K. Edw.
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 now in peace^{4 note}

Riv.
By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate;
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

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

K. Edw.
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.

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

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

K. Edw.
Madam, yourself are* ^note not exempt in this,—
Nor your 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.

Q. Eliz.
There, Hastings;—I will never more remember
Our former hatred, So thrive I, and mine!

K. Edw.
Dorset, embrace him,—Hastings, love lord marquis.

Dor.
This interchange of love, I here protest,
Upon my part shall be inviolable.

Hast.
And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset.

K. Edw.
Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league
With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
And make me happy in your unity.

Buck.
Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate
Upon your grace, [To the Queen.] 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 heaven,
When I am cold in love, to you, or yours. [Embracing Rivers, &c.

K. Edw.
A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham,
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
There wanteth now our brother Gloster here,
To make the blessed period of this peace.

Buck.
And, in good time, here comes the noble duke^{6 note}

.

Enter Gloster.

Glo.
Good-morrow to my sovereign king, and queen;
And, princely peers, a happy time of day!

K. Edw.
Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day:—
Brother, we have done deeds of charity;
Made peace, of enmity, fair love, of hate,
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.

Glo.
A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege.—
Among this princely heap, if any here,
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise,
Hold me a foe;
If I unwittingly, or in my rage^{7 note},
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
By 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, lord Rivers, and lord Grey, of you,
That all without desert have frown'd on me^{8 note}

Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
I do not know^{9 note}

Q. Eliz.
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.

Glo.
Why, madam, have I offer'd 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.

K. Edw.
Who knows not, he is dead! who knows he is?

Q. Eliz.
All-seeing heaven, what a world is this!

Buck.
Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest?

Dor.
Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence,
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

K. Edw.
Is Clarence dead? the order was revers'd.

Glo.
But he, poor man, by your first order died,
And that a winged Mercury did bear;
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand^{1 note}

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

K. Edw.
I pr'ythee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow.

Stan.
I will not rise, unless your highness hear me.

K. Edw.
Then say at once, what is it thou request'st† ^note.

Stan.
The forfeit^{3 note}, sovereign, of my servant's life;

Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman,
Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk.

K. Edw.
Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death^{4 note},
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him^{5 note}? who, in my wrath,
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd^{6 note}?
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 rescu'd 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 grace 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:—
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 beholden to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once plead 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^{7 note}. O, poor Clarence! [Exeunt King, Queen, Hastings, Rivers, Dorset, and Grey.

Glo.
This is the fruit 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?

Buck.
We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt. SCENE II. London. Enter the Duchess of York^{8 note}, with a Son and Daughter of Clarence.

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

Duch.
No, boy.

Daugh.
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, cast-aways,
If that our noble father be alive?

Duch.
My pretty cousins^{9 note}, 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* ^note that's lost.

Son.
Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
The king my uncle is to blame for this:
God will revenge it; whom I will impórtune
With earnest prayers all to that effect.

Daugh.
And so will I.

Duch.
Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well:
Incapable and shallow innocents^{1 note}

Son.
Grandam, we can: for my good uncle Gloster

Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen,
Devis'd impeachments to imprison him:
And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
And pitied me* ^note, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
Bade me rely on him, as on my father,
And he would love me dearly as his child.

Duch.
Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes,
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!
He is my son, ay, and therein my shame,
Yet from my dugs^{1 note}

he drew not this deceit.

Son.
Think you, my uncle did dissemble^{2 note}, grandam?

Duch.
Ay, boy.

Son.
I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly; Rivers and Dorset, following her.

Q. Eliz.
Oh! 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.

Duch.
What means this scene of rude impatience?

Q. Eliz.
To make an act of tragick violence:—

Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.—
Why grow the branches, when the root is gone* ^note?
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 perpetual rest^{3 note}.

Duch.
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 by looking on his images^{4 note}

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

How can we aid you with our kindred tears?

Daugh.
Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd,
Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept!

Q. Eliz.
Give me no help in lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth laments:
All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes,
That I, being govern'd by the watry moon^{6 note}

Chil.
Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence!

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

Q. Eliz.
What stay had I, but Edward? and he's gone.

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

Duch.
What stays had I, but they? and they are gone.

Q. Eliz.
Was never widow, had so dear a loss.

Chil.
Were never orphans, had so dear a loss.

Duch.
Was never mother had so dear a loss.
Alas! I am the mother of these griefs;
Their woes are parcell'd, mine are 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^{7 note}:
I for an Edward weep, so do not they^{8 note}

Alas! you three, on me, threefold distress'd,
Pour all your tears, I am your sorrow's nurse,
And I will pamper it with lamentations.

Dor.
Comfort, dear mother; God is much displeas'd^{9 note},
That you take with unthankfulness his doing;
In common worldly things, 'tis call'd—ungrateful,

With dull unwillingness to repay a debt,
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven^{1 note},
For it requires^{2 note}
the royal debt it lent you.

Riv.
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 Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, Ratcliff, and Others.

Glo.
Sister, have comfort: all of us have cause
To wail the dimming of our shining star;
But none can cure their 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.

Duch.
God bless thee; and put meekness in thy breast,
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty!

Glo.
Amen; and make me die a good old man!—
That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing; [Aside.
I marvel, that her grace did leave it out.

Buck.
You cloudy princes, and heart sorrowing peers,
That bear this mutual heavy 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-swoln hearts,

But lately splinted* ^note, knit, and join'd together,
Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept^{3 note}

Riv.
Why with^{5 note} some little train, my lord of Buckingham?

Buck.
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.

Glo.
I hope, the king made peace with all of us;
And the compáct is firm, and true, in me.

Riv.
And so in me^{6 note}; and so, I think, in all:

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.

Hast.
And so say I.

Glo.
Then be it so; and go we to determine
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.
Madam,—and you my mother,—will you go
To give your censures^{7 note}