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OW is the Winter of our Discontenit,
Made glorious Summer by this Sun of York:
And all the Clouds that lowr'd upon our
In the deep Bosom of the Ocean bury'd.
Now are our Brows bound with Victorious
Our bruised Arins hung up for Monuments;
Our stern Alarums chang'd to merry Meetings;
Our dreadful Marches to delightful Measures.
Grim-visag'd War hath smoothi'd his wrinkled Front;
And now, instead of mounting Barbed Seeds,
To fright the Souls of fearful Adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a Lady's Chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a Lute.
But I, that am not shap'd for sportive Tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous Looking-glass,
1, that am rudely stampt, and want Love's Majesty,
To strut before a wanton ambling Nymph;
1, that am curtaild of this fair Proportion,
Cheated of Feature by dissembling Nature,
Deformid, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing World, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
Thar Dogs bark at me, as I halt by them:
Why I (in this weak piping time of Peace)
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my Shadow in the Sun,
And descant on mine own Deformity.
Ard therefore, fince I cannot prove a Lover,
To entertain tliese fair well-spoken Days,
I am determined to prove a Villain,
And hate the idle Pleasures of these Days.
Plots have I laid, Inductions dangerous,
By drunken Prophesies, Libels, and Dreams,
To fèt my Brother Clarence and the King
In deadly hate, the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as True and Juft,
As I am Subtle, False and Treacherous,
This Day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a Prophesie, which says, that G
OF Edward's Heirs the Murtherer shall be.
Dive Thoughts down to my Soul, here Clarence comes.
Enter Clarence, and Brakenbury, guarded.
Brother, good Day; what means this armca Guard
That waits upon your Grace?
Clar. His Majesty, tendring my Person's safety,
Hath appointed this Condu&t to convey me to th' Tower,
Glo. Upon what Cause?
Clar. Because my Name is George.
Glo. Alack, my Lord, that Fault is none of yours:
He should for that commit your Godfathers.
Obelike, his Majesty hath some intent,
That you should be new Christned in the Tower.
But what's the Matter, Clarence, may I know?
Clar. Yea Richard, when I know; but I protest
As yet I do not; but as I can learn,
He harkens after Prophesies and Dreams,
And from the Cross-row plucks the letter G;
And says a Wizard told him, that by G,
His I ffue dignherited should be.
And for my Name of George begins with G,
It follows in his Thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have mov'd bis Highnefs to commit me now.
Glo. Why this it is, when Men are rul'd by Women.
'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;
My Lady Gray his Wife, Clarence, 'tis she,
That temps him to this harsh Extremity:
Was it not lhe, and that good Man of Worshiip,
Anthony Woodvil her Brother there,
That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower
From whence this Day he is delivered.
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.
Clar. By Heaven, I think there is no Man secure
But the Queen's Kindred, and Night-walking Heralds,
That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.
Heard you not what an humble Suppliant
Lord Hastings was for his delivery?
Glo. Humbly complaining to her Deity,
Got my Lord Chamberlain his Literty.
I'll tell you what, I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the King,
To be her Men, and wear her Livery:
The jealous o'er-worn Widow, and her self,
Since that our Brother dub'd them Gentlewomen,
Are mighty Gollips in our Monarchy.
Brak. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me,
His Majesty haih straightly given in charge,
That no Man shall have private Conference,
Of what degree soever, with your
Glo. Even so, and please your worshir, Brakenbury!
You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no Treason, Min- we say the King
Is wife and virtuous, and his noble Queen
Well strook in Years, fair, and not jealous.
We say, that Shore's Wife hath a pretty Foot,
A cherry Lip, a bonny Eye, a palling pleasing Tongues
That the Queen's Kindred are made Gentle-folks.
How say you, Sir? can you deny all this?
Brak. With this, my Lord, my self have nought to do,
Glo. Naught to do with Mistress Shore?
I tell thee, Fellow, he that doth naught with her,
Excepting one, were best to do it fecretly alone.
Brak. What one, my Lord?
Glo. Her Husband, Knave-would'st thou betray me?
Brak. I do beftech your Grace
To pardon m', and withal forbear
Your Conferencs with the noble Duke,
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
G!o. We are the Queen's Anject', and must obcy.
Brother farewel, I will unto the King,
And whatsoe'er you will employ me ir,
Were it to call King Edwara's Widow, Sister,
I will perform it to infranchise you.
Mean time, this deep disgrace of Brotherhood,
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.
Clar. I koow it plealeth reither of us well.
Glo. Well, your Imprisonment shall not be long,
I will deliver you, or else lye for you:
Mean time have patience,
Clar. I must perfcrce; farewel. [Ex. Brak. Clare
Glo. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return:
Simple plain Clarence I do love thee so,
That I will Mortly send thy Soul to Heav'r,
If Heav'n will take the Present at our Hands;
But who comes here? the new deliver'd Hastings?
Enter Lord Hastings.
Hajt. 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. With patirnce, noble Lord, as Prisoners must :
But I thall live, my Lord, to give chem thanks
That were the cause of my Imprisonment,
Glo. No doubt, no doubt, and so shall 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 should be mew'd,
Whiles Kites and Buzzards play at Liberty.
Glo. What News abroad?
Hat. No News so bad abroad as this at home:
The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his Physicians fear him mightily.
Glo. Now by St. John, that news is bad indeed.
O he hath kept an evil Diet long,
And over-much consum'd his Royal Person :
'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.
He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die,
'Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to Heav'n.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
Which lyes well steeld 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 bustle in.
For then, I'll marry Warwick's youngest Daughter :
What though I killd 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 so much for Love,
As for another secret close intent,
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my Horse to Market:
Clarence still breaths, Edward still lives and reigns,
When they are gone, then must I count my Gains. [Exit.