And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
But in the midst of this bright-shining day,
I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud,
That will encounter with our glorious sun,
Ere he attain his easeful western bed:

I mean, my lords, those powers, that the queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast,
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.

Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
And blow it to the source from whence it came:
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up;
For every cloud engenders not a storm.

Glo. The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her; If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd, Her faction will be full as strong as ours.

K. Edw. We are advertis'd by our loving friends, That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury; We having now the best at Barnet field,

Will thither straight, for willingness rids way:
And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along.-
Strike up the drum; cry-Courage! and away.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-Plain near Tewksbury. March. Enter QUEEN MARGARET, PRINCE EDWARD, SOMERSET, OXFORD, and Soldiers.

Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,

But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown over-board,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood;
Yet lives our pilot still: is't meet, that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes add water to the sea,

And give more strength to that which hath too much;
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have sav'd?
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
Say, Warwick was our anchor; what of that?
And Montague our top-mast; what of him?
Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these?
Why, is not Oxford here, another anchor ?
And Somerset, another goodly mast?

The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings?
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge?
We will not from the helm, to sit and weep;
But keep our course, though the rough wind say-no,
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck,
As good to chide the waves, as speak them fair.
And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea?
What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit ?
And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say, you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while:
Tread on the sand; why there you quickly sink :
Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off,
Or else you famish, that's a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
In case some one of you would fly from us,
That there's no hope'd-for mercy with the brothers,
More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks.
Why, courage, then! what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.

Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity,

And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.

I speak not this, as doubting any here:

For, did I but suspect a fearful man,

He should have leave to go away betimes;
Lest, in our need, he might infect another,
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here, as God forbid !
Let him depart before we need his help.

Orf. Women and children of so high a courage: And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shameO, brave young prince! thy famous grandfather, Doth live again in thee; long mayst thou live

To bear his image, and renew his glories!
Som. And he that will not fight for such a hope,
Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day,
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.

Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ;-sweet Oxford, thanks.

Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing else. Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand, Ready to fight; therefore be resolute.

Oxf. I thought no less: it is his policy To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.

Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness.

Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your for. wardness.

Oxf. Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge.

March.

Enter, at a distance, KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and Forces,

K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood,

Which, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength, Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.

I need not add more fuel to your fire,

For, well I wot, ye blaze to burn them out:
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.

Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say,

My tears gainsay; for every word I speak,
Ye see I drink the water of mine eyes.
Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign,
Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd,
His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain,
His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent;
And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice; then, in God's name, lords,
Be valiant, and give signal to the fight.

[Exeunt both armies.

SCENE V.-Another part of the same. Alarums: Excursions: and afterwards a retreat. Then, enter KING EDWARD, CLARENCE, GLOSTER, and Forces: with QUEEN MARGARET, OXFORD, and SOMERSET, prisoners.

K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hammes' Castle straight; For Somerset, off with his guilty head.

Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. Orf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. Som. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. [Exeunt OXFORD and SOMERSET, guarded. Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.

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 Soldiers, with PRINCE EDWARD.

K. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him

speak.

What! can so young a thorn begin to prick?
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make,
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects,
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to?
Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitiona

York:

Suppose, that I am now my father's mouth;
Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou
Whilst I propose the self-same words to thee,
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.

Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd!
Glo. That you might still have worn the petticoat
And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster.
Prince. Let Esop fable in a winter's night;
His currish riddles soft not with this place.
Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that
word.

Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. Prince Nay, take away this scolding 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: Lascivious Edward,-and thou perjured George,-And thou misshapen Dick, I tell you all,

I am your better, traitorss as ye are ;

And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.

Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with words?

K. Edw, What! doth she swoon? Use means for her recovery.

Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother; Ill hence to London on a serious matter: Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. Clar. What? what?

Glo. The Tower! the Tower!

[Exit.

Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother,
boy!

Canst thou not speak ?-O traitors! murderers!-
They that stabb'd Cæsar, shed 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 respect, a child;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
What's worse than murderer, that I may name it?
No, no; my heart will burst, an if I speak :-
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.-
Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals!
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd!
You have no children, butchers! If you had,

The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse:
But, if you ever chance to have a child,
Look in his youth to have him so cut off,

As, deathsmen! you have rid this sweet young prince! K. Edw. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce.

Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me here;

Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death: What! wilt thou not ?-Then, Clarence, do it thou.

Cla. By Heaven! I will not do thee so much ease. Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it?

Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it ?

Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. What! wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er putt'st back. K. Edw. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this prince! [Exit, led out forcibly. K. Edw. Where's Richard gone? Cla. To London, all in post; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower.

K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence: discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let's away to London, And see our gentle queen how well she fares; By this, I hope she hath a son for me. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.-London. A Room in the Tower. KING HENRY is discovered sitting with a book in his hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter GLOSTER. Glo. Good day, my lord! What, at your book so hard ?

K. Hen. Ay, my good lord: my lord, I should say rather;

'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better:
Good Gloster and good devil were alike,
And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord.
Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer.
Exit Lieutenant.

K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf:

So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife.-
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?
Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.

K. Hen. The bird that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush:
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird,
Have now the fatal object in my eye,

Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. K. Hen. I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy, Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea, Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger's point, Than can my ears that tragic history.But wherefore dost thou come? Is't for my life? Glo. Think'st thou, I am an executioner ? K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art; If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner.

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

Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophecy,-that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear,
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye,-
Men for their sons, wives for their husband's fate,
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,-
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign:
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees:
The raven rook'd on the chimney's top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
To wit,-an indigest deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born,
To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'st-

Glo. I'll hear no more;-Die, prophet, in thy
speech:
[Stabs him.

For this, amongst the rest, I was ordain'd.
K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after

this,

[Dies.

O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee!
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted.
See, how my sword weeps at the poor king's death,
O, may such purple tears be alway 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.
[Stabs him again.

I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.-
Indeed; 'tis true, that Henry told me of:
For I have often heard my mother say,

I came into the world with my legs forward;
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried,
O Jesus bless 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 heavens have shap'd my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother:
And this word-love, which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me: I am myself alone.
Clarence, beware: thou keep'st me from the light;
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee:
For I will buz abroad such prophecies,
That Edward shall 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 rest;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best.-
I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.
SCENE VII.-The same. A Room in the Palace.
KING EDWARD is discovered sitting on his throne;
QUEEN ELIZABETH with the infant PRINCE, CLA-
RENCE, GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and others, near
him.

[Exit.

kill'd.

What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn,

But what's the matter, Clarence? May I know ?
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for, I protest,
As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wizard told him, that by G
His issue disinherited should be:

And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thoughts, that I am he:
These, as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by wo

men:

'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower;
My Lady Grey, his wife,-Clarence, 'tis she,
That tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville her brother there,

That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower;
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
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 to her for his delivery?
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
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 herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
His majesty hath straitly given in charge,
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glo. Even so? An please your worship, Braken.
bury,

You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man:-We say, the king
Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years: fair, and not jealous :-
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip,

A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue :
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?
Brak. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.
Glo. Naught to do with Mistress Shore ?
thee, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord?

I tell

Glo. Her husband, knave:-Wouldst thou betray me?

Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and withal,

Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoe'er you will employ me in,

Were it to call King Edward's widow-sister,

I will perform it, to enfranchise you.

Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood,
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar. I know, it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver you, or else lie for you:
Mean time, have patience.
Clar.

I must, perforce; farewell. [Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard. Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return,

Simple plain Clarence!-I do love thee so,
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings?

Enter HASTINGS.

Hast. 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 ?
Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks,
That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.
[Exit HASTINGS.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd 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 kill'd 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 breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.

[Exit.

Enter the corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, borna in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; LADY ANNE as mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load,→→
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house 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 slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds!
Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life,
I pour 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 betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, 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 aspect

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 miserable by the death of him,

Than I am made by my young lord and thee!-
Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there:
And, still as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

[The bearers take up the corse, and advance.
Enter GLOSTER.

Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo. Villains, set down the corse: or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! Stand thou when I command:

Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

[The bearers set down the coffin.
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.-
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have; therefore, begone.
Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.
Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trou-
ble us not;

For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries:
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh!
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 deed, inhuman and unnatural,

Provokes this deluge most unnatural.

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death! Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer

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, blessings for curses.
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man;
No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.
Glo. Bnt I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
Glo. More wonderful when angels are so angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man, For 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 myself.

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excuse current but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. Glo. Say that I slew them not? Anne.

Why then, they are not dead: But they are dead, and, devilish slave, by thee. Glo. I did not kill your husband. Anne.

Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead: and slain by Edward's hand. Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest; Queen Margaret saw

Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood
The which thou didst once bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill this king?
Glo.

I grant ye.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? Then, God grant

Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!
Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.

Glo. I know so.-But gentle Lady Anne,-
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method:
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths

Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner ?

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd effect.
Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,

So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks,
Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's
wreck,-

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'ershade thy day, and death thy life!

Glo. Curse not thyself, 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 revenged on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just 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 you better than he could.
Anne. Name him.

Why, that was he. Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. Anne. Where is he?

Glo.

Here: [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me ?

Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake. Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight; thou dost infect 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 aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,Not, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan, that Rutland made, When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him: Nor when thy warlike 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 wet their cheeks, Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;

And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never su'd to friend, nor enemy:

My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
speak. [She looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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; she offers at it with his
sword.

Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry;-
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Ed-
ward:-She again offers at his breast.
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[She lets full the sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.

Glo.

That was in thy rage; Speak it again, and even with the word, This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love: To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. Anne. I would, I knew thy heart. Glo. My tongue. Anne. Glo.

'Tis figur'd in

I fear me, both are false.

Then man

Was never true.

That shall you know