Glo.
Sirs, take up the corse* ^note.

Gent.
Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Glo.
No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the Corse.
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 her hatred by;
With God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing! ah!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury^{4 note}
?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,—
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature^{5 note},

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal^{6 note}

But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave^{9 note}


;
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. SCENE III. The Same. A Room in the Palace. Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and Lord Grey.

Riv.
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 words.

Q. Eliz.
If he were dead, what would betide of me?

Grey.
No other harm, but loss of such a lord.

Q. Eliz.
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.

Q. Eliz.
Ah, he is young; and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

Riv.
Is it concluded, he shall be protector?

Q. Eliz.
It is determin'd, not concluded yet^{1 note}:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter Buckingham and Stanley.

Grey.
Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley^{2 note}.

Buck.
Good time of day unto your royal grace!

Stan.
God make your majesty joyful as you have been!

Q. Eliz.
The countess Richmond^{3 note}, good my lord of Stanley,
To your good prayer will scarcely say—amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

Stan.
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.

Q. Eliz.
Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley?

Stan.
But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I,
Are come from visiting his majesty.

Q. Eliz.
What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Buck.
Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

Q. Eliz.
God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

Buck.
Ay, madam* ^note: he desires to make atonement
Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers,
And between them and my lord chamberlain;
And sent to warn them^{4 note}

Q. Eliz.
'Would all were well!—But that will never be;—
I fear, our happiness is at the height. Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset.

Glo.
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:—
Who are they, that complain 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 speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy^{5 note}








,

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
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Grey.
To whom in all this presence speaks your grace?

Glo.
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 scarce a breathing-while,
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints^{6 note}.

Q. Eliz.
Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter:
The king, of 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 thereby he may gather
The ground of your ill-will^{7 note}

Glo.
I cannot tell;—The world is grown so bad,
That wrens may prey^{9 note} where eagles dare not perch:
Since every Jack became a gentleman^{1 note}

Q. Eliz.
Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloster;
You envy my advancement, and my friends;
God grant, we never may have need of you!

Glo.
Meantime, God grants that we have need of you:
Our brother is imprison'd by your means,
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility
Held in contempt; while many fair promotions* ^note
Are daily given, to enoble those
That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble.

Q. Eliz.
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.

Glo.
You may deny that you were not the cause
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

Riv.
She may, my lord; for—

Glo.
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,—

Riv.
What, marry, may she?

Glo.
What, marry, may she? marry with a king,
A bachelor, a handsome stripling too:
I wis, your grandam had a worser match.

Q. Eliz.
My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs:
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty,
Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd.
I had rather be a country servant-maid,
Than a great queen, with this condition—
To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at* ^note:
Small joy have I in being England's queen. Enter Queen Margaret, behind.

Q. Mar.
And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee!
Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.

Glo.
What? threat you me with telling of the king?
Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said^{2 note}

I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower^{3 note}

Q. Mar.
Out, devil^{5 note}
! I remember them too well:
Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

Glo.
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^{6 note}

his blood, I spilt mine own.

Q. Mar.
Yea, and much better blood than his, or thine.

Glo.
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^{7 note}

What you have been ere now, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar.
A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.

Glo.
Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forswore himself,—Which Jesu pardon!—

Q. Mar.
Which God revenge!

Glo.
To fight on Edward's party, for the crown;
And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd 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.

Q. Mar.
Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this world,
Thou cacodæmon! there thy kingdom is.

Riv.
My lord of Gloster, in those busy days,
Which here you urge, to prove us enemies,
We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king^{8 note}

Glo.
If I should be?—I had rather be a pedlar:
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!

Q. Eliz.
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.

Q. Mar.
A 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^{1 note}

Glo.
Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my sight^{3 note}

Q. Mar.
But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;

That will I make, before I let thee go.

Glo.
Wert thou not banished, on pain of death^{4 note}?

Q. Mar.
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.

Glo.
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 fallen upon thee;
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed^{5 note}

Q. Eliz.
So just is God, to right the innocent^{6 note}
.

Hast.
O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe,
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of.

Riv.
Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dors.
No man but prophesied revenge for it.

Buck.
Northumberland, then present, wept to see it^{7 note}
.

Q. Mar.
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 woful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat^{8 note}

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 lengthen'd 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 your natural age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

Glo.
Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag.

Q. Mar.
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^{1 note}, abortive, rooting hog^{2 note}

Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature^{3 note}

Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour^{4 note}

Glo.
Margaret.

Q. Mar.
Richard!

Glo.
Ha?

Q. Mar.
I call thee not.

Glo.
I cry thee mercy then; for I did think,
That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names.

Q. Mar.
Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply.
O, let me make the period to my curse.

Glo.
'Tis done by me; and ends in—Margaret.

Q. Eliz.
Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself.

Q. Mar.
Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune^{5 note}

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider^{6 note}

Hast.
False-boding woman, end thy frantick curse;
Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience.

Q. Mar.
Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd mine.

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

Q. Mar.
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.

Dor.
Dispute not with her, she is lunatick.

Q. Mar.
Peace, master marquis, you are malapert:
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current^{7 note}

Glo.
Good counsel, marry;—learn it, learn it, marquis.

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

Glo.
Ay, and much more: But I was born so high,
Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Q. Mar.
And turns the sun to shade;—alas! alas!—
Witness my son, now in the shade of death^{8 note}

O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it;
As it was won with blood, lost be it so!

Buck.
Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.

Q. Mar.
Urge neither charity nor shame to me;
Uncharitably with me have you dealt,
And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my shame,—
And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage!

Buck.
Have done, have done.

Q. Mar.
O princely Buckingham, I kiss* ^note thy hand,
In sign of league and amity with thee:
Now fair befal thee, and thy noble house!
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,
Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Buck.
Nor no one here; for curses never pass
The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

Q. Mar.
I'll not believe but they ascend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
O Buckingham, beware 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^{1 note}

Glo.
What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?

Buck.
Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

Q. Mar.
What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?
And sooth 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^{2 note}
! [Exit.

Hast.
My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.

Riv.
And so doth mine; I muse, why she's at liberty^{3 note}
.

Glo.
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.

Q. Eliz.
I never did her any, to my knowledge.

Glo.
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^{4 note}

God pardon them that are the cause of it!

Riv.
A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion,
To pray for them that have done scath to us^{5 note}

Glo.
So do I ever, being well advis'd;
For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside. Enter Catesby.

Cates.
Madam, his majesty doth call for you,—
And for your grace,—and you, my noble lords.

Q. Eliz.
Catesby, I come:—Lords, will you go with me?

Riv.
Madam, we will attend your grace. [Exeunt all but Gloster.

Glo.
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,—whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,—
I do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Stanley, 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, Vaughan, 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 old odd 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* ^{note 6 note}

1 Murd.
We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.

Glo.
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.

1 Murd.
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.

Glo.
Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears^{7 note}
:

I like you, lads;—about your business straight;
Go, go, despatch.

1 Murd.
We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Tower. Enter Clarence and Brakenbury.

Brak.
Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?

Clar.
O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights^{8 note}
,
That, as I am a christian faithful man^{9 note},
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.

Brak.
What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me* ^note.

Clar.
Methought, that I had broken from the Tower† ^note,
And was embark'd‡ ^note to cross to Burgundy^{1 note};

And, in my company, my brother Gloster:
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 Gloster stumbled; and, in falling,
Struck me, that thought to stay him, over-board,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears^{2 note}!
What sights of ugly death^{3 note} within mine eyes!
Methought 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^{4 note}

Brak.
Had you such leisure in the time of death,

To gaze upon these secrets of the deep?

Clar.
Methought I had; [and often did I strive
To yield the ghost* ^note:] but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul^{6 note}, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air^{7 note}

Brak.
Awak'd you not with this sore agony?

Clar.
O, 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 grim ferryman^{9 note} 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 cried 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^{1 note}





; and he shriek'd out aloud,—

Clarence is come,—false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence^{2 note}

Brak.
No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid, methinks† ^note, to hear you tell it.

Clar.
O, Brakenbury, I have done those 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^{4 note}

O, spare my guiltless wife^{5 note} and my poor children!—
I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me^{6 note}
;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

Brak.
I will, my lord; God give your grace good rest:— [Clarence reposes himself on a Chair.
Sorrow breaks seasons^{7 note}

So that, between their titles, and low name,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter the Two Murderers.

1 Murd.

Ho! who's here?

Brak.

What would'st thou, fellow? and how cam'st thou hither* ^note?

1 Murd.

I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs.

Brak.

What, so brief?

2 Murd.
O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than tedious:—
Show him our commission; talk no more^{1 note}
. [A Paper is delivered to Brakenbury, who reads it.

Brak.
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 of the meaning.
Here are the keys^{2 note}
;—there sits the duke asleep:
I'll to the king; and signify to him,
That thus I have resign'd my charge to you.

1 Murd.
You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom:
Fare you well. [Exit Brakenbury.

2 Murd.

What, shall we stab him as he sleeps?

1 Murd.

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

2 Murd.

When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake until the great judgment day.

1 Murd.

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

2 Murd.

The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

1 Murd.

What? art thou afraid?

2 Murd.

Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.

1 Murd.

I thought, thou had'st been resolute.

2 Murd.

So I am, to let him live.

1 Murd.

I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell him so.

2 Murd.

Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little: I hope, my holy humour^{3 note}

1 Murd.

How dost thou feel thyself now?

2 Murd.

'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

1 Murd.

Remember our reward, when the deed's done.

2 Murd.

Come, he dies; I had forgot the reward.

1 Murd.

Where's thy conscience now?

2 Murd.

In the duke of Gloster's purse.

1 Murd.

So, when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.

2 Murd.

'Tis no matter; let it go; there's few, or none, will entertain it.

1 Murd.

What, if it come to thee again?

2 Murd.

I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous thing, it makes a man a 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-faced spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one 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 turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man, that means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live without it.

1 Murd.

'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.

2 Murd.

Take the devil in thy mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee, but to make thee sigh^{4 note}

1 Murd.

I am strong-fram'd^{5 note}, he cannot prevail with me.

2 Murd.

Spoke like a tall fellow^{6 note}

1 Murd.

Take him over the costard^{7 note}

2 Murd.

O excellent device! and make a sop of him.

1 Murd.

Soft! he wakes.

2 Murd.

Strike.

1 Murd.

No, we'll reason^{8 note}

Clar.
Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.

1 Murd.
You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon.

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

1 Murd.
A man, as you are.

Clar.
But not, as I am, royal.

1 Murd.
Nor you, as we are, loyal.

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

1 Murd.
My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own.

Clar.
How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak.
Your eyes do menace me: Why look you pale* ^note?
Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

Both Murd.
To, to, to,—

Clar.
To murder me?

Both Murd.
Ay, ay.

Clar.
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?

1 Murd.
Offended us you have not, but the king.

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

2 Murd.
Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die.

Clar.
Are you call'd forth from out a world of men^{9 note}

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.

1 Murd.
What we will do, we do upon command.

2 Murd.
And he, that hath commanded, is our king.

Clar.
Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings
Hath in the table of his law commanded,
That thou shalt do no murder; Wilt thou 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.

2 Murd.
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* ^note.

1 Murd.
And, like a traitor to the name of God,
Didst break that vow; and, with thy treacherous blade,
Unrip'st the bowels of thy sovereign's son.

2 Murd.
Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and defend.

1 Murd.
How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,
When thou hast broke it in such dear^{4 note}

degree?

Clar.
Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake:
Why, sirs* ^note, he sends you not to murder me for this;
For in this sin he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for the deed,
O, know you, that he doth it publickly† ^{note 5 note};
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
He needs no indirect nor lawless course,
To cut off those that have offended him.

1 Murd.
Who made thee then a bloody minister,
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet^{6 note}

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

1 Murd.
Thy brothers' love, our duty, and thy fault,

Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.

Clar.
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^{8 note}, go back again,
And I will send you to my brother Gloster;
Who shall reward you better for my life,
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

2 Murd.
You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloster hates you^{9 note}.

Clar.
O, no; he loves me, and he holds me dear:
Go you to him from me.

Both Murd.
Ay, so we will.

Clar.
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 Gloster think on this, and he will weep.

1 Murd.
Ay, mill-stones^{1 note}



; as he lesson'd us to weep.

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

1 Murd.
Right, as snow in harvest.—Come, you deceive yourself;
'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.

Clar.
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.

1 Murd.
Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.

2 Murd.
Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

Clar.
Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind,
That thou wilt war with God, by murdering me?—
Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set you on
To do this deed, will hate you for the deed.

2 Murd.
What shall we do?

Clar.
Relent, and save your souls^{2 note}

1 Murd.
Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish.

Clar.
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^{3 note}

2 Murd.
Look behind you, my lord.

1 Murd.
Take that, and that; if all this will not do, [Stabs him.

I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. [Exit, with the body.

2 Murd.
A bloody deed, and desperately despatch'd!
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous guilty murder done! Re-enter first Murderer.

1 Murd.
How now? what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not?
By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been.

2 Murd.
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.

1 Murd.
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.

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