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The Raven rook'd her on the Chimney's top,
And chattering Pyes in difmal Discords fung:
Thy Mother felt more than a Mother's Pain,
And yet brought forth lefs than a Mother's Hope,
To wit, an indigefted deform'd Lump,
Not like the Fruit of fuch a goodly Tree.
Teeth hadft thou in thy Head when thou waft born,
To fignifie thou cam'ft to bite the World:
And, if the reft be true which I have heard,
Glo. I'll hear no more:
Die, Prophet, in thy Speech;
For this, amongst the reft, was I ordain'd.
K. Henry, Ay, and for much more Slaughter after this-
O God, forgive my Sins, and pardon thee.
Glo. What? will th'afpiring Blood of Lancaster
Sink in the Ground? I thought it would have mounted,
See how my Sword weeps for the poor King's Death.
O may fuch purple Tears be alway thed
From those who wish the downfal of our Houfe.
If any fpark of Life be yet remaining,
Down, down to Hell, and fay I fent thee thither,
I, that have neither Pity, Love, nor Fear.
Indeed 'tis true that Henry told me of:
For I have often heard my Mother fay,
1 came into the World with my Legs forward.
Had I not reason, think ye, to make hafte,
And feek their Ruin, that ufurp'd our Right?
The Midwife wonder'd, and the Women cry'd,
Jefus blefs us, he is born with Teeth!
And fo I was, which plainly fignified,
That I fhould fnarle, and bite, and play the Dog:
Then fince the Heav'ns have fhap'd my Body lo,
Let Hell make crook'd my Mind to answer it.
I have no Brother, I am like no Brother,'
And this word [Love] which grey Beards call Divine,
Be refident in Men like one another,
And not in me: I am my felf alone.
Clarence beware, thou keep'ft me from the light,
But I will fort a pitchy Day for thee:
For I will buz abroad fuch Prophecies,
That Edward fhall be fearful of his Life,
And then, to purge his Fear, I'll be thy Death.
King Henry, and the Prince his Son, are gone,
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the reft;
Counting my felf but bad, 'till I be beft,
I'll throw thy Body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of Doom.
Enter King Edward, Queen, Clarence, Gloucefter, Haftings, Nurfe, and Attendants.
K. Edw. Once more we fit on England's Royal Throne Re-purchas'd with the Blood of Enemies: What valiant Foe-men, like to Autumn's Corn, Have we mow'd down in top of all their Pride? Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold Renown'd, For hardy and undoubted Champions: Two Cliffords, as the Father and the Son, And two Northumberlands; two braver Men
Ne'er fpurr'd their Courfers at the Trumpets found.
With them, the two brave Bears, Warwick and Montague,
That in their Chains fetter'd the Kingly Lion,
And made the Foreft tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept Sufpicion from our Seat,
And made our Footftool of Security.
Come hither, Befs, and let me kifs my Boy:
Young Ned, for thee, thine Uncles, and my felf,
Have in our Armours watch'd the winter Night,
Went all a-foot in Summers fcalding Heat,
That thou might'ft repoffefs the Crown in peace,
And of our Labours thou fhalt reap the Gain.
Glo. I'll blaft his Harveft, if your Head were laid,
I am not look'd on in the World.
This Shoulder was ordain'd fo thick, to heave,
And heave it fhall fome weight, or break my Back;
Work thou the way, and that fhall execute.
K.Edw, Clarence and Glo'fter, love my lovely Queen,
And kifs your Princely Nephew, Brothers both.
Clar. The duty that I owe your Majefty,
I feal upon the Lips of this fweet Babe.
K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence, worthy Brother, thanks, Glo. And that I love the Tree from whence thou sprang'st,' Witnefs the loving Kifs I give the Fruit: To fay the truth, fo Judas kifs'd his Mafter, And cry'd, all hail, when as he meant all harm. K, Edw. Now am I feated as my Soul delights, Having my Country's peace, and Brothers loves. Clar. What will your Grace have done with Margaret Reignier her Father, to the King of France Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerufalem, And hither have they fent it for her Ranfom.
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to France And now what refts, but that we fpend the time With ftately Triumphs, mirthful Comick Shows, Such as befits the Pleasure of the Court?
Sound Drums and Trumpets, farewel fower Annoy,
For here, I hope, begins our lasting Joy. [Exeunt omnes,
The End of the Fourth Volume.