Queen. So part we fadly in this troublous World, To meet with Joy in fweet Jerufalem.
K. Edw. Is Proclamation made, That who finds Edward Shall have a high Reward, and he his Life?
Glo. It is, and lo where youthful Edward comes.
Enter the Prince of Wales.
K. Edw. Bring forth the Gallant, let us hear him fpeak.
What? can fo young a Thorn begin to prick?
Edward, what Satisfaction canft thou make,
For bearing Arms, for ftirring up my Subjects,
And all the Trouble thou haft turn'd me to?
Prince. Speak like a Subject, proud ambitious York.
Suppofe that I am now my Father's Mouth,
Refign thy Chair, and where I ftand, kneel thou,
Whilft I propofe the felf-fame words to thee,
Which, Traitor, thou would't have me answer to.
Queen. Ah! that thy Father had been fo refolv'd.
Glo. That you might ftill have worn the Petticoat,
And ne'er have ftoln the Breech from Lancaster.
Prince. Let Afop Fable in a Winter's Night,
His Currish Riddles fort not with this place.
Glo. By Heaven, Brat, I'll plague ye for that word. Queen. Ay, thou waft born to be a Plague to Men. Glo. For God's fake, take away this captive Scold. Prince. Nay, take away this fcolding Crook-back, rather. K. Edw. Peace, wilful Boy, or I will charm your Tongue. Clar. Untutor'd Lad, thou art too malapert. Prince. I know my Duty, you are all undutiful: Lafcivious Edward, and thou perjur'd George, And thou mif-fhapen Dick, I tell ye all, I am your better, Traitors as ye are.
And thou ufurp'ft my Father's Right and mine.
K. Edw. Take that, thou likenefs of this Railer here.
[Stabs him. Glo. Sprawl'ft thou? take that, to end thy Agony.
Clar. And there's for twitting me with Perjury.
K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done too much.
Glo. Why fhould fhe live, to fill the world with words? K, Edw. What? doth fhe fwoon? ufe Means for her Recovery.
Glo. Clarence, excufe me to the King my Brother:
I'll hence to London on a ferious Matter,
E'er ye come there, be fure to hear fome News
Clar. What? what?
Glo. Tower, the Tower.
Queen. Oh, Ned, fweet Ned, fpeak to thy Mother, Boy,
Can't thou not speak? O Traitors, Murderers!
They that ftabb'd Cafar, fhed no Blood at all,
Did not offend, nor were not worthy Blame,
If this foul Deed were by, to equal it.
He was a Man; this (in refpe&t) a Child,
And Men ne'er fpend their Fury on a Child.
What's worfe than Murtherer, that I may name it?
No, no, my Heart will burft, and if I fpeak-
And I will fpeak, that fo my Heart may
Butchers and Villains, bloody Cannibals,
How sweet a Plant have you untimely cropt:
You have no Children, Butchers; if you had,
The thought of them would have ftirr'd up Remorfe;
But if you ever chance to have a Child,
Look in his Youth to have him fo cut off,
As deathsmen you have rid this fweet young Prince,
K. Edw. Away with her, go bear her hence by force.
Queen. Nay, never bear me hence, difpatch me here:
Here sheath thy Sword, I'll pardon thee my Death:
What? wilt thou not? then Clarence do it thou.
Clar. By Heaven, I will not do thee fo much Eafe.
Queen. Good Clarence do, fweet Clarence do thou do it.
Clar. Did'ft thou not hear me fwear I would not do it?
Queen. Ay, but thou useft to forfwear thy felf:
'Twas Sin before, but now 'tis Charity.
What, wilt thou not? where is that Devil's Butcher, Richard,
Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou?
Thou art not here: Murther is thy Almfdeed.
Petitioner for Blood thou ne'er pull'ft back.
K. Edw. Away, I fay, I charge ye bear her hence.
Queen. So come to you and yours, as to this Prince.
[Exit Queen.
K. Edw. Where's Richard gone?
Cla. To London all in poft, and as I guess,
To make a bloody Supper in the Tower.
K. Edw. He's fudden, if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence, difcharge the common fort
With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
And fee our gentle Queen how well the fares.
By this, I hope, fhe hath a Son for me.
Enter King Henry, and Glocefter, with the Lieutenant on the Tower Walls.
Glo. Good day, my Lord; what at your Book fo hard? K. Henry. Ay, my good Lord; my Lord, I should fay rather, 'Tis fin to flatter, Good was little better:
Good Glo'fter, and Good Devil, were alike,
And both prepofterous; therefore, not Good Lord.
Glo. Sirrah, leave us to our felves, we must confer.
K. Henry. So flies the wreaklefs Shepherd from the Wolf,
So first the harmless Flock doth yield his Fleece,
And next his Throat unto the Butcher's Knife.
What Scene of Death hath Roffius now to act?
Glo. Sufpicion always haunts the guilty mind,
The Thief doth fear each Bufh an Officer.
K. Henry. The Bird that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling Wings mifdoubteth every bush;
And I, the helpless Male to one fweet Bird,
Have now the fatal Object in my Eye,
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught and kill'd.
Glo. Why what a peevish Fool was that of Creet,
That taught his Son the Office of a Fowl?
And yet, for all his Wings, the Fool was drown'd.
K. Henry. I, Dedalus; my poor Boy, Icarus;
Thy Father, Minos, that deny'd our course;
The Sun that fear'd the Wings of my fweet Boy,
Thy Brother Edward; and thy felf, the Sea,
Whofe envious Gulf did fwallow up his Life:
Ah, kill me with thy Weapon, not with Words,
My Breaft can better brook thy Dagger's point,
Than can my Ears that tragick Hiftory.
But wherefore doft thou come? Is't for my Life?
Glo. Think'ft thou I am an Executioner?
K. Henry. A Perfecutor I am fure thou art;
If murthering Innocents be Executing,
Why then thou art an Executioner.
Glo. Thy Son I kill'd for his Prefumption.
K. Henry. Hadft thou been kill'd when firft thou didst pre-
Thou hadft not liv'd to kill a Son of mine:
And thus I prophefie, that many a thousand,
Which now miftruft no parcel of my fear,
And many an old Man's figh, and many a Widow's,
And many an Orphan's water-standing Eye,
Men for their Sons, Wives for their Husbands fate,
And Orphans for their Parents timeless Death,
Shall rue the Hour that ever thou waft born.
The Owl fhrick'd at thy Birth, an evil fign,
The Night-Crow cry'd, aboding lucklefs time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous Tempeft fhook down Trees;
The Raven rook'd her on the Chimney's top,
And chattering Pyes in difmal Difcords 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,
Thou cam'ft-
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 fhed
From those who wifh the downfal of our Houfe.
If any spark 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:
I 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 bless 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 fo,
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, Glocefter, Haftings, Nurse, 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 fwept Sufpicion from our Seat,
And made our Footstool of Security.
Come hither, Befs, and let me kifs my Boy:
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