K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be
got.
Gray. So fhall you bind me to your Highness' fervice.
K. Edw. What fervice wilt thou do me, if I give

them?

Gray. What you command, that refts in me to do. K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon? Gray. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. Gray. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands.

Glo. He plies her hard, and much rain wears the marble.

Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax muft melt. Gray. Why ftops my lord ? fhall I not hear my task ? K. Edw. An eafie task, 'tis but to love a King.

Gray. That's foon perform'd, because I am a Subject. 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, fhe 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 fo 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. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee.
Gray. To tell you plain, I'd rather lye in prifon.
K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy huf-
band'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'st thy children mightily. Gray. Herein your Highnefs wrongs both them and

me:

But,

But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the fadness of my suit;
Please you difmifs me, or with ay, or no.

K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt fay, Ay, to my requeft: No; if thou doft fay, No, to my demand.

Gray. Then, No, my lord; my fuit is at an end.
Glo. The widow likes him not, fhe knits her brows.
Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.
K. Edw. Her looks do argue her replete with modefty,
Her words do fhew her wit incomparable,
All her perfections challenge Sovereignty;
One way or other, fhe is for a King;

And the shall be my love, or elfe my Queen.
Say, that King Edward take thee for his Queen?
Gray. 'Tis better faid than done, my gracious lord;
I am a Subject fit to jeft withal,

But far unfit to be a Sovereign.

K. Edw. Sweet Widow, by my State I.fwear to thee, I speak no more than what my foul intends;

And that is, to enjoy thee for my love.

Gray. And that is more than I will yield unto : I know, I am too mean to be your Queen;

And yet too good to be your Concubine.

K. Edw. You cavil, Widow; I did mean, my Queen. Gray. 'Twill grieve your Grace, my fons fhould call you father.

K. Edw. No more than when my daughters call thee

mother.

Thou art a widow, and thou haft fome children;
And, by God's mother, I, being but a batchelor,
Have other Some: why, 'tis a happy thing,
To be the father unto many fons.

Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen.

Glo. The ghoftly father now hath done his fhrift.
Clar. When he was made a fhriver, 'twas for fhift.
K. Edw. Brothers, you muse what Chat we two have
had.

Glo. The widow likes it not, for the looks fad.
K. Edw. You'd think it strange, if I fhould marry

her.

VOL. V.

G

Clar.

Clar. To whom, my lord?

K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself.

Glo. That would be ten days' Wonder at the least.
Clar. That's a day longer than a Wonder lafts.
Glo. By fo much is the Wonder in extreams.

K. Edw. Well, jeft on, Brothers ; I can tell you both,

Her fuit is granted for her husband's lands.

Enter a Nobleman.

Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner 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. 'Would he were wafted, marrow, bones, and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for. foul's defire and me, (The luftful Edward's Title buried) Is Clarence, Henry, and his fon

And

between my yet

young Edward;
And all th' unlook'd-for iffue of their bodies,
To take their rooms ere I can place myself.
A cold premeditation for my purpose !
Why, then I do but dream on Sov'reignty,
Like one that ftands upon a promontory,
And fpyes a far off fhore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his

eye,
And chides the Sea that funders him from thence,
Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:
So do I wish, the Crown being fo far off,
And fo I chide the means that keep me from it;
And fo (I fay) I'll cut the causes off,
Flatt'ring my mind with things impoffible.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and ftrength could equal them.

Well,

Well, fay there is no Kingdom then for Richard:
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,

And 'witch fweet ladies with my words and lcoks.
Oh miferable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden Crowns.
Why, Love forfwore me in my mother's womb;
And, for I fhould not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail Nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub:
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where fits Deformity to mock my body;
To fhape my legs of an unequal fize;
To difproportion me in every part :
Like to a Chaos, or unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impreffion like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
Oh, monftrous fault, to harbour fuch a thought!
Then fince this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'er-bear fuch
As are of better perfon than myself;

I'll make my heav'n to dream upon the Crown;
And, while I live, t' account this world but Hell,
Until the mif-fhap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round-impaled with a glorious Crown.
And yet I know not how to get the Crown,
For many lives ftand between me and home:
And I, (like one loft in a thorny wood,

That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way, and ftraying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling defp'rately to find it out)

Torment myself to catch the English Crown,
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody ax.

Why, I can fmile, and murther while I fmile;
And cry, Content, to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,

And frame my face to all occafions :

G 2

I'll drown more failors, than the Mermaid fhall;
I'll flay more gazers, than the Bafilisk;
I'll play the orator, as well as Neftor;
Deceive more flily, than Ulyffes could;
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy :
I can add colours ev'n to the Camelion ;
Change shapes with Proteus, for advantages;
And fet the murth'rous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a Crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

SCENE changes to France.

[Exit.

Flourish. Enter King Lewis, Lady Bona, Bourbon, Edward Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis fits, and rifeth up again.

K. Lew. FAIR Queen of England, worthy Margaret, down with us; it ill befits thy State,

And Birth, that thou should'ft ftand, while Lewis fits.
Queen. No, mighty King of France; now Margaret
Muft ftrike her fail, and learn a while to serve,
I was, I must confefs,
Where Kings command.
Great Albion's Queen in former golden days:
But now mifchance hath trod my Title down,
And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
Where I must take like feat unto my fortune,
And to my humble Seat conform myself.

K. Lew. Why, fay, fair Queen, whence fprings this
deep despair?

Queen. From fuch a cause as fills mine eyes with tears; And ftops my tongue, while my heart's drown'd in cares. K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou ftill like thyself, And fit thee by our fide. Yield not thy neck

[Seats her by him. To fortune's yoak, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance.

Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
It fhall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.

Queen. Thofe gracious words revive my drooping
thoughts,

And