Be't lawful, that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd fon;
Stabb'd by the felf-fame hand, that made thefe wounds,
Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
Curs'd be the hand, that made these fatal holes!
Curs'd be the heart, that had the heart to do it!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, fpiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious and untimely brought to light,
Whofe ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view:
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miferable by the death of him,
'Than I am made by my young Lord and thee!
Come, now tow'rds Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there.
And ftill, as you are weary of this weight,
Reft you, while I lament King Henry's coarse.
Enter Richard Duke of Glocefter.
Glo. Stay you, that bear the coarfe, and fet it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds?
Glo. Villains, fet down the coarfe; or, by St. Paul, I'll make a coarse of him that disobeys.
Gen. My Lord, ftand back, and let the coffin país. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! ftand thou, when I command; Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
Or, by St. Paul, I'll ftrike thee to my foot,
And fpurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid ♪
Alas, I blame you not, for you are mortal;
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.
Avant, thou dreadful minifter of hell!
Thou hadst but pow'r over his mortal body,
His foul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.
Glo. Sweet faint, for charity, be not fo curft.
Anne. Foul dev'l! for God's fake hence, trouble us not,
For thou haft made the happy earth thy hell:
Fill'd it with curfing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.
Oh, gentlemen! fee! fee, dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy prefence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells.
Thy deeds, inbuman and unnatural,
Provoke this deluge most unnatural.
O God! which this blood mad'ft, revenge his death;
O earth! which this blood drink'ft, revenge his death :
Or heav'n with lightning ftrike the murd'rer dead ;
Or earth gape open wide, and eat him quick,
As thou doet fwallow up this good King's blood,
Which his hell govern'd arm hath butchered!
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, bleffings for curfes.
Anne. Villain, thou know'ft nor law of God nor man;
No beat fo fierce, but knows fome touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth !—
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry:
Vouchfafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of thefe fuppofed crimes, to give me leave,
By circumftance, but to acquit myself.
Anne. Vouchfafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumftance, to curfe thy curfed felf.
Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leifure to excufe myself.
Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
No excufe current, but to hang thyself.
Glo. By fuch defpair I fhould accufe myself.
Anne. And by despairing fhalt thou stand excus'd,
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself;
That didst unworthy flaughter upon others..
Glo. Say, that I flew them not.
Anne. Then fay, they were not flain :
But dead they are; and, devilish flave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne. Why, then he is alive.
Glo. Nay, he is dead, and flain by Edward's hands.
Anne. In thy foul throat thou ly'ft. Queen Margret saw
Thy murd'rous faulchion fmoaking in his blood:
The which thou once didft bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat afide the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her fland'rous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltlefs fhoulders.
Anne. Thou waft provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries;
Didft thou not kill this King?
Anne. Doft grant me, hedge-hog? then God grant me too, Thou may't be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild and virtuous.
Glo. The fitter for the King of heav'n, that hath him. Anne. He is in heav'n, where thou shalt never come. Glo. Let him thank me, that help'd to fend him thither For he was fitter for that place than earth. Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Glo. Yes, one place elfe, if you will hear me name it. Anne. Some dungeon.
Anne. Ill reft betide the chamber, where thou lieft!
Glo. So will it, Madam, till I lie with you.
Glo. I know fo.-But, gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall fomething into a flower method :
Is not the caufer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner ?
Anne. Thou waft the cause, and most accurft effect.
Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect.
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world;
So I might live one hour in your sweet bofom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails fhould rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Glo. These eyes could not endure sweet beauty's wrack,
You should not blemish it, if I ftood by ;
As all the world is cheered by the fun,
So I by that; it is my day, my
Anne. Black night o'er-fhade thy day, and death thy life!
Glo. Curfe not thyfelf, fair creature; thou art both.
Anne. I would, I were, to be reveng❜d on thee.
Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.
Anne. It is a quarrel juft and reasonable.
To be reveng❜d on him that kill'd my husband.
Glo. He that bereft thee, Lady, of thy husband,
Did it to help thee to a better husband.
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
Glo. He lives, that loves thee better than he could.
Anne. Name him.
Glo. Plantagenet.
Anne. Why, that was he.
Glo. The felf-fame name, but one of better nature.
Anne. Where is he?
Glo. Here; why doft thou spit at me? [She fpits at him.
Anne. Would it were mortal poifon for thy fake!
Glo. Never came poifon from fo sweet a place.
Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my fight! thou doft infect mine eyes.
Glo. Thine eyes, fweet Lady, have infected mine.
Anne. Would they were bafilifks to ftrike thee dead!
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once:
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn falt tears;
Sham'd their afpects with ftore of childish drops:
Thefe eyes, which never thed remorfeful tear,
Not when my father York, and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made;
When black-fac'd Clifford fhook his fword at him:
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the fad ftory of my father's death,
And twenty times made paufe to fob and weep,
That all the ftanders-by had wet their checks,
Like trees be-dash'd with rain : in that fad time,
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear:
And what these forrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
I never fued to friend, nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing words;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart fues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
[She looks fcornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip fuch fcorn, for it was made
For kiffing, Lady, not for fuch contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo! here I lend thee this fharp-pointed fword,
Which, if thou pleafe to hide in this true breaft,
And let the foul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly ftroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
[He lays his breaft open, fbe offers at it with his fword. Nay, do not paufe; for I did kill King Henry; But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now dispatch: 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward; But 'twas thy heav'nly face that fet me on.
[She falls the faword. Take up the fword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arife, diffembler; though I wish thy death,
I will not be thy executioner.
Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.
Glo. That was in thy rage:
Speak it again, and even with thy word,
This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy love,
Shall for thy love, kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths fhalt thou be acceffary.
Anne. I would, I knew thy heart.
Glo. "Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are falfe.
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