1

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful 1 tear;
No, when my father York, and Edward wept
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd 2 Clifford shook his sword at him:
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death,
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain; in that sad time
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, 4
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
I never sued to friend, nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.

(She looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful 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 soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

(He lays his Breast open: she offers at it with his Sword. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry; But”'t was thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now despatch; 't was I that stabb'd young Edward; – But 't was thy heavenly face that set me on.

[She lets fall the Sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me.

ANNE. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,
I will not be thy executioner.

GLOSTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
ANNE. I have already.

GLOSTER.

That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and even with the word,
This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love,
Shall for thy love kill a far truer love: 1
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.

ANNE. I would, I knew thy heart.
GLOS. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue. »
ANNE. I fear me, both are false.
Glos. Then, never man was true.
ANNE. Well, well, put up your sword.
GLOS. Say, then, my peace is made.
ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.
Glos. But shall I live in hope?
ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.
Glos. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
ANNE. To take, is not to give. [She puts on the Ring.

Glos. Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

ANNE. What is it?

Glos. That it may please you leave these sad designs 3 To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, And presently 4 repair to Crosby-place. Where (after I have solemnly interr'd, At Chertsey monastery, this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears), I will with all expedient 6 duty see you: For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this boon.

5

GLOSTER. Bid me farewell.
ANNE.

'T is more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.!

(Exeunt LADY ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKLEY, GENTLEMAN. ' Towards Chertsey, noble lord ? Glos. No to White-Friars; ? there attend my coming.

[Exeunt the rest, with the Corse. 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 her hatred by, Having God, 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! 5 Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb’d'in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford:

4

6

And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier, 1
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man. 2
I'll be at charges for 3 a 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 yon fellow in his grave,
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.

4

[Exit.

SCENE III. The Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY. RIVERS. Have patience, Madam: there 's no doubt, his

majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

GREY. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse:
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.

Q. ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide of me?
GREY. No other harm, but loss of such a lord.
Q. ELIZ. The loss of such a lord includes all harms.

6

8

Q. ELIZABETH. Ah! he is young; and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

RIVERS. Is it concluded, he shall be protector?

Q. ELIZ. It is determin'd, not concluded yet: 1 But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY. GREY. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley. BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal grace. STANLEY. God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley,
To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

STAN. I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers;
Or, if she be accus'd on true report,
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.

Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley?

STAN. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I,
Are come from visiting his majesty:

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords?
BUCK. Madam, good hope: his grace speaks cheerfully.
Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

Buck. Ay, Madam: he desires to make atonement :
Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers,
And between them and my lord chamberlain;
And sent to warn 4 them to his royal presence.

Q. ELIZ. Would all were well! – But that will never be: I fear, our happiness is at the height.

Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET. GLOSTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it. Who are they, that complain unto the king,