1593

KING RICHARD III

by William Shakespeare

Dramatis Personae

EDWARD THE FOURTH

Sons to the King

EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V

RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,

Brothers to the King

GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE,

RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III

A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick)

HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII

CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY

THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK

JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM

DUKE OF NORFOLK

EARL OF SURREY, his son

EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward's Queen

MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons

EARL OF OXFORD

LORD HASTINGS

LORD LOVEL

LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY

SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN

SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF

SIR WILLIAM CATESBY

SIR JAMES TYRREL

SIR JAMES BLOUNT

SIR WALTER HERBERT

SIR WILLIAM BRANDON

SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower

CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest

LORD MAYOR OF LONDON

SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE

HASTINGS, a pursuivant

TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne

ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV

MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI

DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV

LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King

Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester

A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet,

Countess of Salisbury)

Ghosts, of Richard's victims

Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page,

Bishops, Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers,

Murderers, Keeper

SCENE: England

King Richard the Third

ACT1|SC1

ACT I. SCENE 1.

London. A street

Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus

GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;

And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;

Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front,

And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I-that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass-

I-that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph-

I-that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,

Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time

Into this breathing world scarce half made up,

And that so lamely and unfashionable

That dogs bark at me as I halt by them-

Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,

Have no delight to pass away the time,

Unless to spy my shadow in the sun

And descant on mine own deformity.

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determined to prove a villain

And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,

By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,

To set my brother Clarence and the King

In deadly hate the one against the other;

And if King Edward be as true and just

As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,

This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up-

About a prophecy which says that G

Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY

Brother, good day. What means this armed guard

That waits upon your Grace?

CLARENCE. His Majesty,

Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed

This conduct to convey me to th' Tower.

GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause?

CLARENCE. Because my name is George.

GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours:

He should, for that, commit your godfathers.

O, belike his Majesty hath some intent

That you should be new-christ'ned in the Tower.

But what's the matter, Clarence? May I know?

CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest

As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,

He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,

And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,

And says a wizard told him that by G

His issue disinherited should be;

And, for my name of George begins with G,

It follows in his thought that I am he.

These, as I learn, and such like toys as these

Hath mov'd his Highness to commit me now.

GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by women:

'Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower;

My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she

That tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she and that good man of worship,

Antony Woodville, her brother there,

That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,

From whence this present day he is delivered?

We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure

But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds

That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore.

Heard you not what an humble suppliant

Lord Hastings was, for her delivery?

GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity

Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.

I'll tell you what-I think it is our way,

If we will keep in favour with the King,

To be her men and wear her livery:

The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,

Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,

Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.

BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me:

His Majesty hath straitly given in charge

That no man shall have private conference,

Of what degree soever, with your brother.

GLOUCESTER. Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury,

You may partake of any thing we say:

We speak no treason, man; we say the King

Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen

Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous;

We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,

A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;

And that the Queen's kindred are made gentlefolks.

How say you, sir? Can you deny all this?

BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.

GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,

fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,

Were best to do it secretly alone.

BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord?

GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me?

BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and

withal

Forbear your conference with the noble Duke.

CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will

obey.

GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen's abjects and must obey.

Brother, farewell; I will unto the King;

And whatsoe'er you will employ me in-

Were it to call King Edward's widow sister-

I will perform it to enfranchise you.

Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood

Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;

I will deliver or else lie for you.

Meantime, have patience.

CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell.

Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard

GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.

Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so

That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,

If heaven will take the present at our hands.

But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings?

Enter LORD HASTINGS

HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain!

Well are you welcome to the open air.

How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must;

But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks

That were the cause of my imprisonment.

GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;

For they that were your enemies are his,

And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew'd

Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

GLOUCESTER. What news abroad?

HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home:

The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,

And his physicians fear him mightily.

GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed.

O, he hath kept an evil diet long

And overmuch consum'd his royal person!

'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.

Where is he? In his bed?

HASTINGS. He is.

GLOUCESTER. Go you before, and I will follow you.

Exit HASTINGS

He cannot live, I hope, and must not die

Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.

I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence

With lies well steel'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,

And leave the world for me to bustle in!

For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.

What though I kill'd her husband and her father?

The readiest way to make the wench amends

Is to become her husband and her father;

The which will I-not all so much for love

As for another secret close intent

By marrying her which I must reach unto.

But yet I run before my horse to market.

Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns;

When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Exit

ACT1|SC2

SCENE 2.

London. Another street

Enter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with

halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the

mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY

ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load-

If honour may be shrouded in a hearse;

Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament

Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.

Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!

Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!

Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!

Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost

To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,

Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered son,

Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds.

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life

I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.

O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!

Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!

Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!

More direful hap betide that hated wretch

That makes us wretched by the death of thee

Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,

Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!

If ever he have child, abortive be it,

Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,

Whose 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 miserable by the death of him

Than I am made by my young lord and thee!

Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,

Taken from Paul's to be interred there;

And still as you are weary of this weight

Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

[The bearers take up the coffin]

Enter GLOUCESTER

GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend

To stop devoted charitable deeds?

GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,

I'll make a corse of him that disobeys!

FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin

pass.

GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command.

Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,

Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot

And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

[The bearers set down the coffin]

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.

Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,

His soul thou canst not have; therefore, be gone.

GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

ANNE. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence and trouble us not;

For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell

Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims.

If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,

Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

O, gentlemen, see, see! Dead Henry's wounds

Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.

Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity,

For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood

From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells;

Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural

Provokes this deluge most unnatural.

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!

O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!

Either, heav'n, with lightning strike the murd'rer dead;

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.

GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity,

Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man:

No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry.

Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,

Of these supposed crimes to give me leave

By circumstance but to acquit myself.

ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,

Of these known evils but to give me leave

By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self.

GLOUCESTER. 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.

GLOUCESTER. 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.

GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not?

ANNE. Then say they were not slain.

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband.

ANNE. Why, then he is alive.

GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward's hands.

ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw

Thy murd'rous falchion smoking in his blood;

The which thou once didst bend against her breast,

But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

GLOUCESTER. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue

That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,

That never dream'st on aught but butcheries.

Didst thou not kill this king?

GLOUCESTER. I grant ye.

ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to

Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!

O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath

him.

ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

GLOUCESTER. 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.

GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

ANNE. Some dungeon.

GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber.

ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

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

ANNE. I hope so.

GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne,

To leave this keen encounter of our wits,

And fall something 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 accurs'd effect.

GLOUCESTER. 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 bosom.

ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,

These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

GLOUCESTER. 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!

GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.

GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural,

To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.

ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,

To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.

GLOUCESTER. 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.

GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could.

ANNE. Name him.

GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet.

ANNE. Why, that was he.

GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature.

ANNE. Where is he?

GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit

at me?

ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

GLOUCESTER. 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.

GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead!

GLOUCESTER. 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,

Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops-

These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,

No, when my father York and Edward wept

To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made

When black-fac'd 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 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 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward-

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

[She falls 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.

GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it;

ANNE. I have already.

GLOUCESTER. 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;

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.

ANNE. I would I knew thy heart.

GLOUCESTER. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.

ANNE. I fear me both are false.

GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true.

ANNE. well put up your sword.

GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made.

ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.

GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope?

ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.

GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring]

GLOUCESTER. 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?

GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs

To him that hath most cause to be a mourner,

And presently repair to Crosby House;

Where-after I have solemnly interr'd

At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king,

And wet his grave with my repentant tears-

I will with all expedient duty see you.

For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,

Grant me this boon.

ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too

To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me.

GLOUCESTER. Bid me farewell.

ANNE. 'Tis more than you deserve;

But since you teach me how to flatter you,

Imagine I have said farewell already.

Exeunt two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE

GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse.

GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming.

Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER

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 my hatred by;

Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me,

And I no friends to back my suit at all

But the plain devil and dissembling looks,

And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!

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;

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 woeful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?

On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,

I do mistake my person all this while.

Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,

Myself to be a marv'llous proper man.

I'll be at charges for 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. Exit

ACT1|SC3

SCENE 3.

London. 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 eyes.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on

me?

GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all

harms.

GREY. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son

To be your comforter when he is gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority

Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester,

A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector?

QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin'd, not concluded yet;

But so it must be, if the King miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY

GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby.

BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace!

DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord

of Derby,

To your good prayer will scarcely say amen.

Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife

And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd

I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

DERBY. 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.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of

Derby?

DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I

Are come from visiting his Majesty.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment,

Lords?

BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks

cheerfully.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer

with him?

BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement

Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,

And between them and my Lord Chamberlain;

And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will

never be.

I fear our happiness is at the height.

Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET

GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it.

Who is it that complains unto the King

That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not?

By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly

That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.

Because I cannot flatter and look fair,

Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,

Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,

I must be held a rancorous enemy.

Cannot a plain man live and think no harm

But thus his simple truth must be abus'd

With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace?

GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace.

When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong,

Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction?

A plague upon you all! His royal Grace-

Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-

Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while

But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the

matter.

The King, on his own royal disposition

And not provok'd by any suitor else-

Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred

That in your outward action shows itself

Against my children, brothers, and myself-

Makes him to send that he may learn the ground.

GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad

That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.

Since every Jack became a gentleman,

There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning,

brother Gloucester:

You envy my advancement and my friends';

God grant we never may have need of you!

GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you.

Our brother is imprison'd by your means,

Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility

Held in contempt; while great promotions

Are daily given to ennoble those

That scarce some two days since were worth a noble.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais'd me to this careful

height

From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,

I never did incense his Majesty

Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been

An earnest advocate to plead for him.

My lord, you do me shameful injury

Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects.

GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean

Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

RIVERS. She may, my lord; for-

GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows

not so?

She may do more, sir, than denying that:

She may help you to many fair preferments

And then deny her aiding hand therein,

And lay those honours on your high desert.

What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she-

RIVERS. What, marry, may she?

GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king,

A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too.

Iwis your grandam had a worser match.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long

borne

Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs.

By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty

Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur'd.

I had rather be a country servant-maid

Than a great queen with this condition-

To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at.

Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind

Small joy have I in being England's Queen.

QUEEN MARGARET. And less'ned be that small, God, I

beseech Him!

Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.

GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the

King?

Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said

I will avouch't in presence of the King.

I dare adventure to be sent to th' Tow'r.

'Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot.

QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to

well:

Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,

And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband

King,

I was a pack-horse in his great affairs,

A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,

A liberal rewarder of his friends;

To royalize his blood I spent mine own.

QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or

thine.

GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey

Were factious for the house of Lancaster;

And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband

In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain?

Let me put in your minds, if you forget,

What you have been ere this, and what you are;

Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

QUEEN MARGARET. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.

GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick,

Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!-

QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge!

GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward's party for the crown;

And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.

I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's,

Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine.

I am too childish-foolish for this world.

QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this

world,

Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is.

RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days

Which here you urge to prove us enemies,

We follow'd then our lord, our sovereign king.

So should we you, if you should be our king.

GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar.

Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!

QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose

You should enjoy were you this country's king,

As little joy you may suppose in me

That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof.

QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof;

For I am she, and altogether joyless.

I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing]

Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out

In sharing that which you have pill'd from me.

Which of you trembles not that looks on me?

If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects,

Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?

Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!

GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my

sight?

QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd,

That will I make before I let thee go.

GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?

QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in

banishment

Than death can yield me here by my abode.

A husband and a son thou ow'st to me;

And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance.

This sorrow that I have by right is yours;

And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

GLOUCESTER. The curse my noble father laid on thee,

When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper

And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes,

And then to dry them gav'st the Duke a clout

Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-

His curses then from bitterness of soul

Denounc'd against thee are all fall'n upon thee;

And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent.

HASTINGS. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,

And the most merciless that e'er was heard of!

RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it.

BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

QUEEN MARGARET. What, were you snarling all before I came,

Ready to catch each other by the throat,

And turn you all your hatred now on me?

Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven

That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,

Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment,

Should all but answer for that peevish brat?

Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?

Why then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!

Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,

As ours by murder, to make him a king!

Edward thy son, that now is Prince of Wales,

For Edward our son, that was Prince of Wales,

Die in his youth by like untimely violence!

Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,

Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!

Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's death,

And see another, as I see thee now,

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!

Long die thy happy days before thy death;

And, after many length'ned hours of grief,

Die neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen!

Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,

And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son

Was stabb'd with bloody daggers. God, I pray him,

That none of you may live his natural age,

But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd

hag.

QUEEN MARGARET. And leave out thee? Stay, dog, for thou

shalt hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store

Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,

O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe,

And then hurl down their indignation

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!

The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!

Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,

And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!

No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,

Unless it be while some tormenting dream

Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!

Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog,

Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity

The slave of nature and the son of hell,

Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb,

Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins,

Thou rag of honour, thou detested-

GLOUCESTER. Margaret!

QUEEN MARGARET. Richard!

GLOUCESTER. Ha?

QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not.

GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think

That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look'd for no reply.

O, let me make the period to my curse!

GLOUCESTER. 'Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath'd your curse

against yourself.

QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my

fortune!

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider

Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.

The day will come that thou shalt wish for me

To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back'd toad.

HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse,

Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all

mov'd mine.

RIVERS. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your

duty.

QUEEN MARGARET. To serve me well you all should do me

duty,

Teach me to be your queen and you my subjects.

O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert;

Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.

O, that your young nobility could judge

What 'twere to lose it and be miserable!

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them,

And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.

GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis.

DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.

GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high,

Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top,

And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

QUEEN MARGARET. And turns the sun to shade-alas! alas!

Witness my son, now in the shade of death,

Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath

Hath in eternal darkness folded up.

Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest.

O God that seest it, do not suffer it;

As it is won with blood, lost be it so!

BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity!

QUEEN MARGARET. Urge neither charity nor shame to me.

Uncharitably with me have you dealt,

And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd.

My charity is outrage, life my shame;

And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!

BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done.

QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I'll kiss thy

hand

In sign of league and amity with thee.

Now fair befall thee and thy noble house!

Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,

Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass

The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

QUEEN MARGARET. I will not think but they ascend the sky

And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.

O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog!

Look when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,

His venom tooth will rankle to the death:

Have not to do with him, beware of him;

Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him,

And all their ministers attend on him.

GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

QUEEN MARGARET. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle

counsel,

And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?

O, but remember this another day,

When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,

And say poor Margaret was a prophetess!

Live each of you the subjects to his hate,

And he to yours, and all of you to God's! Exit

BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses.

RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she's at liberty.

GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God's holy Mother,

She hath had too much wrong; and I repent

My part thereof that I have done to her.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge.

GLOUCESTER. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.

I was too hot to do somebody good

That is too cold in thinking of it now.

Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;

He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains;

God pardon them that are the cause thereof!

RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,

To pray for them that have done scathe to us!

GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis'd;

For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.

Enter CATESBY

CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you,

And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go

with me?

RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace.

Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER

GLOUCESTER. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.

The secret mischiefs that I set abroach

I lay unto the grievous charge of others.

Clarence, who I indeed have cast in darkness,

I do beweep to many simple gulls;

Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham;

And tell them 'tis the Queen and her allies

That stir the King against the Duke my brother.

Now they believe it, and withal whet me

To be reveng'd on Rivers, Dorset, Grey;

But then I sigh and, with a piece of Scripture,

Tell them that God bids us do good for evil.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy

With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,

And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

Enter two MURDERERS

But, soft, here come my executioners.

How now, my hardy stout resolved mates!

Are you now going to dispatch this thing?

FIRST MURDERER. We are, my lord, and come to have the

warrant,

That we may be admitted where he is.

GLOUCESTER. Well thought upon; I have it here about me.

[Gives the warrant]

When you have done, repair to Crosby Place.

But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,

Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead;

For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps

May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.

FIRST MURDERER. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to

prate;

Talkers are no good doers. Be assur'd

We go to use our hands and not our tongues.

GLOUCESTER. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall

tears.

I like you, lads; about your business straight;

Go, go, dispatch.

FIRST MURDERER. We will, my noble lord. Exeunt

ACT1|SC4

SCENE 4.

London. The Tower

Enter CLARENCE and KEEPER

KEEPER. Why looks your Grace so heavily to-day?

CLARENCE. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,

So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,

That, as I am a Christian faithful man,

I would not spend another such a night

Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days-

So full of dismal terror was the time!

KEEPER. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you

tell me.

CLARENCE. Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower

And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;

And in my company my brother Gloucester,

Who from my cabin tempted me to walk

Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England,

And cited up a thousand heavy times,

During the wars of York and Lancaster,

That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along

Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,

Methought that Gloucester stumbled, and in falling

Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard

Into the tumbling billows of the main.

O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown,

What dreadful noise of waters in my ears,

What sights of ugly death within my eyes!

Methoughts I saw a thousand fearful wrecks,

A thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon,

Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,

Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,

All scatt'red in the bottom of the sea;

Some lay in dead men's skulls, and in the holes

Where eyes did once inhabit there were crept,

As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,

That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep

And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatt'red by.

KEEPER. Had you such leisure in the time of death

To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

CLARENCE. Methought I had; and often did I strive

To yield the ghost, but still the envious flood

Stopp'd in my soul and would not let it forth

To find the empty, vast, and wand'ring air;

But smother'd it within my panting bulk,

Who almost burst to belch it in the sea.

KEEPER. Awak'd you not in this sore agony?

CLARENCE. No, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life.

O, then began the tempest to my soul!

I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood

With that sour ferryman which poets write of,

Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.

The first that there did greet my stranger soul

Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,

Who spake aloud 'What scourge for perjury

Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?'

And so he vanish'd. Then came wand'ring by

A shadow like an angel, with bright hair

Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud

'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,

That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury.

Seize on him, Furies, take him unto torment!'

With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends

Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears

Such hideous cries that, with the very noise,

I trembling wak'd, and for a season after

Could not believe but that I was in hell,

Such terrible impression made my dream.

KEEPER. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;

I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.

CLARENCE. Ah, Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things

That now give evidence against my soul

For Edward's sake, and see how he requites me!

O God! If my deep prayers cannot appease Thee,

But Thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,

Yet execute Thy wrath in me alone;

O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!

KEEPER, I prithee sit by me awhile;

My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

KEEPER. I will, my lord. God give your Grace good rest.

[CLARENCE sleeps]

Enter BRAKENBURY the Lieutenant

BRAKENBURY. Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours,

Makes the night morning and the noontide night.

Princes have but their titles for their glories,

An outward honour for an inward toil;

And for unfelt imaginations

They often feel a world of restless cares,

So that between their tides and low name

There's nothing differs but the outward fame.

Enter the two MURDERERS

FIRST MURDERER. Ho! who's here?

BRAKENBURY. What wouldst thou, fellow, and how cam'st

thou hither?

FIRST MURDERER. I would speak with Clarence, and I came

hither on my legs.

BRAKENBURY. What, so brief?

SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis better, sir, than to be tedious. Let

him see our commission and talk no more.

[BRAKENBURY reads it]

BRAKENBURY. I am, in this, commanded to deliver

The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands.

I will not reason what is meant hereby,

Because I will be guiltless from the meaning.

There lies the Duke asleep; and there the keys.

I'll to the King and signify to him

That thus I have resign'd to you my charge.

FIRST MURDERER. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom. Fare

you well. Exeunt BRAKENBURY and KEEPER

SECOND MURDERER. What, shall I stab him as he sleeps?

FIRST MURDERER. No; he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when

he wakes.

SECOND MURDERER. Why, he shall never wake until the great

judgment-day.

FIRST MURDERER. Why, then he'll say we stabb'd him

sleeping.

SECOND MURDERER. The urging of that word judgment hath

bred a kind of remorse in me.

FIRST MURDERER. What, art thou afraid?

SECOND MURDERER. Not to kill him, having a warrant; but to

be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can

defend me.

FIRST MURDERER. I thought thou hadst been resolute.

SECOND MURDERER. So I am, to let him live.

FIRST MURDERER. I'll back to the Duke of Gloucester and

tell him so.

SECOND MURDERER. Nay, I prithee, stay a little. I hope this

passionate humour of mine will change; it was wont to

hold me but while one tells twenty.

FIRST MURDERER. How dost thou feel thyself now?

SECOND MURDERER. Faith, some certain dregs of conscience

are yet within me.

FIRST MURDERER. Remember our reward, when the deed's

done.

SECOND MURDERER. Zounds, he dies; I had forgot the reward.

FIRST MURDERER. Where's thy conscience now?

SECOND MURDERER. O, in the Duke of Gloucester's purse!

FIRST MURDERER. When he opens his purse to give us our

reward, thy conscience flies out.

SECOND MURDERER. 'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few or

none will entertain it.

FIRST MURDERER. What if it come to thee again?

SECOND MURDERER. I'll not meddle with it-it makes a man

coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; a man

cannot swear, but it checks him; a man cannot lie with his

neighbour's wife, but it detects him. 'Tis a blushing shame-

fac'd spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man

full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold

that-by chance I found. It beggars any man that keeps it.

It is turn'd out of towns and cities for a dangerous thing;

and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust

to himself and live without it.

FIRST MURDERER. Zounds, 'tis even now at my elbow,

persuading me not to kill the Duke.

SECOND MURDERER. Take the devil in thy mind and believe

him not; he would insinuate with thee but to make the

sigh.

FIRST MURDERER. I am strong-fram'd; he cannot prevail with

me.

SECOND MURDERER. Spoke like a tall man that respects thy

reputation. Come, shall we fall to work?

FIRST MURDERER. Take him on the costard with the hilts of

thy sword, and then chop him in the malmsey-butt in the

next room.

SECOND MURDERER. O excellent device! and make a sop of

him.

FIRST MURDERER. Soft! he wakes.

SECOND MURDERER. Strike!

FIRST MURDERER. No, we'll reason with him.

CLARENCE. Where art thou, Keeper? Give me a cup of wine.

SECOND MURDERER. You shall have wine enough, my lord,

anon.

CLARENCE. In God's name, what art thou?

FIRST MURDERER. A man, as you are.

CLARENCE. But not as I am, royal.

SECOND MURDERER. Nor you as we are, loyal.

CLARENCE. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

FIRST MURDERER. My voice is now the King's, my looks

mine own.

CLARENCE. How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak!

Your eyes do menace me. Why look you pale?

Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

SECOND MURDERER. To, to, to-

CLARENCE. To murder me?

BOTH MURDERERS. Ay, ay.

CLARENCE. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,

And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.

Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

FIRST MURDERER. Offended us you have not, but the King.

CLARENCE. I shall be reconcil'd to him again.

SECOND MURDERER. Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

CLARENCE. Are you drawn forth among a world of men

To slay the innocent? What is my offence?

Where is the evidence that doth accuse me?

What lawful quest have given their verdict up

Unto the frowning judge, or who pronounc'd

The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?

Before I be convict by course of law,

To threaten me with death is most unlawful.

I charge you, as you hope to have redemption

By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins,

That you depart and lay no hands on me.

The deed you undertake is damnable.

FIRST MURDERER. What we will do, we do upon command.

SECOND MURDERER. And he that hath commanded is our

King.

CLARENCE. Erroneous vassals! the great King of kings

Hath in the tables of his law commanded

That thou shalt do no murder. Will you then

Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's?

Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand

To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

SECOND MURDERER. And that same vengeance doth he hurl

on thee

For false forswearing, and for murder too;

Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight

In quarrel of the house of Lancaster.

FIRST MURDERER. And like a traitor to the name of God

Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade

Unripp'dst the bowels of thy sov'reign's son.

SECOND MURDERER. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and

defend.

FIRST MURDERER. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law

to us,

When thou hast broke it in such dear degree?

CLARENCE. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?

For Edward, for my brother, for his sake.

He sends you not to murder me for this,

For in that sin he is as deep as I.

If God will be avenged for the deed,

O, know you yet He doth it publicly.

Take not the quarrel from His pow'rful arm;

He needs no indirect or lawless course

To cut off those that have offended Him.

FIRST MURDERER. Who made thee then a bloody minister

When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet,

That princely novice, was struck dead by thee?

CLARENCE. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

FIRST MURDERER. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy

faults,

Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

CLARENCE. If you do love my brother, hate not me;

I am his brother, and I love him well.

If you are hir'd for meed, go back again,

And I will send you to my brother Gloucester,

Who shall reward you better for my life

Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

SECOND MURDERER. You are deceiv'd: your brother Gloucester

hates you.

CLARENCE. O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear.

Go you to him from me.

FIRST MURDERER. Ay, so we will.

CLARENCE. Tell him when that our princely father York

Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm

And charg'd us from his soul to love each other,

He little thought of this divided friendship.

Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep.

FIRST MURDERER. Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep.

CLARENCE. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

FIRST MURDERER. Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you

deceive yourself:

'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

CLARENCE. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune

And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore with sobs

That he would labour my delivery.

FIRST MURDERER. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you

From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

SECOND MURDERER. Make peace with God, for you must die,

my lord.

CLARENCE. Have you that holy feeling in your souls

To counsel me to make my peace with God,

And are you yet to your own souls so blind

That you will war with God by murd'ring me?

O, sirs, consider: they that set you on

To do this deed will hate you for the deed.

SECOND MURDERER. What shall we do?

CLARENCE. Relent, and save your souls.

FIRST MURDERER. Relent! No, 'tis cowardly and womanish.

CLARENCE. Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish.

Which of you, if you were a prince's son,

Being pent from liberty as I am now,

If two such murderers as yourselves came to you,

Would not entreat for life?

My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks;

O, if thine eye be not a flatterer,

Come thou on my side and entreat for me-

As you would beg were you in my distress.

A begging prince what beggar pities not?

SECOND MURDERER. Look behind you, my lord.

FIRST MURDERER. [Stabbing him] Take that, and that. If all

this will not do,

I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.

Exit with the body

SECOND MURDERER. A bloody deed, and desperately

dispatch'd!

How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands

Of this most grievous murder!

Re-enter FIRST MURDERER

FIRST MURDERER-How now, what mean'st thou that thou

help'st me not?

By heavens, the Duke shall know how slack you have

been!

SECOND MURDERER. I would he knew that I had sav'd his

brother!

Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say;

For I repent me that the Duke is slain. Exit

FIRST MURDERER. So do not I. Go, coward as thou art.

Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole,

Till that the Duke give order for his burial;

And when I have my meed, I will away;

For this will out, and then I must not stay. Exit

ACT2|SC1

ACT II. SCENE 1.

London. The palace

Flourish. Enter KING EDWARD sick,

QUEEN ELIZABETH, DORSET, RIVERS, HASTINGS,

BUCKINGHAM, GREY, and others

KING EDWARD. Why, so. Now have I done a good day's

work.

You peers, continue this united league.

I every day expect an embassage

From my Redeemer to redeem me hence;

And more at peace my soul shall part to heaven,

Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.

Hastings and Rivers, take each other's hand;

Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.

RIVERS. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate;

And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

HASTINGS. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like!

KING EDWARD. Take heed you dally not before your king;

Lest He that is the supreme King of kings

Confound your hidden falsehood and award

Either of you to be the other's end.

HASTINGS. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love!

RIVERS. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart!

KING EDWARD. Madam, yourself is not exempt from this;

Nor you, son Dorset; Buckingham, nor you:

You have been factious one against the other.

Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand;

And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. There, Hastings; I will never more

remember

Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine!

KING EDWARD. Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love Lord

Marquis.

DORSET. This interchange of love, I here protest,

Upon my part shall be inviolable.

HASTINGS. And so swear I. [They embrace]

KING EDWARD. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this

league

With thy embracements to my wife's allies,

And make me happy in your unity.

BUCKINGHAM. [To the QUEEN] Whenever Buckingham

doth turn his hate

Upon your Grace, but with all duteous love

Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me

With hate in those where I expect most love!

When I have most need to employ a friend

And most assured that he is a friend,

Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,

Be he unto me! This do I beg of God

When I am cold in love to you or yours.

[They embrace]

KING EDWARD. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,

Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.

There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here

To make the blessed period of this peace.

BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time,

Here comes Sir Richard Ratcliff and the Duke.

Enter GLOUCESTER, and RATCLIFF

GLOUCESTER. Good morrow to my sovereign king and

Queen;

And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

KING EDWARD. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day.

Gloucester, we have done deeds of charity,

Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,

Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

GLOUCESTER. A blessed labour, my most sovereign lord.

Among this princely heap, if any here,

By false intelligence or wrong surmise,

Hold me a foe-

If I unwittingly, or in my rage,

Have aught committed that is hardly borne

To any in this presence, I desire

To reconcile me to his friendly peace:

'Tis death to me to be at enmity;

I hate it, and desire all good men's love.

First, madam, I entreat true peace of you,

Which I will purchase with my duteous service;

Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,

If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us;

Of you, and you, Lord Rivers, and of Dorset,

That all without desert have frown'd on me;

Of you, Lord Woodville, and, Lord Scales, of you;

Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen-indeed, of all.

I do not know that Englishman alive

With whom my soul is any jot at odds

More than the infant that is born to-night.

I thank my God for my humility.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. A holy day shall this be kept hereafter.

I would to God all strifes were well compounded.

My sovereign lord, I do beseech your Highness

To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

GLOUCESTER. Why, madam, have I off'red love for this,

To be so flouted in this royal presence?

Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead?

[They all start]

You do him injury to scorn his corse.

KING EDWARD. Who knows not he is dead! Who knows

he is?

QUEEN ELIZABETH. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!

BUCKINGHAM. Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?

DORSET. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence

But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

KING EDWARD. Is Clarence dead? The order was revers'd.

GLOUCESTER. But he, poor man, by your first order died,

And that a winged Mercury did bear;

Some tardy cripple bare the countermand

That came too lag to see him buried.

God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,

Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,

Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,

And yet go current from suspicion!

Enter DERBY

DERBY. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!

KING EDWARD. I prithee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.

DERBY. I Will not rise unless your Highness hear me.

KING EDWARD. Then say at once what is it thou requests.

DERBY. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;

Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman

Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

KING EDWARD. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,

And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?

My brother killed no man-his fault was thought,

And yet his punishment was bitter death.

Who sued to me for him? Who, in my wrath,

Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd?

Who spoke of brotherhood? Who spoke of love?

Who told me how the poor soul did forsake

The mighty Warwick and did fight for me?

Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury

When Oxford had me down, he rescued me

And said 'Dear Brother, live, and be a king'?

Who told me, when we both lay in the field

Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me

Even in his garments, and did give himself,

All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?

All this from my remembrance brutish wrath

Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you

Had so much race to put it in my mind.

But when your carters or your waiting-vassals

Have done a drunken slaughter and defac'd

The precious image of our dear Redeemer,

You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;

And I, unjustly too, must grant it you. [DERBY rises]

But for my brother not a man would speak;

Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself

For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all

Have been beholding to him in his life;

Yet none of you would once beg for his life.

O God, I fear thy justice will take hold

On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this!

Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Ah, poor Clarence!

Exeunt some with KING and QUEEN

GLOUCESTER. This is the fruits of rashness. Mark'd you not

How that the guilty kindred of the Queen

Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?

O, they did urge it still unto the King!

God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go

To comfort Edward with our company?

BUCKINGHAM. We wait upon your Grace. Exeunt

ACT2|SC2

SCENE 2.

London. The palace

Enter the old DUCHESS OF YORK, with the SON

and DAUGHTER of CLARENCE

SON. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead?

DUCHESS. No, boy.

DAUGHTER. Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,

And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'?

SON. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,

And call us orphans, wretches, castaways,

If that our noble father were alive?

DUCHESS. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;

I do lament the sickness of the King,

As loath to lose him, not your father's death;

It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost.

SON. Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead.

The King mine uncle is to blame for it.

God will revenge it; whom I will importune

With earnest prayers all to that effect.

DAUGHTER. And so will I.

DUCHESS. Peace, children, peace! The King doth love you

well.

Incapable and shallow innocents,

You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death.

SON. Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester

Told me the King, provok'd to it by the Queen,

Devis'd impeachments to imprison him.

And when my uncle told me so, he wept,

And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;

Bade me rely on him as on my father,

And he would love me dearly as a child.

DUCHESS. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shape,

And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!

He is my son; ay, and therein my shame;

Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.

SON. Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam?

DUCHESS. Ay, boy.

SON. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this?

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, with her hair about her

ears; RIVERS and DORSET after her

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and

weep,

To chide my fortune, and torment myself?

I'll join with black despair against my soul

And to myself become an enemy.

DUCHESS. What means this scene of rude impatience?

QUEEN ELIZABETH. To make an act of tragic violence.

EDWARD, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.

Why grow the branches when the root is gone?

Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?

If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,

That our swift-winged souls may catch the King's,

Or like obedient subjects follow him

To his new kingdom of ne'er-changing night.

DUCHESS. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow

As I had title in thy noble husband!

I have bewept a worthy husband's death,

And liv'd with looking on his images;

But now two mirrors of his princely semblance

Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death,

And I for comfort have but one false glass,

That grieves me when I see my shame in him.

Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother

And hast the comfort of thy children left;

But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms

And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands-

Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I-

Thine being but a moiety of my moan-

To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries?

SON. Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death!

How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

DAUGHTER. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd;

Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Give me no help in lamentation;

I am not barren to bring forth complaints.

All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes

That I, being govern'd by the watery moon,

May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world!

Ah for my husband, for my dear Lord Edward!

CHILDREN. Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!

DUCHESS. Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!

QUEEN ELIZABETH. What stay had I but Edward? and he's

gone.

CHILDREN. What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone.

DUCHESS. What stays had I but they? and they are gone.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Was never widow had so dear a loss.

CHILDREN. Were never orphans had so dear a loss.

DUCHESS. Was never mother had so dear a loss.

Alas, I am the mother of these griefs!

Their woes are parcell'd, mine is general.

She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:

I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she.

These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I:

I for an Edward weep, so do not they.

Alas, you three on me, threefold distress'd,

Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,

And I will pamper it with lamentation.

DORSET. Comfort, dear mother. God is much displeas'd

That you take with unthankfulness his doing.

In common worldly things 'tis called ungrateful

With dull unwillingness to repay a debt

Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;

Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,

For it requires the royal debt it lent you.

RIVERS. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother,

Of the young prince your son. Send straight for him;

Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives.

Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave,

And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.

Enter GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, DERBY,

HASTINGS, and RATCLIFF

GLOUCESTER. Sister, have comfort. All of us have cause

To wail the dimming of our shining star;

But none can help our harms by wailing them.

Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;

I did not see your Grace. Humbly on my knee

I crave your blessing.

DUCHESS. God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,

Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

GLOUCESTER. Amen! [Aside] And make me die a good old

man!

That is the butt end of a mother's blessing;

I marvel that her Grace did leave it out.

BUCKINGHAM. You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing

peers,

That bear this heavy mutual load of moan,

Now cheer each other in each other's love.

Though we have spent our harvest of this king,

We are to reap the harvest of his son.

The broken rancour of your high-swol'n hearts,

But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together,

Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept.

Me seemeth good that, with some little train,

Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fet

Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.

RIVERS. Why with some little train, my Lord of

Buckingham?

BUCKINGHAM. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude

The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out,

Which would be so much the more dangerous

By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd;

Where every horse bears his commanding rein

And may direct his course as please himself,

As well the fear of harm as harm apparent,

In my opinion, ought to be prevented.

GLOUCESTER. I hope the King made peace with all of us;

And the compact is firm and true in me.

RIVERS. And so in me; and so, I think, in an.

Yet, since it is but green, it should be put

To no apparent likelihood of breach,

Which haply by much company might be urg'd;

Therefore I say with noble Buckingham

That it is meet so few should fetch the Prince.

HASTINGS. And so say I.

GLOUCESTER. Then be it so; and go we to determine

Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.

Madam, and you, my sister, will you go

To give your censures in this business?

Exeunt all but BUCKINGHAM and GLOUCESTER

BUCKINGHAM. My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince,

For God sake, let not us two stay at home;

For by the way I'll sort occasion,

As index to the story we late talk'd of,

To part the Queen's proud kindred from the Prince.

GLOUCESTER. My other self, my counsel's consistory,

My oracle, my prophet, my dear cousin,

I, as a child, will go by thy direction.

Toward Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. Exeunt

ACT2|SC3

SCENE 3.

London. A street

Enter one CITIZEN at one door, and

another at the other

FIRST CITIZEN. Good morrow, neighbour. Whither away so

fast?

SECOND CITIZEN. I promise you, I scarcely know myself.

Hear you the news abroad?

FIRST CITIZEN. Yes, that the King is dead.

SECOND CITIZEN. Ill news, by'r lady; seldom comes the

better.

I fear, I fear 'twill prove a giddy world.

Enter another CITIZEN

THIRD CITIZEN. Neighbours, God speed!

FIRST CITIZEN. Give you good morrow, sir.

THIRD CITIZEN. Doth the news hold of good King Edward's

death?

SECOND CITIZEN. Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while!

THIRD CITIZEN. Then, masters, look to see a troublous

world.

FIRST CITIZEN. No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall

reign.

THIRD CITIZEN. Woe to that land that's govern'd by a child.

SECOND CITIZEN. In him there is a hope of government,

Which, in his nonage, council under him,

And, in his full and ripened years, himself,

No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.

FIRST CITIZEN. So stood the state when Henry the Sixth

Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old.

THIRD CITIZEN. Stood the state so? No, no, good friends,

God wot;

For then this land was famously enrich'd

With politic grave counsel; then the King

Had virtuous uncles to protect his Grace.

FIRST CITIZEN. Why, so hath this, both by his father and

mother.

THIRD CITIZEN. Better it were they all came by his father,

Or by his father there were none at all;

For emulation who shall now be nearest

Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not.

O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester!

And the Queen's sons and brothers haught and proud;

And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule,

This sickly land might solace as before.

FIRST CITIZEN. Come, come, we fear the worst; all will be

well.

THIRD CITIZEN. When clouds are seen, wise men put on

their cloaks;

When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand;

When the sun sets, who doth not look for night?

Untimely storms make men expect a dearth.

All may be well; but, if God sort it so,

'Tis more than we deserve or I expect.

SECOND CITIZEN. Truly, the hearts of men are fun of fear.

You cannot reason almost with a man

That looks not heavily and fun of dread.

THIRD CITIZEN. Before the days of change, still is it so;

By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust

Ensuing danger; as by proof we see

The water swell before a boist'rous storm.

But leave it all to God. Whither away?

SECOND CITIZEN. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.

THIRD CITIZEN. And so was I; I'll bear you company.

Exeunt

ACT2|SC4

SCENE 4.

London. The palace

Enter the ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, the young

DUKE OF YORK, QUEEN ELIZABETH,

and the DUCHESS OF YORK

ARCHBISHOP. Last night, I hear, they lay at Stony Stratford,

And at Northampton they do rest to-night;

To-morrow or next day they will be here.

DUCHESS. I long with all my heart to see the Prince.

I hope he is much grown since last I saw him.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. But I hear no; they say my son of York

Has almost overta'en him in his growth.

YORK. Ay, mother; but I would not have it so.

DUCHESS. Why, my good cousin, it is good to grow.

YORK. Grandam, one night as we did sit at supper,

My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow

More than my brother. 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester

'Small herbs have grace: great weeds do grow apace.'

And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,

Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste.

DUCHESS. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold

In him that did object the same to thee.

He was the wretched'st thing when he was young,

So long a-growing and so leisurely

That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.

ARCHBISHOP. And so no doubt he is, my gracious madam.

DUCHESS. I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt.

YORK. Now, by my troth, if I had been rememb'red,

I could have given my uncle's Grace a flout

To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine.

DUCHESS. How, my young York? I prithee let me hear it.

YORK. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast

That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old.

'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.

Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.

DUCHESS. I prithee, pretty York, who told thee this?

YORK. Grandam, his nurse.

DUCHESS. His nurse! Why she was dead ere thou wast

born.

YORK. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. A parlous boy! Go to, you are too

shrewd.

ARCHBISHOP. Good madam, be not angry with the child.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Pitchers have ears.

Enter a MESSENGER

ARCHBISHOP. Here comes a messenger. What news?

MESSENGER. Such news, my lord, as grieves me to report.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. How doth the Prince?

MESSENGER. Well, madam, and in health.

DUCHESS. What is thy news?

MESSENGER. Lord Rivers and Lord Grey

Are sent to Pomfret, and with them

Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.

DUCHESS. Who hath committed them?

MESSENGER. The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham.

ARCHBISHOP. For what offence?

MESSENGER. The sum of all I can, I have disclos'd.

Why or for what the nobles were committed

Is all unknown to me, my gracious lord.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ay me, I see the ruin of my house!

The tiger now hath seiz'd the gentle hind;

Insulting tyranny begins to jet

Upon the innocent and aweless throne.

Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre!

I see, as in a map, the end of all.

DUCHESS. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days,

How many of you have mine eyes beheld!

My husband lost his life to get the crown;

And often up and down my sons were toss'd

For me to joy and weep their gain and loss;

And being seated, and domestic broils

Clean over-blown, themselves the conquerors

Make war upon themselves-brother to brother,

Blood to blood, self against self. O, preposterous

And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen,

Or let me die, to look on death no more!

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, my boy; we will to

sanctuary.

Madam, farewell.

DUCHESS. Stay, I will go with you.

QUEEN ELIZABETH. You have no cause.

ARCHBISHOP. [To the QUEEN] My gracious lady, go.

And thither bear your treasure and your goods.

For my part, I'll resign unto your Grace

The seal I keep; and so betide to me

As well I tender you and all of yours!

Go, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. Exeunt

ACT3|SC1

ACT III. SCENE 1.

London. A street

The trumpets sound. Enter the PRINCE OF WALES,

GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, CARDINAL

BOURCHIER, and others

BUCKINGHAM. Welcome, sweet Prince, to London, to your

chamber.

GLOUCESTER. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign.

The weary way hath made you melancholy.

PRINCE. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way

Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy.

I want more uncles here to welcome me.

GLOUCESTER. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your

years

Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit;

Nor more can you distinguish of a man

Than of his outward show; which, God He knows,

Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart.

Those uncles which you want were dangerous;

Your Grace attended to their sug'red words

But look'd not on the poison of their hearts.

God keep you from them and from such false friends!

PRINCE. God keep me from false friends! but they were

none.

GLOUCESTER. My lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet

you.

Enter the LORD MAYOR and his train

MAYOR. God bless your Grace with health and happy days!

PRINCE. I thank you, good my lord, and thank you all.

I thought my mother and my brother York

Would long ere this have met us on the way.

Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not

To tell us whether they will come or no!

Enter LORD HASTINGS

BUCKINGHAM. And, in good time, here comes the sweating

Lord.

PRINCE. Welcome, my lord. What, will our mother come?

HASTINGS. On what occasion, God He knows, not I,

The Queen your mother and your brother York

Have taken sanctuary. The tender Prince

Would fain have come with me to meet your Grace,

But by his mother was perforce withheld.

BUCKINGHAM. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course

Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace

Persuade the Queen to send the Duke of York

Unto his princely brother presently?

If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him

And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce.

CARDINAL. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory

Can from his mother win the Duke of York,

Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate

To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid

We should infringe the holy privilege

Of blessed sanctuary! Not for all this land

Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.

BUCKINGHAM. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,

Too ceremonious and traditional.

Weigh it but with the grossness of this age,

You break not sanctuary in seizing him.

The benefit thereof is always granted

To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place

And those who have the wit to claim the place.

This Prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserv'd it,

And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it.

Then, taking him from thence that is not there,

You break no privilege nor charter there.

Oft have I heard of sanctuary men;

But sanctuary children never till now.

CARDINAL. My lord, you shall o'errule my mind for once.

Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me?

HASTINGS. I go, my lord.

PRINCE. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may.

Exeunt CARDINAL and HASTINGS

Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come,

Where shall we sojourn till our coronation?

GLOUCESTER. Where it seems best unto your royal self.

If I may counsel you, some day or two

Your Highness shall repose you at the Tower,

Then where you please and shall be thought most fit

For your best health and recreation.

PRINCE. I do not like the Tower, of any place.

Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?

BUCKINGHAM. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place,

Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.

PRINCE. Is it upon record, or else reported

Successively from age to age, he built it?

BUCKINGHAM. Upon record, my gracious lord.

PRINCE. But say, my lord, it were not regist'red,

Methinks the truth should Eve from age to age,

As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,

Even to the general all-ending day.

GLOUCESTER. [Aside] So wise so young, they say, do never

live long.

PRINCE. What say you, uncle?

GLOUCESTER. I say, without characters, fame lives long.

[Aside] Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity,

I moralize two meanings in one word.

PRINCE. That Julius Caesar was a famous man;

With what his valour did enrich his wit,

His wit set down to make his valour live.

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;

For now he lives in fame, though not in life.

I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham-

BUCKINGHAM. What, my gracious lord?

PRINCE. An if I live until I be a man,

I'll win our ancient right in France again,

Or die a soldier as I liv'd a king.

GLOUCESTER. [Aside] Short summers lightly have a forward

spring.

Enter HASTINGS, young YORK, and the CARDINAL

BUCKINGHAM. Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of

York.

PRINCE. Richard of York, how fares our loving brother?

YORK. Well, my dread lord; so must I can you now.

PRINCE. Ay brother, to our grief, as it is yours.

Too late he died that might have kept that title,

Which by his death hath lost much majesty.

GLOUCESTER. How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York?

YORK. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord,

You said that idle weeds are fast in growth.

The Prince my brother hath outgrown me far.

GLOUCESTER. He hath, my lord.

YORK. And therefore is he idle?

GLOUCESTER. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.

YORK. Then he is more beholding to you than I.

GLOUCESTER. He may command me as my sovereign;

But you have power in me as in a kinsman.

YORK. I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger.

GLOUCESTER. My dagger, little cousin? With all my heart!

PRINCE. A beggar, brother?

YORK. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give,

And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.

GLOUCESTER. A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin.

YORK. A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it!

GLOUCESTER. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.

YORK. O, then, I see you will part but with light gifts:

In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.

GLOUCESTER. It is too heavy for your Grace to wear.

YORK. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.

GLOUCESTER. What, would you have my weapon, little

Lord?

YORK. I would, that I might thank you as you call me.

GLOUCESTER. How?

YORK. Little.

PRINCE. My Lord of York will still be cross in talk.

Uncle, your Grace knows how to bear with him.

YORK. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me.

Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me;

Because that I am little, like an ape,

He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders.

BUCKINGHAM. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!

To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle

He prettily and aptly taunts himself.

So cunning and so young is wonderful.

GLOUCESTER. My lord, will't please you pass along?

Myself and my good cousin Buckingham

Will to your mother, to entreat of her

To meet you at the Tower and welcome you.

YORK. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord?

PRINCE. My Lord Protector needs will have it so.

YORK. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.

GLOUCESTER. Why, what should you fear?

YORK. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost.

My grandam told me he was murder'd there.

PRINCE. I fear no uncles dead.

GLOUCESTER. Nor none that live, I hope.

PRINCE. An if they live, I hope I need not fear.

But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart,

Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower.

A sennet.

Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER, BUCKINGHAM, and CATESBY

BUCKINGHAM. Think you, my lord, this little prating York

Was not incensed by his subtle mother

To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously?

GLOUCESTER. No doubt, no doubt. O, 'tis a perilous boy;

Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable.

He is all the mother's, from the top to toe.

BUCKINGHAM. Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby.

Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend

As closely to conceal what we impart.

Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way.

What think'st thou? Is it not an easy matter

To make William Lord Hastings of our mind,

For the instalment of this noble Duke

In the seat royal of this famous isle?

CATESBY. He for his father's sake so loves the Prince

That he will not be won to aught against him.

BUCKINGHAM. What think'st thou then of Stanley? Will

not he?

CATESBY. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.

BUCKINGHAM. Well then, no more but this: go, gentle

Catesby,

And, as it were far off, sound thou Lord Hastings

How he doth stand affected to our purpose;

And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,

To sit about the coronation.

If thou dost find him tractable to us,

Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons;

If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling,

Be thou so too, and so break off the talk,

And give us notice of his inclination;

For we to-morrow hold divided councils,

Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd.

GLOUCESTER. Commend me to Lord William. Tell him,

Catesby,

His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries

To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle;

And bid my lord, for joy of this good news,

Give Mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.

BUCKINGHAM. Good Catesby, go effect this business soundly.

CATESBY. My good lords both, with all the heed I can.

GLOUCESTER. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep?

CATESBY. You shall, my lord.

GLOUCESTER. At Crosby House, there shall you find us both.

Exit CATESBY

BUCKINGHAM. Now, my lord, what shall we do if we

perceive

Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots?

GLOUCESTER. Chop off his head-something we will

determine.

And, look when I am King, claim thou of me

The earldom of Hereford and all the movables

Whereof the King my brother was possess'd.

BUCKINGHAM. I'll claim that promise at your Grace's hand.

GLOUCESTER. And look to have it yielded with all kindness.

Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards

We may digest our complots in some form. Exeunt

ACT3|SC2

SCENE 2.

Before LORD HASTING'S house

Enter a MESSENGER to the door of HASTINGS

MESSENGER. My lord, my lord! [Knocking]

HASTINGS. [Within] Who knocks?

MESSENGER. One from the Lord Stanley.

HASTINGS. [Within] What is't o'clock?

MESSENGER. Upon the stroke of four.

Enter LORD HASTINGS

HASTINGS. Cannot my Lord Stanley sleep these tedious

nights?

MESSENGER. So it appears by that I have to say.

First, he commends him to your noble self.

HASTINGS. What then?

MESSENGER. Then certifies your lordship that this night

He dreamt the boar had razed off his helm.

Besides, he says there are two councils kept,

And that may be determin'd at the one

Which may make you and him to rue at th' other.

Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure-

If you will presently take horse with him

And with all speed post with him toward the north

To shun the danger that his soul divines.

HASTINGS. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord;

Bid him not fear the separated council:

His honour and myself are at the one,

And at the other is my good friend Catesby;

Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us

Whereof I shall not have intelligence.

Tell him his fears are shallow, without instance;

And for his dreams, I wonder he's so simple

To trust the mock'ry of unquiet slumbers.

To fly the boar before the boar pursues

Were to incense the boar to follow us

And make pursuit where he did mean no chase.

Go, bid thy master rise and come to me;

And we will both together to the Tower,

Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly.

MESSENGER. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.

Exit

Enter CATESBY

CATESBY. Many good morrows to my noble lord!

HASTINGS. Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring.

What news, what news, in this our tott'ring state?

CATESBY. It is a reeling world indeed, my lord;

And I believe will never stand upright

Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.

HASTINGS. How, wear the garland! Dost thou mean the

crown?

CATESBY. Ay, my good lord.

HASTINGS. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my

shoulders

Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd.

But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it?

CATESBY. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward

Upon his party for the gain thereof;

And thereupon he sends you this good news,

That this same very day your enemies,

The kindred of the Queen, must die at Pomfret.

HASTINGS. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news,

Because they have been still my adversaries;

But that I'll give my voice on Richard's side

To bar my master's heirs in true descent,

God knows I will not do it to the death.

CATESBY. God keep your lordship in that gracious mind!

HASTINGS. But I shall laugh at this a twelve month hence,

That they which brought me in my master's hate,

I live to look upon their tragedy.

Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,

I'll send some packing that yet think not on't.

CATESBY. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord,

When men are unprepar'd and look not for it.

HASTINGS. O monstrous, monstrous! And so falls it out

With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey; and so 'twill do

With some men else that think themselves as safe

As thou and I, who, as thou knowest, are dear

To princely Richard and to Buckingham.

CATESBY. The Princes both make high account of you-

[Aside] For they account his head upon the bridge.

HASTINGS. I know they do, and I have well deserv'd it.

Enter LORD STANLEY

Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man?

Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided?

STANLEY. My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby.

You may jest on, but, by the holy rood,

I do not like these several councils, I.

HASTINGS. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours,

And never in my days, I do protest,

Was it so precious to me as 'tis now.

Think you, but that I know our state secure,

I would be so triumphant as I am?

STANLEY. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from

London,

Were jocund and suppos'd their states were sure,

And they indeed had no cause to mistrust;

But yet you see how soon the day o'ercast.

This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt;

Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward.

What, shall we toward the Tower? The day is spent.

HASTINGS. Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my

Lord?

To-day the lords you talk'd of are beheaded.

STANLEY. They, for their truth, might better wear their

heads

Than some that have accus'd them wear their hats.

But come, my lord, let's away.

Enter HASTINGS, a pursuivant

HASTINGS. Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow.

Exeunt STANLEY and CATESBY

How now, Hastings! How goes the world