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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 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


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 designs,

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?


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



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 impatience,

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 [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-
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

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.

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