Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick;
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

Glos. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor

man:

No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. Glos. But I know none, and therefore am no

beast.

Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! Glos. More wonderful, when angels are so angry! Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,

Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,

By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave,

By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glos. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have

Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glos. By such despair, I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excused;

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,

That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Glos. Say, that I slew them not?

Anne.

SHAK.

Why, then, they are not dead:

IX.

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
Glos. I did not kill your husband.

Anne.

Why, then he is alive. Glos. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward's

hand.

Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest: queen Margaret saw

Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood;
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glos. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries.
Didst thou not kill this king?

Glos. I grant ye.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too,

Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!

O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Glos. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath

him.

Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never

come.

Glos. Let him thank me, that holp to send him

thither;

For he was fitter for that place than earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.

Glos. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me

name it.

Anne. Some dungeon.

Glos. Your bed-chamber.

Anne. Il rest betide the chamber where thou

liest !

Glos. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.

Anne. I hope so.

Glos. I know so. But, gentle lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method ;Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner?

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accursed effect.

Glos. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep, To undertake the death of all the world,

So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

Glos. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck :

You should not blemish it, if I stood by.

As all the world is cheered by the sun,

So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death

thy life!

Glos. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art

both.

Anne. I would I were, to be revenged on thee.
Glos. It is a quarrel most unnatural,

To be revenged on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that kill'd my husband. Glos. 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.

Glos. He lives, that loves you better than he could.

Anne. Name him.

Glos.

Anne.

Plantagenet.

Why, that was he.

Glos. The self-same name, but one of better

nature.

Anne. Where is he?

Glos.

Here. [she spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me?

Anne. Would it were mortal poison for thy sake!
Glos. Never came poison from so sweet a place.
Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.

Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.
Glos. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected

mine.

Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

Glos. 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 salt

tears;

Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops.

These eyes, which never shed remorseful1 tear,-
No, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-faced 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, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.

I never sued to friend nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,

speak.

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
[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.

1 Pitying.