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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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SCENE I. The COURT. Enter King Edward sick, the Queen, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Catesby, Buckingham, and Woodville.

K. 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 now in 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.

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 supream King of kings,
Confound your hidden falshood, 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 is not exempt from 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.

Queen.
There, Hastings.—I will never more remember
Our former hatred; so thrive I and mine;

K. Edw.
Dorset, embrace him.—Hastings, love Lord Marquis.

-- 267 --

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

Hast.
And so swear I.

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.
When ever Buckingham doth turn his hate
Upon your Grace, and not with duteous love [To the Queen.
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 to me! This do I beg of heaven,
When I am cold in zeal 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 Glo'ster here,
To make the blessed period of this peace.

Buck.
And, in good time, here comes the noble Duke.
Enter Gloucester, with Ratcliff.

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

-- 268 --


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 intreat 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.
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 coarse.

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

Queen.
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 had the countermand,
That came too lag to see him buried.

-- 269 --


God grant, that some less noble, and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood,
Deserve no worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion! Enter Lord Stanley.

Stanl.
A boon, my Sov'reign, for my service done.

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

Stanl.
I will not rise, unless your Highness hear me.

K. Edw.
Then say at once, what is it thou requestest.

Stanl.
5 noteThe forfeit, Sov'reign, of my servant's life;
Who slew to day a riotous gentleman,
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

K. Edw.
6 noteHave I a tongue to doom my brother's death?
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? 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 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
Ev'n 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

-- 270 --


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 strait 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, spake 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. Ah!
Poor Clarence! [Exeunt some with the King and Queen.

Glo.
These are 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?
[Exeunt.

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Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
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