K. EDW. Away with her; go, bear her hence

perforce.

Q. MAR. Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch

me here ;

Here sheathe 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 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 put'st back.

K. EDW. Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. Q. MAR. So come to you and yours, as to this [Exit, led out forcibly.

prince!

K. EDW. Where's Richard gone?

CLAR. 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.

Enter KING HENRY and GLOUCESTER, with the
Lieutenant, on the walls.

GLOU. 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 Gloucester and good devil were alike,
And both preposterous; therefore, not good lord.
GLOU. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must
[Exit Lieutenant.
K. HEN. So flies the reckless shepherd from the

confer.

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?

GLOU. 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

Where my poor young was limed, was caught and kill'd.

GLOU. 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, Dædalus; 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
GLOU. 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.

life?

GLOU. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption.

K. HEN. Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou

didst presume,

Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine.

And thus I prophesy, 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 husbands,
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 tempest shook down

trees;

The raven rook'd her 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 indigested and deformed lump,

Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.

Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born,
To signify thou camest to bite the world:

And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou camest-

GLOU. I'll hear no more: die, propnet, in thy

speech:

[Stabs him. For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.

K. HɛN. Ay, and for much more slaughter after

this.

O, God forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies. GLOU. What, will the aspiring 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 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 shaped 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.

[Exit, with the body.

London. The palace.

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN ELIZABETH, CLARENCE, GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, a Nurse with the young PRINCE, and Attendants.

K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne,

Re-purchased with the blood of enemies.

What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn,