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Enter the Coarfe of Henry the Sixth, with Halberds to guardit, 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
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster,
Poor key-cold Figure of a holy King,
Pale Ames of the Houfe 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,
Stab'd by the felf fame hand that made thefe wounds.
Lo, in thefe Windows that let forth thy Life,
I pour the helpless Balm of my poor Eyes.
O curfed be the hand that made thefe holes!
Curfed 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,
Whole ugly and unnatural Afpe&t,
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 Chertsey with your holy Load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there,

And ftill 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.

T

Anne

Anne. What black Magician conjures up this Fiend, To ftop devoted charitable Deeds?

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

Gen. My Lord, ftand back, and let the Coffin pafs,
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 hadst 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!

For God's fake hence, and trouble us not,
For thou haft made the happy Earth thy Hell:
Fill'd it with curling cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy hainous Deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy Butcheries.
Oh Gentlemen! fee! fee dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd Mouth, and bleed a-fresh.
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 inhumar, and unnatural,

Provoke this Deluge moft unnatural.

O God! which this Blood mad'ft, revenge his Death:
O Earth! which this Bloed 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 to ch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no Beaft,

Anne.

Anne. O wonderful, when Devils tell the truth!
Glo. More wonderful, when Angels are fo angry:
Vouchfafe, 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 thefe known evils, but to give me leave
By circumftance, to curfe thy cursed self.

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

Anne. Fouler than Heart can think thee,

Thou can't make no excufe that will be currant,
Unless thou hang thy felf.

Glo. By fuch defpair, I fhould accufe my felf.
Anne. And by defpairing fhalt thou ftand excus'd,
For doing worthy Vengeance on thy felf;
That didft 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'st,

Queen Margaret saw

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

Glo. I was provoked by her fland'rous Tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltlefs 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't 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 thou thalt never come.

Glo.

Glo. Let him thank me that holp to fend him thither; For he was fitter for that place than Earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but Hell.

Glo. Yes one place elfe, if you will hear me name it.
Anne. Some Dungeon.

Glo. Your Bed-chamber.

Anne. Ill Reft betide the Chamber where thou lyeft.
Gle. So will it, Madam, 'till I lye with you.

Anne. I hope fo.

Glo. I know fo. But gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our Wits,
And fall fomething into a flower method.
Is not the Caufer of the timeless deaths
Of thefe Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the Executioner?

Anne. Thou waft the Caufe, and moft accurft effe&t.
Glo. Your Beauty was the Caufe of that effect:
Your Beauty that did haunt me in my fleep,
To undertake the Death of all the World,
So I might live one hour in your fweet Bofom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, Homicide,
Thefe Nails fhould rend that Beauty from my

Checks.
Glo. Thefe Eyes could not endure that Beauty's wrack,
You should not blemish it, if I ftood by ;
As all the World is cheered by the Sun,

So I by that; it is my Day, my Life.

Anne. Black night o'er-fhade thy Day, and death thy Life.
Glo. Curfe not thy felf, fair Creature,

Thou art both.

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.
Glo. It is a quarrel moft unnatural,

To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.
Anne. It is a quarrel juft and reasonable,
To be reveng'd.on him that kill'd my Husband.
Glo. He that bereft thee, Lady, of thy Husband,
Did it to help thee to a better Husband.

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the Earth.
Glo. He lives, that loves thee better than he could.
Anne. Name him.

Glo. Plantagenet.

Anne. Why that was he.

Glo.

Glo. The felf-fame Name, but one of better Nature.
Anne. Where is he?

Glo. Here:

Why doft thou spit at me?

[She fpits at him.

Anne. Would it were mortal Poifon for thy fake.
Glo. Never came Poifon from fo fweet Place.
Anne. Never hung Poifon on a fouler Toad.
Out of my Sight, thou doft infect mine Eyes.
Glo. Thine Eyes, fweet Lady, have infected mine.
Anne. Would they were Bafilisks, to strike thee dead.
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once:
For now they kill me with a living Death.

Thofe Eyes of thine from mine have drawn falt Tears;
Sham'd their Afpe&ts with ftore of childish Drops:
Thefe Eyes, which never thed remorseful Tear,
No, when my Father York, and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous Moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford fhook his Sword at him:
Nor when thy warlike Father, like a Child,
Told the fad Story of my Father's Death,
And twenty times made Paufe to fob and weep,
That all the Standers by had wet their Cheeks,
Like Trees be-dafh'd with Rain: In that fad Time,
My manly Eyes did fcorn an humble Tear:
And what these Sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy Beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
I never fued to Friend, nor Enemy;

My Tongue could never learn sweet smoothing Words;
But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee,

My proud Heart fues, and prompts my Tongue to fpeak.
[She looks fcornfully at him.
Teach not thy Lip fuch Scorn, for it was made
For kiffing, Lady, not for fuch Contempt,
If thy revengeful Heart cannot forgive,
Lo here I lend thee this fharp-pointed Sword,
Which, if thou please to hide in this true Breaft,
And let the Soul forth that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly Stroke,

And humbly beg the Death upon my Knee.

[He lays his Breaft open, fhe offers at it with his Sword.

Nay, do not paufe; for I did kill King Henry;

But

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