Glou.
Now is the winter of our ^note discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun ^note of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd ^note upon our house.
In the deep bosom ^note of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums ^note changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures ^note.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled ^note front;
And now, instead ^note of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls ^note of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber.
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute ^note.
But I, that am not shaped for ^note sportive tricks,

Nor ^note made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty ^note
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this ^note fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce ^{note note} half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable ^note;
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them ^note;
Why ^note, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy ^note my shadow in the sun
And descant on ^note mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days ^note,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate ^note the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions ^note dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, ^note
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 ^note, which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer ^note shall be. ^note
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. ^note

Enter ^note Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury.
Brother, good day ^note: what means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?

Clar.
His majesty,
Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower. ^note

Glou.
Upon what cause?

Clar.
Because my name is George.

Glou.
Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours;
He should, for that, commit your godfathers ^note:
O, belike ^note his majesty hath some intent
That you shall be ^note new-christen'd in the Tower.
But what's ^note the matter, Clarence? may I know?

Clar.
Yea, Richard, when I know ^note; for ^note I protest
As yet I do not: but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies 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 ^note in his thought that I am he.
These, as I learn, and such like ^note toys as these
Have ^note moved his highness to commit me now.

Glou.
Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women:
'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower;
My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she
That tempers him to this ^note extremity.

Was it not she and that good man of worship,
Anthony Woodville ^note, her ^note brother there,
That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower,
From whence this present ^note day he is deliver'd? ^note
We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

Clar.
By heaven, I think there's no man is secure ^note
But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt ^note the king and Mistress Shore.
Heard ye ^note not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his ^note delivery?

Glou.
Humbly ^note complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. ^note
I'll tell you what; I think it is ^note 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 ^note monarchy.

Brak.
I beseech ^note your graces both to pardon me;
His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his ^note brother.

Glou.
Even so; an't ^note please your worship, Brakenbury ^note,
You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man: we say the king
Is wise and virtuous, and his ^note noble queen

Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous ^{note note};
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, ^note
A cherry ^note lip, ^note a bonny eye, ^note a passing pleasing tongue;
And that the ^note queen's kindred are made gentle-folks ^note:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

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

Glou.
Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,
He that doth naught ^note with her, excepting one,
Were best he do ^note it secretly, alone ^note. ^note

Brak.
What one, my lord?

Glou.
Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? ^{note note}

Brak.
I beseech ^note your grace to pardon me, and withal
Forbear ^note your conference ^note with the noble ^note duke.

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

Glou.
We are the queen's abjects ^note, and must obey.
Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
And whatsoever you will ^note employ me in,
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,

I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in ^note brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar.
I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

Glou.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver you, or else ^note lie for you: ^note
Meantime, have patience.

Clar.
I must perforce. Farewell. [Exeunt ^note Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard.

Glou.
Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er ^note return,
Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so,
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven,
If heaven will take the present at our ^note hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd ^note Hastings? ^note Enter Lord Hastings.

Hast.
Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

Glou.
As much unto my good lord chamberlain!
Well are you ^note welcome to the ^note open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?

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

Glou.
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 ^note should be mew'd,
While ^note kites ^note and buzzards ^note prey ^note at liberty.

Glou.
What ^note 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.

Glou.
Now, by Saint Paul ^note, this ^note news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil ^note diet long,
And overmuch consumed his royal person:
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he ^note in his bed?

Hast.
He is ^note.

Glou.
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 ^note up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With ^note lies 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 ^note 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 ^note her which I ^note must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns ^note:
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit.

Scene II. The same. Another street. ^note Enter the corpse of King Henry ^note the Sixth, Gentlemen ^note with halberds to guard it; Lady Anne being the mourner.

Anne.
Set down, set ^note down your honourable load ^note—
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse—
Whilst ^note I awhile obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold ^note figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it ^note lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the selfsame hand ^note that made these wounds ^note!
Lo, in these ^note windows that let forth thy life
I pour the helpless balm ^note of my poor eyes.
Cursed ^note be the hand that made these fatal ^note holes!
Cursed be ^note the heart that had the heart to do it ^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 ^note,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness ^note!
If ever he have wife, let her be made ^note
As miserable by the death of him
As I ^note am made by my poor ^note lord and thee!
Come, now towards Chertsey ^note with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And still, as you are weary ^note of the ^note weight, ^note
Rest you, whiles ^note I lament King Henry's corse ^note. Enter Gloucester ^note.

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

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

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

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

Glou.
Unmanner'd ^note dog! stand ^note thou, when I command ^note:
Advance thy halberd ^note higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, ^note
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

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 ^note minister of hell!
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have ^note; therefore, be gone.

Glou.
Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Anne.
Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and ^note trouble us not ^note;
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.
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells ^note;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes ^note this deluge most unnatural.
O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge ^note his death!
Either ^note heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead,
Or earth, ^note gape open wide and eat him quick,
As thou dost ^note swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his ^note hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

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

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

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

Anne.
O wonderful, when devils tell the truth ^note!

Glou.
More wonderful, when angels are so angry.

Vouchsafe ^note, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils ^note, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne.
Vouchsafe ^note, defused' ^note infection of a man,
For ^note these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glou.
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 ^note hang thyself ^note.

Glou.
By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Anne.
And, by despairing, shouldst ^note thou stand excused
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
Which ^note didst ^note unworthy slaughter upon others.

Glou.
Say that I slew them not? ^note

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

Glou.
I did not kill your husband.

Anne.
Why, then he is alive. ^note

Glou.
Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand ^note.

Anne.
In thy foul ^note throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw ^note
Thy murderous ^note falchion smoking in his blood;
The which thou once didst ^note bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers ^note beat aside the point.

Glou.
I was provoked ^note by her slanderous tongue,

Which ^note laid their ^note guilt ^note upon my guiltless shoulders.

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

Glou.
I grant ye ^note.

Anne.
Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too ^note
Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

Glou.
The fitter ^note for the King of heaven, that hath him.

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

Glou.
Let him thank me, that holp ^note to send him thither;
For he was fitter for that place than earth.

Anne.
And thou unfit for any place but hell.

Glou.
Yes, one place else, if you ^note will hear me name it.

Anne.
Some dungeon.

Glou.
Your ^note bed-chamber.

Anne.
Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

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

Anne.
I hope so.

Glou.
I know ^note so. But, gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen ^note encounter of our ^note wits,
And fall somewhat ^note into a slower method,
Is not the causer of the timeless ^note deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner? ^note

Anne.
Thou art ^note the cause, and most accursed effect. ^note

Glou.
Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, which ^note did haunt me in my sleep
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live ^note one ^note hour in your sweet bosom.

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

Glou.
These eyes could never ^note endure sweet ^note beauty's wreck;
You should not blemish it ^note, if I stood by:
As all the world is cheered ^note by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Anne.
Black night o'ershade ^note thy day, and death thy life!

Glou.
Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both ^note.

Anne.
I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

Glou.
It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be revenged on him that loveth you ^note.

Anne.
It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
To be revenged on him that ^note slew ^note my husband.

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

Anne.
His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

Glou.
He ^note lives that loves you ^note better than he could.

Anne.
Name him.

Glou.
Plantagenet.

Anne.
Why, that ^note was he.

Glou.
The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

Anne.
Where is he? ^note

Glou. ^note
Here. [She spitteth at him. ^note] Why dost thou ^note spit at me? ^note

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

Glou.
Never came poison from so sweet a place ^note.

Anne.
Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight! thou dost infect my ^note eyes.

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

Anne.
Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

Glou.
I would they were, that I might die at once;
For now they ^note kill ^note me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Shamed their aspect ^note with store of childish drops: ^note
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,
No, ^note when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him;
Nor when thy ^note warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death,
And twenty times made pause to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping ^note.
I never sued to friend ^note nor enemy;
My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing ^note words ^note;
But, now thy beauty is proposed my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. [She looks ^note scornfully at him.

Teach not thy ^note lips such scorn, for they were ^note made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true ^note bosom ^note,
And let the soul forth ^note that adoreth ^note thee,
I lay it naked to the ^note deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee ^note. [He lays his breast open: she offers at it ^note with his sword.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry ^note,
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. ^note
Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward ^note,
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [Here ^note she lets fall the sword.
Take up the sword ^note again, or take up me.

Anne.
Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death,
I will not be the ^note executioner.

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

Anne.
I have already.

Glou.
Tush, that was ^note in thy rage ^note:
Speak it again, and, even with the word ^note,
That ^note hand, which, for thy love ^note, did kill thy love,
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;
To both their deaths thou shalt ^note be accessary.

Anne.
I would I knew ^note thy heart.

Glou.
'Tis figured in my tongue.

Anne.
I fear me both are false.

Glou.
Then never man was ^note true.

Anne.
Well, well, put up your sword.

Glou.
Say, then, my peace is made.

Anne.
That shall you ^note know hereafter.

Glou.
But shall I live in hope? ^note

Anne.
All men, I hope, live so.

Glou. ^note
Vouchsafe ^note to wear this ring ^note. ^note

Anne.
To take is not to give. ^{note note}

Glou.
Look, how this ^note ring encompasseth thy ^note finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my ^note poor heart;
Wear ^note both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted suppliant ^note may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his ^note happiness for ever.

Anne.
What ^note is it?

Glou.
That it would ^note please thee ^note leave these sad designs
To him that hath more ^note cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby Place ^note;
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd
At Chertsey monastery this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
I will with all expedient duty 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 ^note and Berkeley ^note, go along with me.

Glou.
Bid me farewell.

Anne.
'Tis more than you deserve;
But since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already. [Exeunt ^note Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkeley.

Glou.
Sirs, take up the corse ^{note note}.

Gent.
Towards Chertsey, noble lord? ^note

Glou.
No, ^note to White- Friars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt ^note all but Gloucester.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? ^note
Was ever woman in this humour won? ^note
I'll have her; but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that ^note kill'd her husband and his father ^note,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate ^note,
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her ^note hatred by;
Having ^note God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I nothing ^note to back my suit at all ^note,
But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! ^note
Ha! ^note
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,

Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier ^note gentleman,
Framed in the prodigality of nature,
Young, valiant, wise ^note, and, no doubt, right royal ^note,
The spacious world ^note cannot again afford:
And will she yet ^note debase ^note her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the ^note golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed? ^note
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ^note?
On me, that halt ^note and am unshapen ^note thus?
My dukedom to a ^note beggarly denier ^note,
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges ^note for a looking-glass,
And entertain some score ^note or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn ^note my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some ^note little cost.
But first I'll turn yon ^note fellow in his grave;
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought ^note a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit.

Scene III. The palace. ^note Enter Queen Elizabeth, ^note 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 ^note it ill, it ^note makes him worse:
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with ^note quick and merry words ^note.

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

Riv. ^note
No other harm but loss of such a lord.

Q. Eliz.
The loss of such a lord includes all harm ^note.

Grey.
The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son,
To be your comforter when he is gone.

Q. Eliz.
Oh ^note, he is young, and his minority
Is put unto ^note the trust of Richard ^note Gloucester,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

Riv.
Is it ^note concluded he shall be protector?

Q. Eliz.
It is determined, not concluded yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter Buckingham and Derby. ^note

Grey.
Here come the lords ^note of Buckingham and Derby.

Buck.
Good time of day unto your royal grace!

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

Q. Eliz.
The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby,
To your good prayers ^note will scarcely ^note say amen.
Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured
I hate not you for her proud arrogance ^note.

Der.
I do beseech ^note you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers ^note;
Or, if she be accused in true ^note report,
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.

Riv. ^note
Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of ^note Derby?

Der.
But now the Duke of Buckingham and I
Are come ^note from visiting his majesty.

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

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

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

Buck.
Madam, we did ^note: he desires ^note to make ^note atonement
Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers,
And betwixt ^note them and my lord chamberlain;
And sent to warn ^note them to his ^note royal presence.

Q. Eliz.
Would all were well! but that will never be:
I fear our happiness is at the highest ^note. Enter ^note Gloucester, Hastings, and Dorset.

Glou.
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:

Who are they that complain ^note unto the king,
That I, forsooth, am stern and ^note love them not? ^note
By holy ^note Paul, they love his grace but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious ^note rumours.
Because I cannot flatter and speak ^note fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth ^note, deceive and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm,
But thus his simple ^note truth must be abused
By ^note silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Riv. ^note
To whom ^note in all ^note this presence speaks your grace?

Glou.
To thee, that hast nor ^note honesty nor grace.
When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong?
Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? ^note
A plague upon you all! His royal person ^note—
Whom God preserve better than you would ^note wish!—
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,
But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

Q. Eliz.
Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.
The king, of ^note his own royal disposition,
And not provoked ^note by any suitor else;
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
Which in your outward actions ^note shows itself
Against my kindred ^note, brothers ^note, and myself,

Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather
The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. ^note

Glou.
I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad,
That wrens make ^note prey where eagles dare not perch:
Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

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

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

Q. Eliz.
By Him that raised 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 ^note suspects ^note.

Glou.
You may deny that you were not ^note the cause ^note
Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

Riv.
She may, my lord, for— ^note

Glou.
She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that:
She may help you to many fair ^note preferments;
And then deny her aiding hand therein,
And lay those honours on your high deserts ^note.
What may ^note she not? ^note She may, yea ^note, marry, may she,— ^note

Riv.
What, marry, may she? ^note

Glou.
What, marry, may she! marry with a king,
A bachelor, a handsome ^note stripling too:
I wis your grandam had a worser ^note match.

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

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

Glou.
What! threat you me with telling of ^note the king?
Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have ^note said ^note
I will avouch ^note in presence of the king:

I dare adventure to be ^note sent to the Tower ^note.
'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot ^note.

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

Glou.
Ere you were queen, yea, or ^note your husband king ^note,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs;
A weeder out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends:
To royalise his blood I spilt ^note mine own.

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

Glou.
In all which time you and your husband Grey
Were factious for the house of Lancaster;
And, Rivers, so were you. Was ^note not your husband
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain?
Let me put in your minds ^note, if you ^note forget,
What you have been ere now ^note, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Q. Mar.
A murderous villain, and so still thou art.

Glou.
Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick;
Yea ^note, and forswore himself,—which Jesu pardon!—

Q. Mar.
Which God revenge!

Glou.
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 ^note for this world.

Q. Mar.
Hie ^note thee to hell for shame, and leave the ^note world,
Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is.

Riv.
My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days
Which here you urge to prove us enemies,
We follow'd ^note then our lord, our lawful ^note king:
So should we you, if you should ^note be our king.

Glou.
If I should ^note be! I had rather be a pedlar:
Far be it from my heart, the thought of it ^note!

Q. Eliz. ^note
As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
You should enjoy, were you this country's king,
As little joy may you ^note suppose in me,
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

Q. Mar. ^note
A little ^note joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing. ^note
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing ^note that which you ^note have pill'd from me!
Which of ^note you trembles ^note not that looks ^note on me?
If not, that, I being ^note queen, you bow like subjects,
Yet that, by you ^note deposed ^note, you quake like rebels ^note?
O gentle ^note villain, do not turn away!

Glou.
Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight?

Q. Mar.
But repetition of what thou hast marr'd;
That will I make before I let thee go.

Glou.
Wert thou not banished on pain of death?

Q. Mar.
I was; but I do find more pain in banishment
Than death can yield me here by my ^note abode. ^note
A husband and a son thou owest to ^note me;
And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance:
The sorrow ^note that I have, by right is yours,
And all the pleasures ^note you usurp are ^note mine.

Glou.
The curse my noble father laid on thee,
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper
And with thy scorns ^note drew'st ^note rivers from ^note his eyes,
And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout
Steep'd in the faultless ^note blood of pretty Rutland,—
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounced against thee, are all ^note fall'n upon thee;
And God, not we, hath ^note plagued ^note thy bloody deed.

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

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

Riv.
Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dor.
No man but prophesied revenge for it.

Buck.
Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.

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 ^note on ^note me?
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss ^note, my woful banishment,

Could ^note all but ^note answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven?
Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses!
If ^note not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours ^note by murder, to make him a king!
Edward thy ^note son, which ^note now is Prince of Wales,
For Edward my ^note son, which ^note was ^note Prince of Wales,
Die ^note in his youth by like untimely violence ^note!
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss ^note;
And see another, as I see thee ^note now,
Deck'd in thy rights ^note, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd ^note hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by,
And so wast ^note thou, Lord Hastings, when my son ^note
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him,
That none of you may live your ^note natural age,
But by some unlook'd ^note accident cut off ^note!

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

Q. Mar.
And leave out thee? stay ^note, dog, for thou shalt hear me.
If heaven ^note 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 ^note of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest,
And take deep traitors for thy ^note dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye ^note of thine,
Unless it be whilst ^note some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly ^note devils!
Thou elvish-mark'd ^note, abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave ^note of nature and the son ^note of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy ^note womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag ^note of honour! thou detested— ^note

Glou.
Margaret.

Q. Mar.
Richard!

Glou.
Ha! ^note

Q. Mar.
I call thee ^note not.

Glou.
I cry thee mercy then ^note, for I had thought ^note
That thou hadst ^note call'd me all these bitter names.

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

Glou.
'Tis done by me, and ends in ^note ‘Margaret.’

Q. Eliz.
Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. ^note

Q. Mar.
Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!
Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider ^note,

Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The time will come that ^note thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse that ^note poisonous ^note bunch-back'd toad.

Hast.
False-boding ^note woman, end thy frantic curse,
Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

Q. Mar.
Foul shame upon you! you have all ^note moved mine.

Riv.
Were you well served, you would be taught your duty.

Q. Mar.
To serve me well, you all ^note should do me duty,
Teach me to be your queen, and you ^note my subjects:
O, serve ^note me well, and teach yourselves that duty!

Dor.
Dispute not with her; she is lunatic.

Q. Mar.
Peace, master marquess, you are malapert:
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.
O, that your young nobility could ^{note note} judge
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable!
They that stand high have many ^note blasts ^note to shake them;
And if they fall, they dash themselves ^note to pieces.

Glou.
Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess.

Dor.
It toucheth ^note you, my lord, as much as me.

Glou.
Yea ^note, and much more: but I was born so high, ^note
Our aery 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 ^note, now in the shade of death;
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest ^note.

O God, that seest it, do not suffer it;
As it was ^note won with blood, lost be it so! ^note

Buck.
Have done ^note! for shame, if not for charity. ^note

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

Buck.
Have done, have done. ^note

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

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

Q. Mar.
I'll not believe ^note but they ascend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping ^note peace.
O Buckingham, take heed ^note of yonder dog!
Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites,
His venom ^note tooth will rankle ^note to the death ^note:
Have not ^note to do with him, beware of him;
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him ^note,
And all their ministers attend on him.

Glou.
What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham?

Buck.
Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. ^note

Q. Mar.
What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel?
And soothe ^note 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 ^note a prophetess.
Live each of you the subjects to ^note his hate,
And he to yours ^note, and all of you to God's ^note! [Exit.

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

Riv.
And so doth mine: I muse why ^note she's at liberty.

Glou.
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 ^note.

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

Glou.
But ^note you have all the vantage of her wrong ^note.
I was too hot ^note to do somebody good,
That is too cold in thinking of it ^note now.
Marry, as ^note for Clarence, he is well repaid;
He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains:
God pardon them that are the cause of it ^note!

Riv.
A virtuous and a ^note Christian-like conclusion,
To pray for them that have done scathe to us.

Glou.
So do I ever: [Aside] being ^note well advised:
For ^note had I cursed now, I ^note had cursed myself. ^note

Enter Catesby. ^note

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

Q. Eliz.
Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? ^note

Riv.
Madam, we will attend ^note your grace. [Exeunt ^note all but Gloucester.

Glou.
I do the wrong ^note, and first begin ^note to brawl ^note.
The secret mischiefs ^note that I set abroach
I lay unto the grievous ^note charge of others.
Clarence, whom ^note I, indeed, have laid ^note in darkness,
I do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Hastings, Derby ^note, Buckingham;
And say it is ^note the queen and her allies
That stir ^note the king against the duke my brother.
Now, they believe it ^note; and withal whet ^note me
To be revenged on ^note Rivers, Vaughan ^note, Grey:
But then I sigh ^note; and, with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do ^note good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villany
With old odd ^note ends stolen out ^note of holy writ;
And seem a saint ^note, when most I play the devil.

Enter ^note two Murderers.
But, soft! here come ^note my executioners.
How now, my hardy ^note stout resolved ^note mates!
Are you now ^note going to dispatch this deed ^note?

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

Glou.
Well ^note thought upon; I have it here about me. [Gives the warrant. ^note
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.

First Murd. ^note
Tush!
Fear not, ^note my lord, we will not stand to prate;
Talkers are no good doers: be assured ^note
We come ^note to use our hands and not our tongues.

Glou.
Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears ^note.
I like you, lads: about your business straight.
Go, go, dispatch.

First Murd. ^note
We will, my noble lord. ^note [Exeunt.

^note Scene IV. [Footnote: London. The Tower. ^note Enter ^note Clarence and Brakenbury.

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

Clar.
O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams ^note,
That, as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy ^note a world of happy days,
So full of dismal terror was the time!

Brak.
What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it ^note.

Clar.
Methoughts ^note that I had broken from the Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ^note;
And, in my company, my brother Gloucester;
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches: thence ^note we look'd ^note toward ^note England,
And cited up a thousand fearful ^note times,
During the wars of York and Lancaster
That had befall'n us ^note. As we ^note paced ^note along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, ^note

Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling ^note,
Struck me, that thought ^note to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
Lord, Lord ^note! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of waters ^note in mine ^note ears!
What ugly sights of ^note death within mine ^note eyes!
Methought ^note I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
Ten ^note thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea ^note:
Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those ^note holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept,
As 'twere ^note in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems,
Which ^note woo'd ^note the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

Brak.
Had you such leisure in the time of death
To gaze upon the ^note secrets of the deep?

Clar.
Methought I had; and often did I strive
To yield the ghost ^note: but ^note still the envious flood
Kept ^note in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek ^note the empty, vast and ^note wandering air;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk,
Which ^note almost burst to belch it in the sea.

Brak.
Awaked you not with ^note this sore agony? ^note

Clar.
O no ^note, my dream was lengthen'd after life;
O, then began the tempest to my ^note soul,
Who ^note pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that grim ^note ferryman which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul ^note,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned ^note Warwick;
Who cried ^note aloud, ‘What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? ^note’
And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by
A shadow like an angel, with ^note bright hair
Dabbled ^note in blood; and he squeak'd ^note out aloud,
‘Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence,
That stabb'd me in the field by ^note Tewksbury:
Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments ^note!’
With that, methoughts ^note, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me about ^note, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries that with the very noise
I trembling waked, and for a season after
Could not believe but that I was in hell,
Such terrible impression ^note made the ^note dream.

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

Clar.
O Brakenbury ^note, I have done those ^note things,
Which ^note now bear ^note evidence against my soul,

For Edward's sake; and see how he requites ^note me!
O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath in me ^note alone;
O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! ^{note note}
I pray thee, gentle ^note keeper ^note, stay by me ^note;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. ^note

Brak.
I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! [Clarence sleeps. ^note
Sorrow breaks ^note seasons and reposing hours,
Makes the night morning and the noon-tide night.
Princes have but their titles ^note for their glories ^note,
An outward honour for an inward toil;
And, for unfelt imagination ^note,
They often feel a world of restless cares:
So that, betwixt ^note their ^note titles and low names ^note,
There's nothing differs but the outward fame. Enter ^note the two Murderers.

First Murd. ^note

Ho! who's here ^note? ^note

Brak.

In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? ^note

First Murd. ^note

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

Brak.

Yea, are you ^note so brief?

Second Murd. ^note

O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious ^note. Show him ^note our ^note commission; talk ^note no more.

Brak.
I am in this commanded to deliver
The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands:
I will not reason what is meant hereby ^note,
Because I will be guiltless of ^note the meaning.
Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep ^note:
I'll to the king; and signify to him ^note
That thus I have resign'd my charge to you ^note.

First Murd. ^note

Do so, it is ^note a point of wisdom: fare you well ^note.

Sec. Murd. ^note

What, shall we ^note stab him as he sleeps?

First Murd.

No; then he will ^note say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes.

Sec. Murd.

When he wakes! why, fool ^note, he shall never wake till the ^note judgement-day.

First Murd.

Why, then he will ^note say we stabbed him sleeping.

Sec. Murd.

The urging of that word ‘judgement’ hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

First Murd.

What, art thou ^note afraid?