ance

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-
And despair!-though unpardon'd, yield me pity.

Lady A. 'Would I knew thy heart !
Glost. "Tis figur'd in my longue.
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 turnod to peace and love.
Oh! if thy poor, devoted servant might
But beg one favour at thy gracious band,
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.

Buck. Did you see the duke?
Stanley. What duke, my lord ?
Buck. His Grace of Gloster ; did you see him?
Stanley. Not lately, my lord-I hope no ill news?
Buck. The worst that heart e'er bore, or tongue

can utter,
Edward, the king, his royal brother,'s dead!
Stanley. 'Tis sad, indeed ! I wish by your impa-

tience,
*To acquaint him though, you think it so, to him.

[Aside. Did the king, my lord, make any

mention Of a protector, for his crown, and children ? Buck. He did; Duke Richard has the care of

both. Stanley. That sad news you are afraid to tell him too.

[Aside. Buck. He'll spare no toils, I'm sure, to fill his

place.
Stanley. 'Pray, Heav'n, he's not too diligent !

[Aside.
bly lord, is not that the Duchess of York,
The king's mother, coming, I fear, to visit him?
Buck. "Tis she-little thinking what has befall’n us!

Enter Duchess of YORK. Duch. of York. Good day, my lords ; how takes the king his rest?

Buck. Alas, madam! too well-he sleeps for ever! Duch. of York. Dead! Good Heav'n, support me!

Buck. Madam, 'twas my unhappy lot, to hear Ilis last departing groans, and close his eyes ! Duch. of York. Another taken from me too! why,

just Heav'n, Am I sull left the last, in life, and woe? First, I bemoan'd a noble husband's death, Yet liv'd, with looking on his images : But now, my last support is gone. -- First, Clarence, Now, Edward, is for ever taken from me, And I must now of force, sink down with sorrow !

Buck. Your youngest son, the noble Richard, lives, His love, I know, will feel his mother's cares, And bring new comfort to your latter days.

Duch. of York. 'Twere new, indeed! for yet of him, Unless a churlish disposition may Be counted from a child a mother's comfort. Where is the queen, my lord ?

Buck. I left her with her kinsmen, deep in sorrow, Who have, with much ado, persuaded her To leave the body.--Madam, they are here.

I've none,

Enter Queen, Rivers, and DORSET. Queen. Why do you thus oppose my grief? unless, To make me rave, and weep, the faster? ha ! My mother too, in tears! fresh sorrow strikes My heart, at sight of every friend that lov'd My Edward, living! Oh, mother, he's dead! Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead ! that my eyes

could

weep away my soul ! Then I might follow, worthy of his hearse.

Stanley. Your duty, madam, of a wife, is dead, And now, the mother's only, claims your care. Think on the prince, your son-send for him, straight, And let his coronation clear your eyes,

Oh,

Bury your griefs in the dead Edward's grave-
Revive your joys, on living Edward's throne.
Queen. Alas! that thought, but adds to my afflic-

tions ! New tears for Edward, gone, and fears for Edward,

living !
An helpless child, in his minority,
Is in the trust of his stern uncle, Gloster-
A man, that frowns on me, and all of mine.

Buck. Judge not so hardly, madam, of his love :
Your son will find in him, a father's care.

Enter GLOSTER, behind.
Glost. Why, ah ! these tears look well-Sorrow's

the mode,
And every one at court must wear it now :-
With all my heart ; I'll not be out of fashion. [Aside.
Queen. My lord, just Heaven knows, I never hated

Gloster! But would, on any terms, embrace his friendship. Buck. These words would make him weep, I know

him yours. See, where he comes, in sorrow for our loss. Glost. My lords, good morrow-Cousin of Buck

ingham, I am yours.

[Weeps. Bučk. Good morning to your grace.

Glost. Methinks,
We meet, like men that had forgot to speak.

Buck. We may remember; but our argument,
Is now too mournful to admit such talk.
Glost. It is, indeed! Peace be with him, that made

it so !
Sister, take comfort ; 'tis true, we've all cause
To mourn the dimming of our shining star;
But sorrow never could revive the dead;
And if it could, hope would prevent our tears ;
So we must weep, because we weep in vain.