12

KING RICHARD III.

Thou hast a sigh, to blow away this praise,

[ACT I.

Ending with-queen and son, and all are dead. Tressel. Your queen yet lives, and many of your friends;

But for my lord, your son

K. Hen. Why, he is dead!-yet speak, I charge thee!

Tell thou thy master his suspicion lies,

And I will take it as a kind disgrace,

And thank thee well, for doing me such wrong. Tressel. 'Would it were wrong to say; but, sir, your fears are true.

K. Hen. Yet for all this, say not my son is dead. Tressel. Sir, I am sorry I must force you to Believe, what 'would to Heav'n I had not seen! But in this last battle, near Tewksbury, Your son, whose active spirit lent a fire, Ev'n to the dullest peasant in our camp,

Still made his way, where danger stood to oppose him.

A braver youth, of more courageous heat,

Ne'er spurr'd his courser at the trumpet's sound.
But who can rule the uncertain chance of war?
In fine, King Edward won the bloody field,

Where both your queen and son were made his prisoners.

K. Hen. Yet hold! for, oh! this prologue lets me

in

To a most fatal tragedy to come.

Dy'd he a prisoner, say'st thou? how? by grief?
Or by the bloody hands of those that caught him?
Tressel. After the fight, Edward, in triumph, ask'd
To see the captive prince-the prince was brought,
Whom Edward roughly chid for bearing arms;
Asking what reparation he could make

For having stirred his subjects to rebellion?
Your son, impatient of such taunts, reply'd,
Bow like a subject, proud, ambitious York!

Glost. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck;

You should not blemish it, if I stood by :

As all the world is nourish'd by the sun,

So I by that-it is my day, my

life!

Lady A. I would it were, to be reveng'd on thee. Glost. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To wish revenge on him that loves thee. Lady A. Say rather 'tis my duty,

To seek revenge on him, that kill'd my husband. Glost. Fair creature, he, that kill'd thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Lady A. His better does not breathe upon the earth;

Glost. He lives, that loves thee better than he could.

Lady A. Name him.

Glost. Plantagenet.

Lady A. Why, that was he.

Glost. The self-same name, but one of softer nature.

Lady A. Where is he?

Glost. Ah, take more pity in thy eyes, and see him

-here

Lady A. would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

Glost. I would they were, that I might die at once,

For now they kill me with a living death:
Darting with cruel aim despair and love;
I never su'd to friend or enemy;

My tongue could never learn soft smoothing words;
But, now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

Lady A. Is there a tongue on earth, can speak for

thee?

Why dost thou court my hate?

D

Glost. Oh, teach not thy soft lips such cold con

tempt!

If thy relentless 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 honest soul out, that adores thee!
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,

And humbly beg that death, upon my knee.

Lady A. What shall I say, or do? direct me,
Heav'n!

When stones weep, sure the tears are natural;
And Heav'n itself instructs us to forgive,

When they do flow from a sincere repentance. [Aside.
Glost. Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King
Henry,

But, 'twas thy wondrous beauty did provoke me;
Or, now dispatch-'twas I that stabb'd young Ed-
ward,

But, 'twas thy heav'nly face that set me on:
And I might still persist, (so stubborn is
My temper) to rejoice at what I've done-
But that thy powerful eyes (as roaring seas
Obey the changes of the moon) have turn'd
My heart, and made it flow with penitence.

[She drops the Sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me. Lady A. No, though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Glost. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Lady A. I have, already.

Glost. That was in thy rage;

Say it again, and even with thy word,

This guilty hand, that robb'd thee of thy love,
Shall, for thy love, revenge thee on thy lover:
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
What! not a word, to pardon, or condemn me!
But thou art wise, and canst, with silence, kill me ;

Yet, even in death, my fleeting soul pursues thee;
Dash not the tears of penitence away--

I ask but leave to indulge my cold despair.

Lady A. Wouldst thou not blame me, to forgive thy crimes?

Glost. They are not to be forgiven; no, not even Penitence can atone them-Oh, misery

Of thought, that strikes me with, at once, repent

ance

And despair!-though unpardon'd, yield me pity.
Lady A. 'Would I knew thy heart!
Glost. "Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Lady A. I fear me, both are false.
Glost. Then never man was true!
Lady A. Put up thy sword.

Glost. Say, then, my peace is made.
Lady A. That shalt thou know hereafter.

Glost. But, shall I live in hope?

Lady A. All men, I hope, live so.

Glost. I swear, bright saint, I am not what I was! Those eyes have turn'd my stubborn heart to wo

man;

Thy goodness makes me soft in penitence,

And my

harsh thoughts are turn'd to peace and love.

Oh! if thy poor, devoted servant might

But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,

Thou wouldst confirm his happiness for ever!

Lady A. What is't?

Glost. That it may please thee, leave these sad de

signs,

To him, that has most cause to be a mourner,
And, presently, repair to Crosby House;
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey Monastery this injur'd king,
And wet his grave, with my repentant tears,
I will, with all expedient duty, see you.
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this favour.

Lady A. I do, my lord, and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel, and Stanley, go along with me.. Glost. Bid me farewell.

Lady A. 'Tis more than you deserve.

But, since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already.
Guard. Towards Chertsey, my lord?

[Exeunt.

Glost. No, to Whitefriars; there attend my com[Exeunt GUARDS, with the Body.

ing.

Was ever woman, in this humour, woo'd ?

Was ever woman, in this humour, won?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father,
To take her, in her heart's extremest hate,
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of my hatred by ;

Having Heaven, her conscience, and these bars, against me,

And I, no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks!
And yet, to win her! all the world to nothing!
Can she abase her beauteous eyes on me,
Whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus !
My dukedom to a widow's chastity,
I do mistake my person, all this while,
Upon my life! she finds, (although, I cannot,)
Myself, to be a marvellous, proper man.
I'll have my chambers lin'd with looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions, to adorn my body.
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it, with some little cost;
But first, I'll turn St. Harry to his grave,
And then return, lamenting, to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I salute my glass,
That I may see my shadow, as I pass.

[Exit.