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The Presence Chamber.

Enter BUCKINGHAM, hastily, meeting LORD

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


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

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


Stanley. That sad news you are afraid to tell him


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

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


My 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!


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
His last departing groans, and close his eyes!
Duch. of York. Another taken from me too! why,
just Heav'n.

Am I still 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,
I've none,

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.


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! Oh, 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,


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-

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,


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 Buckingham,

I am yours.

Buck. 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.



The Palace.


Glost. Now, my royal cousin, welcome to London !

Welcome to all those honour'd dignities,

Which, by your father's will, and by your birth,
You stand the undoubted heir possessed of!
And, if my plain simplicity of heart,

May take the liberty to show itself,
You're farther welcome to your

uncle's care

And love-Why do you sigh, my lord?

That weary way has made you melancholy.
P. Ed. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way,
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy:
I want more uncles here to welcome me.

Tressel. More uncles! what means his highness?
Stanley. Why, sir, the careful Duke of Gloster,


Secur'd his kinsmen on the way.-Lord Rivers, Gray,
Sir Thomas Vaughan, and others of his friends,
Are prisoners now in Pomiret Castle :

On what pretence it boots not, there they are;
Let the devil and the duke alone to accuse them.
Glost. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to
greet you.


Lord M. Vouchsafe, most gracious sovereign, to

The general homage of your royal city :
We farther beg your royal leave, to speak,
In deep condolement of your father's loss;
And, as far as our true sorrow would permit,
To'gratulate your accession to the throne.

P. Ed. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you

Alas! my youth is yet unfit to govern,

Therefore, the sword of justice is in abler hands;
But be assur'd of this, so much already

I perceive I love you, that though I know not yet
To do you offices of good; yet this I know,
I'll sooner die, than basely do you wrong.

Glost. So wise, so young, they say, do ne'er live


P. Ed. My lords,

I thought my mother, and my brother, York,
Would, long ere this, have met us on the way:
Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come,

Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?


Glost. Where it shall seem best to your royal self.

May I advise you, sir, some day or two,

Your highness shall repose you at the Tower; Then, where you please, and shall be thought most fit

For your best health and recreation.

P. Ed. Why at the Tower? But, be it as you please.

Buck. My lord, your brother's Grace of York.

Enter DUKE and DUCHESS OF York.

P. Ed. Richard of York! how fares our dearest



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