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.

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