

Queen. What, thou !
R. Rich. Even fo; how think you of it?


Oneen. How can'ft thou woo her?

K. Rich. That I would learn of you,
As one being best acquainted with her Humour.

Queen. And wilt thou learn of me?
K. Rich. Madam, with all my Heart.

Queen. Send to her, by the Man that few her Brothers,
A pair of bleeding Hearts; thereon engrave
Edward and York, then haply will she weep:
Therefore present to her, as sometime Margarer
Did to thy Father, steept in Rutland's Blood,
A Handkerchief; which, fay to her, did drain
The purple rap from her sweet Brothers Bodies
And bid her wipe her weeping Eycs withal.
If this Inducement move her not to Love,
Send her a Letter of thy Noble Deeds;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her Uncle Clarence,
Her Uncle Rivers; ay, ard for her fake,
Mad'st quick Conveyance with her good Aunt Anne.

K. Rich. You mock me, Madam, this is not the way
To win your Daughter.

Queen. There is no other way,
Uniets thou could'st put on some other Shape,
And not be Richard, that hath done all this.

K. Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her.

Queen. Nay then indeed she cannot chuse but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody Spoil.

K. Rich. Look, what is done, cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after-hours give leisure to repent of. If I did take the Kingdom from your Sons; To make amends, I'll give it to your Daughter : If I have killd the Issue of your Wemb, To quicken your encrease I will beget Mine issue of your blood, upon your Daughter : A Grandam's name is little less in love, Than is the doting Title of a Mother; They are as Children but one ftep below, Even of your Metal; of your very Blood: Of all one pain, save for a Night of Grcans Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like Sorrow. Your Children were Vexation to your Youth,


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But mine Thall be a comfort to your Age,
The loss you have is but a Son being King,
And by that loss your Daughter is made Queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your Son, that with a fearful Soul
Leads discontented Steps in Foreign Soil,
This fair Alliance quickly shall call home
To high Promotions and great Dignity.
The King that calls your beauteous Daughter Wifej
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset Brother :
Again Mall you be Mother to a King:
And all the ruins of distressful Times,
Repair'd with double Riches of Content.
What? we have many goodly Days to see:
The liquid drops of Tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transform'd to Orient Pearl,
Advantaging their Love with Interest
Oftentimes double gain of Happiness.
Go then, my Mother, to thy Daughter, go,
Make bold her bashful Years with your Experience,
Prepare her Ears to hear a Wooer's tale.
Pue in her tender Heart th' aspiring fame
Of golden Sovereignty, acquaint the Princess
With the sweet silent hours of Marriage Joys;
And when this Arm of mine hath chastised
The petty Rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant Garlands will I come,
And lead thy Daughter to a Conqueror's Bed ;
To whom I will retail my Conquest won,
And she shall be sole Vi&ress, Cafar's Cafar.

Queen. What were I best to say, her Father's Brother
Would be her Lord? or shall I say, her Uncle?
Or he that flew her Brothers? and her Uncles?
Under what Title Thall I woo for thee,
That God, the Law, my Honour, and her Love,
Can make seem pleasing to her tender Years?

K. Rich. Infer fair England's Peace by this Alliance.
Queen. Which she shall purchase with still lasting War.
K. Rich. Tell her, the King, that may command, intreats.
Queen. That at her Hands, which the King's King forbids.

K. Richi

K. Rich. Say, the Nhall be a high and mighty Queen.
Queen. To vail the Title, as her Mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly,
Queen, But how long shall that Title ever last?
K. Rich. Sweetly in force, unto her fair life's end.
Queen. But how long, fairly, shall her sweet life laft?
K. Rich. As long as Heav'n and Nature lengthens it.
Queen. As long as Hell and Richard likes of it.
K. Rich. Say, I, her Sovereigr, am her Subje& low.
Queen. But she, your Subject, loaths such Sovereignty.
K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Queen. An honest Tale speeds best, being plainly told.
K. Rich. Then, plainly, to her tell my loving Tale.
Queen. Plain and not honest, is too harsh a Siile.
K. Rich. Your Reasons are too shallow, and too quick.

Queen. O no, my Reasons are too deep and dead;
Too deep and dead, poor Infants in their Graves,
Harp on it still fhall T, 'till Heart-strings break.

K. Rich. Harp not on that String, Madam, that is past. Now by my George, my Garter, and my Crown

Queen. Profan'd, dishonour’d, and the third usurp'd.
K. Rich. I swear.

Queen, By no: hing, for this is no Oath :
Thy George profan'd, hath lost his lordly Honour,
Thy Garter blemish'd, pawn'd bis kingly Virtue,
Thy Crown usurp’d, disgrac'd his kingly Glory:
If something thou would'It swear to be believ'd,
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd.

K. Rich. Then by my self-
Queen. · Thy self is self-misus’d.
K. Rich. Now by, the World
Queen. 'Tis full of thy foul Wrongs.
K. Rich. My Father's Death
Queen. Thy Life hath it dishonour'd.
K. Rich. Why then, by Heav'n

Queen. Heav'n's Wrong is most of all:
If thou didft fear to break an Oath with him,
The Unity the King my Husband made
Thou hadít not broken, nor my Brothers dy'd.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an Oath by him,
Th' Imperial Metal, circling now thy Head,
Vol. IV.



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