Whose dismal tune bereft my vital pow'rs?
And thinks he that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
Can chase away the former hideous sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words.-
Lay not thy hands on me-forbear I say
Their touch affrights me as a serpent's sting.-
Thou baleful conqueror !-out of my sight-
Upon thy eye-balls murd'rous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thy eyes, are wounding—
Yet do not go away-Come, basilisk!
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight!
For in the shade of death I shall find joy :

In life, but double death, now Edward's dead. Edward. Away with her! go, bear her hence--by force.

Margaret. Nay, do not bear me hence-dispatch me here!

Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my deathAnd bless thee for it-O my child, my child!

Edward. Stay till the flood of grief has had its

course,

Then bear her hence; let her be gently treated.
Meanwhile to London will we march with speed,
То
reap the fruit of dear-bought victories.

[Scene closes.

સ

SCENE V. A room in the Tower.

KING HENRY and LIEUTENANT.

Lieutenant. Dwell not, my Lord, on this distract

ing theme;

And think of comfort.

King Henry.

No,

-my son is murder'd,

My Queen a captive-No, talk not of comfort.
Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs.-
Make dust our paper; and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's chuse executors, and talk of wills!
And

yet not so for what can I bequeath, Save my deposed body to the ground?

My lands, my crown, my life, and all are Edward's :
And nothing can I call my own but death,
And that small portion of the barren earth,
That soon shall lie a cover to my bones-
For Heaven's sake, let's sit upon the ground,
And tell sad stories of the death of kings;
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they dispossess'd;
All murder'd.-For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king,
Death keeps his court, and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp.
Allowing him a breath, a little scene

To monarchise, be fear'd, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,

As if this flesh, which walls about our life,
Were brass impregnable;

and humor'd thus,

Comes at the last, and with a little pin

Bores thro' his castle wall, and farewell King! Lieutenant. My Lord, wise men ne'er wail their

present woes,

But guard against misfortune's future blast.

Enter RICHARD.

Richard, to the Lieutenant. Friend-leave us to ourselves we must confer.

[Exit Lieutenant.

K. Henry. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf.

What scene of death has Roscius now to act!

Richard. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind. The thief does fear each bush an officer.

K. Henry. The poor bird, that has been already lim'd,

With trembling wings misdoubts of ev'ry bush.

And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,

Have now the fatal object in my eye,

Where my poor young was lim'd, and caught, and kill'd.

Richard. Why, what a silly fool was that of
Crete,

Who taught his son the office of a fowl!

And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.

K. Henry. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not

with words!

My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears thy foul sarcastic taunt!

But wherefore dost thou come? -is't for my life?
Richard. Think'st thou I am an executioner?
K. Henry. If murd'ring innocents be executing,
Thou art the worst of executioners!

Richard. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.
K. Henry. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou
didst presume,

Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.

But thou wast born to be a plague to men.
How many
old men's sighs and widows' moans,
How many orphans' water-standing eyes,
Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate,
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,
Will rue the hour, that ever thou wast born.

The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign:
The night-crow cried, foreboding luckless time.
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees.
The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top,
And chatt'ring pies in dismal discord sung.

Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,

And yet brought forthless than a mother's hope. Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast horn, To signify thou cam'st to bite the world.

Richard. I'll hear no more-die prophet in thy speech.

For this among the rest was I ordain'd.

*

King Henry. Oh--and for much more slaughter

after this

O God! forgive my sins-and pardon thee..

[Dies.

Richard. What! will th' aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground! I thought it would have mounted.See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death. may such purple tears be always shed

From those, that wish the downfall of our house.-
If any spark of life be yet remaining,

Down, down, to hell,-and say I sent thee thither-
I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear,-
Indeed 'tis true, what Henry told me of;
For I have often heard my mother say,
That at my birth the wond'ring females cried:
"Good Heav'n, defend us, he is born with teeth!"--
And so I was, which plainly signified

That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then since the heav'ns have shap'd my body so,

Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother-and I am no brother;

And this word-love, which grey-beards call divine,

Be resident in men like one another;

And not in me

-I am

-myself alone.

Let pale-fac'd fear disturb ignoble breasts,

And find no harbour in a royal heart!

Faster than spring-time show'rs comes thought on

thought,

And not a thought, but dwells on royalty.

My brain, more busy than the lab'ring spider,