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Enter the Coarse of Henry the Sixth, with Halberds to guard

ils Lady Anne being the Mourner.
Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load,
If Honour may be shrowded in a Herse;
Whilft I a-while obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster,
Poor key-cold Figure of a holy King,
Pale Alhes of the House of Lancaster ;
Thou bloodless Remnant of thar Royal Blood,
Be it lawful that I invocate thy Ghost,
To hear the Lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy Naughtred Son,
Stab’d by the self fame hand that made these wounds.
Lo, in these Windows that let forth thy Life,

the helpless Balm of my poor Eyes.
O cursed be the hand that made these holes !
Cursed the Heart, that had the Heart to do it!
Cursed the Blood, that let this Blood from hence,
More direful hap beride that hared 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,
Whose ugly and unnatural Asped,
May fright the hopeful Mother at the view;
And that be, Heir to his unhappiness.
If ever he have Wife, ler her be made
More miserable 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 still as you are weary of this weight,
Rest you, whiles I lamene King Henry's Coarse.

Enter Richard Duke of Glocester.
Gio. Siay you that bear the Coarse, and set it down.

Anne, 1629 Anne. What black Magician conjures up this Fiend, To ftop devoted charitable Deeds?

Glo. Villains, set down the Coarse; or by St. Paul, I'll make a Coarse of him that disobeys.

Gen. My Lord, stand back, and let the Coffin pass,

Glo. Unmanner'd Dog,
Stand thou when I command:
Advance thy Halbert higher than my Breast,
Or by St. Paul, I'll ftrike thee to my Foot,
And spurn upon thee, Beggar, for thy boldness.

Anne. What do you trembles are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not, for you are moital,
And mortal Eyes cannot endure the Devil.
Avant, thou dreadful Minister of Hell:
Thou hadft but power over his mortal Body,
His Soul thou canst not have; therefore be

gone. Glo. Sweet Saint, for Charity, be not so cuift,

Anne. Foul Devil! For God's fake hence, and trouble us not, For thou hast 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! see! see dead Henry's wounds Open their congeald Mou:h', and bleed a-fresh. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul Deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this Blood From cold and empty Veins, where no blood dwells. Thy Deeds inhumar, and unnatural, Provoke this Deluge most unnatural. O God! which this Blood mad'st, revenge his Death: O Earth! which this Blood drirk's, revenge his death. Either Heav'n with Lightning strike the Murth'rer dead, Or Earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow 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, Bleslings for Curses.

Anne. Villain, thou know'st nor law of God nor Man; No Beast so fierce, but knows some toi ch of pity. Glo. But I koow none, and therefore am no Bcalt,


Anne. O wonderful, when Devils tell the truth!

Glo. More wonderful, when Angels are so angry:
Vouchsafe, divine perfeâion of a Woman,
Of these supposed Crimes, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit my self.

Anne. Vouchlafe, diffus'd infection of a Man,
Of these known evils, but to give me leave
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glo. Fairer than Tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse my self.

Anne. Fouler than Heart can think thee, Thou canst make no excuse that will be currant, Unless thou hang thy self.

Glo. By such despair, I should accuse my self.

Anne. And by despairing sale chou stand excus’d,
For doing worthy Vengeance on thy self;
That didit unworthy Naughter upon others.

Glo. Say, that I flew them not,

Anne. Then say, they were not Nain:
But dead they are, and, devilish Slave, by thee.

Glo. I did not kill your Husband.
Arne. Why then he is alive,
Glo. Nay, he is dead, and Nain by Edward's Hands.

Anne. In thy foul Throat thou ly'tt,
Queen Margaret saw
Thy murd'rous Faulchion smoaking in his Blood:
The which thou once didst bend against her Breast,
But that thy Brothers beat alide the point.

Glo. I was provoked by her fland'rous Tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless Shoulders.

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody Mind, That never dream'it on ought but Butcheries: Didst thou not kill this King?

Glo. I grant ye.

Anne. Doft grant me, Hedge-Hog,
Then God grant me too,
Thou may'st 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 comc.


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

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but Hell.
Glo. Yes one place else, if you will hear me name it.
Anne. Some Dungeon.
Glo. Your Bed-chamber.
Anne. Ill Rest betide the Chamber where thou lyeft.
Glo. So will it, Madam, 'till I lye with you.
Anne. I hope fo.

Glo. I know so. But gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our Wits,
And fall something into a Nower method.
Is not the Causer of the timeless deaths
Of thesè Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the Executioner?

Anne. Thou wast the Cause, and most accurft effe&.

Glo. Your Beauty was the Cause of that effect :
Your Beauty that did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the Death of all the World,
So I might live one hour in your sweet Borom.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, Homicide,
These Nails should rend that Beauty from my Cheeks.

Glo. Those Eyes could not endure that Bcauty's wrack, You should not blemish it, if I stood 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-made thy Day, and death thy Life,

Glo. Curse not thy self, fair Creature, Thou art both.

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.

Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
To be reveng d.on him that killd 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.
Anna. Why that was he.


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

(She fpits at him. Why doft thou spit at me?

Anne. Would it were mortal Poison for thy fake.
Glo. Never came Poison from so sweet Place.

Anne. Never hung Poison on a fouler Toad.
Out of my Sight, thou dolt infeát mine Eyes.

Glo. Thine Eyes, sweet Lady, have infected mine.
Anne. Would they were Basilisks, to strike thee dead.

Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once:
For now they kill me with a living Death.
Those Eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt Tears;
Sham'd their Afpc&ts with store of childish Drops:
These Eyes, which never shed remorseful Tear,
No, when my Father Tork, and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous Moan that Ruiland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford Thook his Sword at him :
Nor when thy warlıke Father, like a Child,
Told the sad Story of my Father's Death,
And twenty times made Pause to sob and weep,
That all the Standers by had wer their Cheeks,
Like Trees be-dath'd with Rain: In that fad Time,
My manly Eyes did fcorn an humble Tear:
And what there Sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy Beaury 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 sues, and prompts my Tongue to speak.

[She looks Scornfully at bim.
Teach not thy Lip fuch Scorn, for it was made
For kissing, Lady, not for such Contempo,
If thy revengeful Heart cannot forgive,
Lo here I lend thee this sharp-pointed Sword,
Which, if thou please to hide in this true Breast,
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 Breast open, fe offers at it with his Sword. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry;


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