Enter Richard Duke of Glocester, solus.
Now is the Winter of our Discontent
Made glorious Summer by this Sun of York:
And all the clouds, that lowr'd upon our House,
In the deep bosom of the Ocean bury'd.
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 am'rous looking-glass,—
I, that am rudely stampt, 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 unfashionably,
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 prophesies, 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(2) ^note

Of Edward's Heirs the Murtherer 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?

Clar.
His Majesty,
Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed
This Conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Glo.
Upon what cause?

Clar.
Because my name is George.

Glo.
Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours:
He should for That commit your godfathers.
Belike, his Majesty hath some intent,
That you should be new christened in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence, may I know?

Clar.
Yea, Richard, when I know; for, I protest,
As yet I do not; but as I can learn,
He hearkens after Prophesies 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,
Have mov'd his Highness to commit me now.

Glo.
Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by women.
'Tis not the King, that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Gray his wife, Clarence, 'tis she,
That tempts him to this harsh extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Anthony Woodvil her brother there,
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower?
From whence this day he is delivered.
We are not safe; Clarence, we are not safe.

Clar.
By heav'n, I think, there is no man secure
But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds,
That trudge between the King and mistress Shore.
Heard you not, what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Glo.
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'erworn widow, and herself,
Since that our Brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this Monarchy.

Brak.
I beg your Graces both to pardon me:
His Majesty hath straitly giv'n in charge,
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with your brother.

Glo.
Ev'n 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 strook in years; fair, and not jealous—
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a passing pleasing tongue:
That the Queen's kindred are made gentle-folk:
How say you, Sir? can you deny all this?

Brak.
With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

Glo.
What, fellow? nought to do with mistress Shore?
I tell you, Sir, he that doth naught with her,

Excepting one, were best to do it secretly.

Brak.
What one, my lord?

Glo.
Her husband, knave—would'st thou betray me?

Brak.
I do beseech your Grace to pardon me,
And to forbear your conf'rence with the Duke.

Clar.
We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Glo.
We are the Queen's abjects, and must obey.
Brother, farewel; 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 infranchise you.
Mean time, this deep disgrace of brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar.
I know, it pleaseth neither of us well.

Glo.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long,
I will deliver you, or else lye for you:
Mean time have patience.

Clar.
I must perforce; farewel. [Exe. Brak. Clar.

Glo.
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 heav'n,
If heav'n will take the Present at our hands,
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter Lord Hastings.

Hast.
Good time of day unto my gracious lord.

Glo.
As much unto my good lord Chamberlain:
Well are you welcome to the open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

Hast.
With patience, noble lord, as pris'ners must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks,
That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glo.
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.

Hast.
More pity, that the Eagle should be mew'd,(3) ^note



While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo.
What news abroad?

Hast.
No news so bad abroad, as this at home:
The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his Physicians fear him mightily.

Glo.
Now, by St. Paul, that news is bad, indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person:
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
Where is he, in his bed?

Hast.
He is.

Glo.
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 post-horse up to heav'n.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With Lyes 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.

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