Son.
Good Grandam tell us, is our Father dead?

Dutch.
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, Castaways,
If that our Noble Father were alive?

Dutch.
My pretty Cousins, you mistake me both,
I do lament the Sickness of the King,
As loth to lose him, not your Father's Death;
It were lost Sorrow to wail one that's lost.

Son.
Then you conclude, my Grandam, he is dead:
The King mine Uncle is to blame for it.
God will revenge it, whom I will importune
With earnest Prayers, all to that effect.

Daugh.
And so will I.

Dutch.
Peace, Children, peace; the King doth love you well.
Incapable and shallow Innocents,
You cannot guess who caus'd your Father's Death.

Son.
Grandam, we can; for my good Uncle Glo'ster
Told me, the King, provok'd to it by the Queen,
Devis'd Impeachments to imprison him;
And when my Uncle told me so, he wept,
And pitied me, and kindly kist my Cheek;
Bad me rely on him, as on my Father,
And he would love me dearly as a Child.

Dutch.
Ah! that Deceit should steal such gentle Shape,
And with a virtuous Vizard hide deep Vice.
He is my Son, ay, and therein my Shame,
Yet from my Dugs he drew not this deceit.

Son.
Think you my Uncle did dissemble, Grandam?

Dutch.
Ay, Boy.

Son.
I cannot think it. Hark, what noise is this? Enter the Queen with her Hair about her Ears, Rivers and Dorset after her.

Queen.
Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and weep?
To chide my Fortune and torment my self?
I'll join with black Despair against my Soul,
And to my self become an Enemy—

Dutch.
What means this Scene of rude Impatience?

Queen.
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?
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 ne'er changing Night.

Dutch.
Ah, so much interest have I in thy Sorrow,
As I had Title to thy Noble Husband;
I have bewept a worthy Husband's Death,
And liv'd with looking on his Images;
But now two Mirrors of his Princely semblance.
Are crack'd in pieces, by malignant Death,
And I for comfort have but one false Glass,
That grieves me when I see my Shame in him.
Thou art a Widow, yet thou art a Mother,
And hast the comfort of thy Children left;
But Death hath snatch'd my Husband from mine Arms,
And pluckt two Crutches from my feeble Hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I,
(Thine being but a moiety of my moan)
To over-go thy Woes, and drown thy Cries.

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.

Queen.
Give me no help in Lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth Complaints:
All Springs reduce their currents to mine Eyes,
That I being govern'd by the watry Moon,

May send forth plenteous Tears to drown the World.
Ah, for my Husband—for my dear Lord Edward—

Chil.
Ah, for our Father, for our dear Lord Clarence.

Dutch.
Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence.

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

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

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

Queen.
Was never Widow had so dear a Loss.

Chil.
Were never Orphans had so dear a Loss.

Dutch.
Was never Mother had so dear a Loss.
Alas! I am the Mother of these Griefs,
Their Woes are parcell'd, mine is general.
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I;
I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she;
These Babes for Clarence weep, so do not they.
Alas! you three, on me threefold distrest
Pour all your Tears, I am your Sorrows Nurse,
And I will pamper it with Lamentation.

Dors.
Comfort, dear Mother; God is much displeas'd,
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 Heav'n,
For it requires the Royal Debt it lent you.

Rivers.
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 Gloucester, Buckingham, Derby, Hastings and Ratcliff.

Glo.
Sister, have comfort, all of us have cause
To wail the dimming of our shining Star:
But none can help our 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.

Dutch.
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;
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 others Love;
Though we have spent our Harvest of this King,
We are to reap the Harvest of his Son.
The broken rancor of your high-swoln hates,
But lately splinter'd, knit and join'd together,
Must gently be preserv'd, cherisht and kept:
Me seemeth good, that with some little Train,
Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be set
Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.

Riv.
Why with 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 compact is firm and true in me.

Riv.
And so in me, and so, I think, in all,
Yet since it is but green it should be put
To no apparent likelyhood 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 streight shall post to London.
Madam, and you my Sister, will you go
To give your Censures in this Business? [Exeunt. [Manent Buckingham and Gloucester.

Buck.
My Lord, whoever journies to the Prince,
For God's sake let not us two stay at home;
For by the way, I'll sort occasion,

As Index to the Story we lately talk'd of,
To part the Queen's proud Kindred from the Prince.

Glo.
My other self, my Counsel's Consistory,
My Oracle, my Prophet, my dear Cousin,
I, as a Child, will go by thy direction.
Toward London then, for we'll not stay behind. [Exeunt.

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