Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, This day fhould Clarence clofely be mew'd up; hiftorians and poets, in loading his character, have at the fame time been paying their compliments to that line, which gave them an ELIZABETH. The miseries and iniquities of Civil War were richly compenfated in fuch a bleffing. Jam nibil, O Superi, querimur: Scelera ipfa, Nefafque, Lucan. About About a prophecy, which fays, that G (2) Dive, thoughts, down to my foul! here Clarence comes. Brother, good-day; what means this armed guard, Clar. His Majefty, Tend'ring my perfon's fafety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. Clar. Because my name is George. Glo. Alack, my Lord, that fault is none of He should for that commit your godfathers. Belike, his Majefty hath fome intent, yours: That you should be new christened in the Tower. Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for, I proteft, As yet I do not; but as I can learn, He hearkens after prophefies and dreams, And, for my name of George begins with G, Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by women. (2) About a prophecy, which fays, that G f Edward's heirs the murderer fhall be.] Thefe two lines are in all Se old books whatfoever, as well as in all the modern ones that I ave feen, except the two impreffions by Mr. Pope. By what uthority he has thought fit to leave them out I don't know: If e did it, becaufe Clarence in the next scene fays fomething much to he fame effect, I think, that is no reafon for expunging them. Ar. Pope has, in other cafes, where he thought any thing fuperuous, thrown it out of the text, but then he has degraded it to the ottom of the page. Was it not fhe, and that good man of worship, That made him send Lord Haftings to the Tower? We are not fafe; Clarence, we are not fafe. Clar. By heav'n, I think, there is no man secure Brak. I beg your Graces both to pardon me; Glo. Ev'n fo, an't please your worship, Brakenbury ! Brak. With this, my Lord, myself have nought to do. Glo. What, fellow? nought to do with miftrefs Shore? I tell you, Sir, he that doth naught with her, Excepting one, were beft to do it fecretly. Brak. What one, my Lord? Glo. Her husband, knave-would'st thou betray me? Brak. I do befeech your Grace to pardon me, And to forbear your conf'rence with the Duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. Glo. Glo. We are the Queen's abjects, and must obey. Mean time, this deep difgrace of brotherhood Clar. I know it pleafeth neither of us well. Mean time have patience. Clar. I must perforce; farewell. [Exe. Brak. Clar. Glo. Go, tread the path, that thou shalt ne'er return : Simple, plain Clarence !I do love thee fo, That I will fhortly fend thy foul to heav'n, If heav'n will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Haftings? Enter Lord Haftings. Haft. Good time of day unto my gracious Lord. How hath your Lordship brook'd imprisonment? Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and fo fhall Clarence too; For they, that were your enemies, are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. Haft. More pity, that the eagle fhould be mew'd, (3) While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. Glo. What news abroad? Haft. No news fo bad abroad, as this at home: (3) More pity, that the eagle should be merv'd, While kites and buzzards play at liberty.]. I have, upon the authority of the old quarto's, restored prey, as the most expreffive and proper word. And our author again in this very play makes Glocefter repeat the fame thought, and ufe the fame expreffion. -the world is grown fo bad, The The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy, Glo. Now, by St. Paul, that news is bad, indeed. And over-much confum'd his royal perfon : 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he, in his bed? Haft. He is. Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit Haftings. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die, "Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heav'n. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lyes well teel'd with weighty arguments; And if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, For then, I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter : By marrying her, which I must reach unto. Clarence ftill breathes, Edward still lives and reigns; SCENE changes to a Street. Enter the Coarfe of Henry the Sixth, with halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the Mourner. Anne. SET ET down, fet down your honourable load, Be't |