Imagens das páginas

K. Edw. You cavil, widow ; I did mean my Queen.
Gray. "Twill grieve your Grace, my sons should call

you father.

K. Edw. No more than when my daughters call thee

Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children ;
And, by God's mother, I, being but a batchelor,
Have other some : why, 'tis a happy thing,
To be the father unto many sons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen.

Glo. The ghostly father now hath done his fhrift.
Clar. When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift.
K. Edw. Brothers, ye muse what chat we two have had.
Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks fad.
K. Edw. You'd think it ftrange, if I should marry her.
Clar. To whom, my Lord ?
K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself.
Glo. That would be ten days wonder at the least.
Clor. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.
Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes.
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both,

, Her suit is granted for her husband's lands,

Enter a Nobleman.
Nob. My gracious Lord, Henry your foe is taken,
And brought your prisoner to your palace-gate.

K. Edw. See, that he be convey'l unto the Tower.
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his apprehension.
Widow, go you along : Lords, use her honourably.

Manet Gloucester.
Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for.

foul's desire and me,
(The luiłfui Edward's title buried)
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward;

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between my


And all the unlook'd-for iffue of their bodie,
To take their rooms ere I can place myself.
A cold premeditation for my purpose !
Why, then I do but dream on Sov’reignty,
Like one that stands upon a promontory,
And spies a far-off shore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,
And chides the sea that funders him from thence,
Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way;
So do I wish, the crown being so far off,
And so I chide the means that keep me from it;
And fo (I say) Pll cut the causes off,
Flatt'ring my mind with things impossible.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'er-weens too much,
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
Well, fay, there is no kingdom then for Richard :
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a Lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And 'witch sweet Ladies with my words and looks.
O miserable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.
Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb;
And, for I should not deal in her soft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub:
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where fits deformity to mock my body ;
To Ihape my legs of an unequal fize;
To disproportion me in every part:
Like to a chaos, or unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd ?
Oh, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought !
'Then fince this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'er-bear such
As are of better person than myself;
I'll make my heay'n to dream upon the crown ;
And, while I live, t account this world but hell,
Until the mil-Ihap'd trunk, that bears this head,

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For many

Be round impaled with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,

lives ftand between me and home :
And I, like one loft in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a-way, and straying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling desp’rately to find it out)
Torment myself to catch the Engliso crown.
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody ax.
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile ;
And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions :
I'll drown more sailors, than the mermaid shall.!
I'll slay more gazers, than the basilisk ;
I'll play the orator, as well as Nestor ;
Deceive more slily, than Ulysses could ;
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy:
I can add colours ev'n to the camelion ;
Change shapes with Proteus, for advantages ;
And set the murd rous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. [Exit.

SCENE changes to France. Flourish. Enter King Lewis, Lady Bona, Bourbon,

Edward Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the

Earl of Oxford. Lewis fits, and riseth up again. K. Lew. Air Queen of England, worthy Margaret,

Sit down with us; it ill befits thy itate, And birth, that thou should's stand, while Lewis fits.

Queen. No, mighty King of France ; now Margaret Muit strike her fail, and learn awhile to serve, Where Kings command. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's Queen in former golden days: But now mischance hath trod my title down, And with dishonour laid me on the ground;


Where I must take like seat unto my fortune,
And to my humble scat conform myself.
K. Lew. Why, say, fair Queen, whence springs this

deep despair? Queen. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears ; And stops my tongue while my heart's drown'd in cares.

K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And fit thee by our fide. Yield not thy neck

[Seats her by him. To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischiance. Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; t shall be eas’d, if France can yield relief. Queen. Those gracious words revive my drooping

And give my tongue-ty'd forrows leave to speak.
Now therefore be it known to noble Leruis,
That Henry, fole poffeffor of my love,
is, of a King, become a banish'd man,
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn
While proud ambitious Edavard Duke of York
Usurps the regal title, and the seat
Of England's true anointed lawful King.
This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret,
With this my son Prince Edward, Henry's heir,
Ain come to crave thy just and lawful aid :
And if thou fail us, all our hope is done.
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help:
Our people and our Peers are both mis-led,
Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight,
And, as thou seeft, ourselves in heavy plight.

K.Lew. Renowned Queen, with patience calm the storm; While we bethink a means to break it off.

Queen. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll fuccour thee.

Queen. O, but impatience waiteth on true forrow : (16) And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow,

Enter (16) O, impatience waiteth on true porrow; And see, wbere comes the breeder of my sorrow.] Though I have not G 3


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Enter Warwick.
K. Lew. What's he approacheth boldly to our presence ?
Queen. Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend.
K, Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick, what brings thee

to France ? [He defcends. She arifeth.
Queen. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise ;
For this is he, that moves both wind and tide.

War. From worthy Edward, King of Albion,
My Lord and Sou'reign, and thy vowed friend,
I come (in kindness and unfeigned love)
First to do greetings to thy royal perfon,
And then to crave a league of amity ;
And lastly, to confirm that amity
With nuptial knot, if thou vouch safe to grant
That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair fifter,
To England's King in lawful marriage.

Queen. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done!
War. And, gracious Madam, in our King's behalf,

[Speaking te Bona.
I am commanded, with your leave and favour,
Humbly to kiss your hand; and with my tongue
To tell the passion of my Sov'reign's heart;
Where fame, late ent’ring at his heedful ears,
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy vistue.

Queen, King Lewis, and Lady Bona, hear me speak,
Before you answer Warrvick, His demand
difturbid the text here, I cannot smother an ingenious conjecture of
my friend's on this pallage.- How does impatience wait mowe parsicas

lurly on true forrow? On the contrary, those forrows, such as Queen's, which came gradually, by a long course of misfortunes,

are generally less impatient than that of those, who, having been “ unacquainted with misfortunes, fall into sudden miseries, Perhaps, w the true reading might be;

0, but impatience, waiting, rues to-morrow :

And see, wbere comes the breeder of my sorrow. “ j. e. When impatience waits and follicits for redress, there is no.

thin the so much dreads as being put off" till to-morrow ; (a pro“ verb al expression for procrastination) and a very proper reply to the

King. Besides, a rhyme is hereby added, in which custom the

poet so much delighted; and a sentiment is convey'd truly worthy ~ of him,"

Mr. Warburton


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