Puslapio vaizdai
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You may partake of any thing we fay:
We speak no Treafon, Man- we fay the King
Is wife and virtuous, and his noble Queen
Well ftrook in Years, fair, and not jealous.
We fay, that Shore's Wife hath a pretty Foot,

A cherry Lip, a bonny Eye, a paffing pleafing Tongue:
That the Queen's Kindred are made Gentle-folks.
How fay you, Sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my Lord, my felf have nought to de.
Glo. Naught to do with Mistress Shore?

I tell thee Fellow, he that doth naught with her,
Excepting one, were beft to do it fecretly alone.
Brak. What one, my Lord?
Glo. Her Husband, Knave-
Brak. I do befeech your Grace

would't thou betray me?

To pardon me, and withal forbear

Your Conferences with the noble Duke..

Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.. Glo. We are the Queen's Abjects, and muft obey.

Brother farewel, I will unto the King,

And whatfoe'er you will employ me in,

Were it to call King Edward's Widow, Sifter,
I will perform it to infranchise

you.

Mean time, this deep difgrace of Brotherhood,
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar. I know it pleafeth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your Imprisonment fhall not be long,
I will deliver you, or elfe lye for you:

Mean time have patience.

Clar. I must perforce; farewel

[Ex, Brak. Clar.

Glo. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return: Simple plain Clarence I do love thee fo,

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That I will fhortly fend thy Soul to Heav'n,
If Heav'n will take the Prefent at our Hands.
But who comes here?, the new deliver'd Haftings &
Enter Lord Haftings.

Haft. Good time of day unto my gracious Lord.
Glo. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain:
Well are you welcome to this open Air,

How hath your Lordship brook'd Imprisonment?

Haft.

Haft. With patience, noble Lord, as Prifoners muft:
But I fhall live, my Lord, to give them thanks
That were the caufe of my Imprisonment.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt, and fo fhall Clarence too,
For they that were your Enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him, as you.
Haft. More pity, that the Eagles fhould be mew'd,
Whiles Kites and Buzzards play at Liberty,
Glo. What News abroad? -

Haft. No News so bad abroad as this at home:
The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his Phyficians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now by St. John, that news is bad indeed.

O he hath kept an evil Diet long,

And over much confum'd his Royal Perfon: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he, in his Bed?

Haft. He is.

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.

[Exit Hiftings. He cannot live, I hope; and muft not die, 'Till George be pack'd with poft-horfe up to Heav'n.I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence, Which lyes well fteel'd with weighty arguments, And if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live:

Which done, God take King Edward to his Mercy,
And leave the World for me to buftle in.

For then, I'll marry Warwick's youngest Daughter:
What though I kill'd her Husband, and her Father,
The readiest way to make the Wench amends,
Is to become her Husband, and her Father:
The which will I, not all fo much for Love,
As for another. fecret clofe intent,

By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my Horfe to Market:
Clarence ftill breaths, Edward ftill lives and reigns,
When they are gone, then muft I count my Gains,

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[Exit

SCENE

SCENE II.

Enter the Coarfe of Henry the Sixth, with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the Mourner.

Anne. Set down, fet down your honourable load,
If Honour may be fhrowded in a Herfe,
Whilft I a-while obfequioufly lament
Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold Figure of a holy King,
Pale Afhes of the House of Lancaster;
Thou bloodless Remnant of that Royal Blood,
Be it lawful that I invocate thy Ghost,
To hear the Lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughtred Son,

C.

Stab'd by the felf fame hand that made thefe wounds. Lo, in these Windows that let forth thy Life,

1

I pour the helplefs Balm of my poor Eyes.

O curfed be the Hand that made thefe holes!
Gurfed the Heart, that had the Heart to do it!
Curfed the Blood, that let this Blood from hence,
More direful hap betide that hated Wretch
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to Wolves, to Spiders, Toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives.
If ever he have Child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whofe ugly and unnatural Afpect,

May fright the hopeful Mother at the view:
And that be Heir to his unhappiness.

If ever he have Wife, let her be made
More miferable by the Death of him,

Than I am made by my young Lord, and thee.
Come now towards Chertfey with your Holy Load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there.
And still as you are weary of this weight,
Reft you, whiles I lament King Henry's Coarfe.
Enter Richard Duke of Glocefter.

Glo. Stay you that bear the Coarfe, and fet it down
Anne. What black Magician conjures up this Fiend,

To fop devoted charitable Deeds?

Gla.

Glo. Villains, fet down the Coarfe; or by St. Paul,
I'll make a Coarfe of him that disobeys.

Gen. My Lord, ftand back, and let the Coffin pass.
Glo. Unmanner'd Dog,

Stand thou when I command:

Advance thy Halbert higher than my Breaft,
Or by St. Paul, I'll ftrike thee to my Foot,
And fpurn upon thee, Beggar, for thy boldness.
Anne. What do you tremble? are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal,
And mortal Eyes cannot endure the Devil.
Avant, thou dreadful Minifter of Hell:
Thou hadft but power over his mortal Body,
His Soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.
Glo. Sweet Saint, for Charity, be not fo curft.
Anne. Foul Devil!

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For God's fake hence, and trouble us not,
For thou haft made the happy Earth thy Hell';
Fill'd it with curfing Cries, and deep Exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous Deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy Butcheries.
Oh Gentlemen! fee! fee dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd Mouths, and bleed afrefh.
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul Deformity;
For 'tis thy prefence that exhales this Blood
From cold and empty Veins, where no Blood dwells.
Thy Deeds inhuman, and unnatural,

Provoke this Deluge most unnatural.

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O God! which this Blood mad'ft, revenge his Death:
O Earth! which this Blood drink'ft, revenge his Death.
Either Heav'n with Lightning ftrike the Murth'rer dead,
Or Earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick,
As thou doft fwallow up this good King's Blood,
Which his Hell-govern'd Arm hath butchered.
Glo. Lady, you know no Rules of Charity,
Which renders good for bad, Bleffings for Curfes.
Anne. Villain, thou know'ft nor law of God nor Man
No Beaft fo fierce, but knows fome touch of pity.
Gło. But I know none, and therefore am no Beast.

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Anne,

Anne. O wonderful, when Devils tell the truth!
Glo More wonderful, when Angels are fo
angry:
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a Woman,
Of thefe fuppofed Crimes, to give me leave,
By circumftance, but to acquit my felf.

Anne. Vouchfafe, diffus'd infection of a Man,
Of these known Evils, but to give me leave
By circumftance, to curfe thy curfed felf...

Glo. Fairer than Tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leifure to excuse my self.

Anne. Fouler than Heart can think thee,

Thou canft make no excufe that will be currant,
Unless thou hang thy felf.

Glo. By fuch defpair, I fhould accufe my self.
Anne. And by defpairing fhalt thou fstand excus'd,
For doing worthy Vengeance on thy felf;
That didit unworthy flaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I flew them not.

Anne. Then fay, they were not flain:

But dead they are, and, devilish Slave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill your Husband.

Anne. Why then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead, and flain by Edward's Hands.
Anne. In thy foul Throat thou ly❜ft, "

Queen Margaret faw

Thy murd'rous Faulchion fmoaking in his Blood:
The which thou once didft bend againft her Breast,
But that thy Brothers beat aside the Point.

Gla. I was provoked by her fland'rous Tongue,
That laid their Guilt upon my guiltless Shoulders.
Anne. Thou waft provoked by thy bloody Mind,
That never dream'ft on ought but Butcheries:
Didft thou not kill this King?

Glo. I grant ye.

Anne. Doft grant me, Hedge-Hog,

Then God grant me too,

Thou may'st be damned for that wicked Deed:
O he was gentle, mild and virtuous.

Glo. The better for the King of Heav'n that hath him.
Anne. He is in Heav'n, where theu fhalt never come.

Glo.

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