Anne.
Set down, set down your honourable load,—
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,—
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament^{4 note}

The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.—
Poor key-cold^{5 note}

Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence* ^note!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders† ^note, 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 aspéct
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness‡ ^{note6 note}!
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, toward Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And, still as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. [The Bearers take up the Corpse and advance. Enter Gloster.

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

Anne.
What black magician conjures up this fiend,
To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo.
Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys^{7 note}
.

1 Gent.
My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

Glo.
Unmanner'd dog! stand* ^note 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 had'st but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou can'st not have; therefore, be gone.

Glo.
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^{8 note}

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 deed, 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, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer 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!

Glo.
Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

Anne.
Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man;
No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.

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

Anne.
O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

Glo.
More wonderful when angels are so angry.—
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne.
Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man^{1 note}

Glo.
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.

Glo.
By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Anne.
And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd;
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Glo.
Say, that I slew them not?

Anne.
Why then, they are not dead^{2 note}:
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

Glo.
I did not kill your husband.

Anne.
Why, then he is alive.

Glo.
Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Anne.
In thy foul throat^{3 note}

Glo.
I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue,
That laid their guilt^{4 note} upon my guiltless shoulders.

Anne.
Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill this king?

Glo.
I grant ye^{5 note}

Anne.
Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant me too,
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Glo.
The fitter for the King of heaven that hath him^{6 note}


.

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

Glo.
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.

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

Anne.
Some dungeon^{7 note}

.

Glo.
Your bed-chamber.

Anne.
Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest.

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

Anne.
I hope so.

Glo.
I know so.—But, gentle lady Anne,—
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method^{8 note}
;—
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^{9 note}

Glo.
Your beauty was the cause of that effect;

Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

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

Glo.
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!

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

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

Glo.
It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.

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

Glo.
He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne.
His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

Glo.
He lives that loves you better than he could.

Anne.
Name him.

Glo.
Plantagenet.

Anne.
Why, that was he.

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

Anne.
Where is he?

Glo.
Here: [She spits at him.] Why dost thou spit at me?

Anne.
'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

Glo.
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.

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

Anne.
'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead^{1 note}

Glo.
I would they were, that I might die at once.
For now they kill me with a living death^{2 note}

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Sham'd their aspécts with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear^{3 note}

Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword* ^note;
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† ^note;—
But 'twas thy beauty^{7 note} that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward‡ ^note;— [She again offers at his Breast.
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall 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.

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

Anne.
I have already.

Glo.
That§ ^note 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.

Glo.
'Tis figur'd in my tongue.

Anne.
I fear me, both are false.

Glo.
Then never man was true^{8 note}

Anne.
Well, well, put up your sword.

Glo.
Say then, my peace is made.

Anne.
That shall you know hereafter.

Glo.
But shall I live in hope?

Anne.
All men, I hope, live so.

Glo.
Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

Anne.
To take, is not to give. [She puts on the Ring.

Glo.
Look, how this 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* ^note may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

Anne.
What is it?

Glo.
That it may please you leave these sad designs
To him that hath more cause^{9 note} to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place^{1 note}

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^{2 note} 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 Berkley, go along with me.

Glo.
Bid me farewell.

Anne.
'Tis more than you deserve:
But, since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already^{3 note}