Tress.
My Lord, your Servant, pray what brought you to Paul's?

Ld. Stan.
I came amongst the Crowd to see the Corps
Of poor King Henry. 'Tis a dismal sight,
But yesterday I saw him in the Tower;
His talk is still so fresh within my memory:
That I could weep to think how Fate has us'd him.
I wonder where's Duke Richard's policy
In suffering him to lie exposed to view?
Can he believe that Men will love him for't?

Tress.
O yes, Sir, love him, as he loves his Brothers:
When was you with King Edward, pray, my Lord?
I hear he leaves his Food, is Melancholy,
And his Physicians fear him mightily.

Ld. Stan.
'Tis thought he'll scarce recover:
Shall we to Court, and hear more News of him?

Tress.
I am oblig'd to pay Attendance here,
The Lady Ann has license to remove
King Henry's Corps to be Interr'd at Chertsey,
And I am engag'd to follow her.

Ld. Stan.
Mean you King Henry's Daughter-in-Law?

Tress.
The same, Sir, Widow to the late Prince Edward,
Whom Gloucester kill'd at Tewkesbury.

Ld. Stan.
Alas, poor Lady, she's severely used.
And yet I hear Richard attempts her Love:
Methinks the wrongs he's done her should discourage him.

Tress.
Neither those wrongs nor his own shape can fright him;
He sent for leave to visit her this morning,
And she was forc'd to keep her Bed to avoid him.
But see, she is arriv'd: Will you along
To see this doleful Ceremony?

Ld. Stan.
I'll wait on you. (Exeunt. Richard. Solus.

Rich.
'Twas her excuse t'avoid me—Alas!
She keeps no Bed—
She has health enough to progress far as Chertsey,
Tho' not to bear the sight of me;
—I cannot blame her—
Why Love forswore me in my Mothers Womb,
And for I should not deal in his soft Laws,
He did corrupt frail Nature with some Bribe
To shrink my Arm up like a wither'd Shrub,
To make an envious Mountain on my back,
Where sits Deformity to mock my Body,
To shape my Legs of an unequal size,
To disproportion me in every part:
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
O monstrous Thought! more vain my Ambition. Enter a Gentleman hastily.

Gent.
My Lord, I beg your Grace—

Rich.
Be gone, Fellow—I'm not at leisure—

Gent.
My Lord, the King your Brother's taken ill.

Rich.
I'll wait on him, leave me, Friend—
Ha! Edward ta'en ill!—
Wou'd he were wasted, Marrow-bones and all,
‘That from his loins no more young Brats may rise
‘To cross me in the golden time I look for—
But see, my Love appears: Look where she shines,
Darting pale Lustre, like the Silver Moon
Through her dark Veil of Rainy sorrow:
So mourn'd the Dame of Ephesus her Love,

And thus the Soldier arm'd with Resolution
Told his soft tale, and was a thriving Woer.
'Tis true, my Form perhaps, will little move her,
But I've a Tongue shall wheadle with the Devil.
Yet hold; She mourns the Man whom I have kill'd:
First, let her sorrows take some vent—Stand here;
I'll take her passion in its wain, and turn
This storm of grief to gentle drops of pity
For his Repentant Murderer.— (He retires. Enter Bearers with King Henry's Body, the Lady Ann in Mourning, Lord Stanley, Tressel, and Guards, who all advance from the middle Isle of the Church.

Lady A.
‘Hung be the Heavens with black, yield day to night,
‘Comets importing change of Times and States,
‘Brandish your fiery Tresses in the Sky,
‘And with 'em scourge the bad revolting Stars
‘That have consented to King Henry's death:
O be Accurst the Hand that shed this Blood;
Accurst the Head that had the Heart to do it,
More direful hap betide that hated Wretch
Than I can wish to Wolves, to Spiders, Toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives:
If ever he have Wife, let her be made
‘More miserable by the Life of him,
‘Than I am now by Edward's death and thine.

Rich.
Poor Girl! What pains she takes to curse her self? (apart.

Lady A.
If ever he have Child Abortive be it,
Prodigious and Untimely brought to Light,
‘Whose hideous Form, whose most unnatural Aspect
May fright the hopeful Mother at the view,
And that be Heir to his unhappiness.
‘Now on, to Chertsey with your sacred Load. Richard comes forward.

Rich.
Stay, you that bear the Coarse, and set it down.

Lady A.
What black Magician Conjures up this Fiend
To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Rich.
Villains, set down the Coarse, or, by St. Paul,
I'll make a Coarse of him that disobeys.

Guard.
My Lord, stand back, and let the Coffin pass.

Rich.
‘Unmanner'd Slave!
Stand thou, when I command:
Advance thy Halbert higher than my Breast,
Or, by St. Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn thee, beggar, for this boldness.

Lady A.
Why dost thou haunt him thus, unsated Fiend?
Thou hadst but power over his mortal Body,
His Soul thou canst not reach; therefore be gone.

Rich.
Sweet Saint, be not so hard for Charity.

Lady A.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy Butcheries.
Why didst thou do this deed? Cou'd not the Laws
Of Man, of Nature, nor of Heaven disswade thee?
No Beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.

Rich.
If want of pity be a Crime so hateful,
Whence is it thou, fair Excellence, art guilty?

Lady A.
What means the slanderer?

Rich.
Vouchsafe, Divine Perfection of a Woman,
Of these my Crimes suppos'd to give me leave
By Circumstance, but to acquit my self.

Lady A.
Then take that Sword, whose bloody point still reeks
With Henry's Life, with my lov'd Lord young Edwards,
And here let out thy own t' appease their Ghosts.

Rich.
By such despair I shou'd accuse my self.

Lady A.
Why by despairing only canst thou stand excused?
Didst thou not kill this King?

Rich.
I grant ye.

Lady A.
O! he was Gentle, Loving, Mild and Vertuous;
But he's in Heaven, where thou canst never come.

Rich.
Was I not kind to send him thither then?
He was much fitter for that place than Earth.

Lady A.
And thou unfit for any place but Hell.

Rich.
Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

Lady A.
Some Dungeon.

Rich.
Your Bed Chamber.

Lany A.
Ill rest betide the Chamber where thou liest.

Rich.
So it will, Madam, till I lie in yours.

Lady A.
I hope so.

Rich.
I know so. But gentle Lady Ann,
‘To leave this keen encounter of our Tongues,
‘And fall to something a more serious method.
Is not the causer of th'untimely deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the Executioner?

Lady A.
Thou wert the cause, and most accurst effect.

Rich.
your Beauty was the cause of that effect:
Your Beauty that did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the Death of all the World,
So I might live one hour in that soft Bosom.

Lady A.
If I thought that, I tell thee, Homicide,
‘These Hands shou'd rend that Beauty from my Cheeks.

Rich.
These Eyes cou'd not endure that Beauties rack,
You shou'd not blemish it, if I stood by.
‘As all the World is nourish'd by the Sun,
So I by that: It is my Day, my Life.

Lady A.
I wou'd it were to be reveng'd on thee.

Rich.
It is a Quarrel most Unnatural
To wish revenge on him that loves thee.

Lady A.
Say rather 'tis my duty,
‘To seek revenge on him that kill'd my Husband.

Rich.
Fair Creature, he that kill'd thy Husband
‘Did it to—help thee to a better Husband.

Lady A.
His better does not breath upon the Earth.

Rich.
He lives that loves the better, than he could.

Lady A.
Name him.

Rich.
Plantagenet.

Lady A.
Why, that was he.

Rich.
The self same Name, but one of softer Nature.

Lady A.
Where is he?

Rich.
Ah! take more pity in thy Eyes, and see him—here.

Lady A.
Wou'd they were Basilisks to strike thee dead.

Rich.
I wou'd they were, that I might die at once,
For now they kill me with a living death.
Darting with cruel aim unpitied Love,
I never sued to Friend or Enemy,
My Tongue could never learn sweet smoothing Words,
But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee
My proud Heart sues, and prompts my Tongue to speak.

Lady A.
Is there a Tongue on Earth can speak for thee?
Why dost thou Court my hate?

Tress. aside.
Where will this end? she frowns upon him yet.

L. Stan. aside.
But yet she hears him in her frowns; I fear him.

Rich.
‘O! teach not thy soft lip such cold contempt—
If thy Relentless Heart cannot forgive,
Lo, here I lend thee this sharp pointed Sword,
Which if thou please to hide in this true Breast,
And let the honest Soul out, that adores thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg that Death upon my knee.

Lady A. Aside.
What shall I say or do? Direct me Heaven;
When stones weep sure the tears are natural,
And Heaven it self instructs us to forgive,
When they do flow from a sincere Repentance.

Rich.
Nay, do not pause: For I did kill King Henry,
But 'twas thy wondrous Beauty that provoked me;
Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stab'd young Edward,
But 'twas thy Heavenly face that set me on,
And I might still persist (so stubborn is
My Temper) to rejoice at what I've done,
But that thy powerful Eyes (as roaring Seas
Obey the changes of the Moon) have turn'd
My Heart, and made it flow with Penitence (She lets fall the Sword.
Take up the Sword agen, or take up me.

Lady A.
No, tho' I wish thy Death,
I will not be thy Executioner.

Rich.
Then bid me kill my self, and I will do it.

Lady A.
I have already.

Rich.
That was in thy rage:
Say it again, and even with thy word
‘This guilty hand that rob'd thee of thy Love
‘Shall for thy Love revenge thee on thy Lover;
To both their deaths shalt thou be Accessary.

Tress. aside.
By Heaven she wants the heart to bid him do't.

Ld. Stan. aside.
What think you now, Sir?

Tress. aside.
I'm struck! I scarce can credit what I see.

Ld. Stan. aside.
Why, you see—A Woman.

Tress. aside.
When future Chronicles shall speak of this
They will be thought Romance, not History. aside.

Rich.
What, not a word to pardon or condemn me?
But thou art wise—and canst with silence kill me;
Yet even in death my prostrate Soul pursues thee:
Dash not the tears of Penitence away.
I ask but leave t'indulge my cold despair
By Heaven, there's Joy in this extravagance
Of Woe; 'tis Melting, Soft, 'tis pleasing Ruin.
Oh! 'tis too much, too much for Life to bear
This aching tenderness of thought.

Lady A.
Wou'dst thou not blame me to forgive thy Crimes?

Rich.
They are not to be forgiven: No, not even
Penitence can atone 'em. O misery
Of Thought! that strikes me with at once Repentance
And Despair; tho' unpardon'd, yield me pity.

Lady A.
I Wou'd I knew thy heart.

Rich.
'Tis figur'd in my Tongue.

Lady A.
I fear me both are false.

Rich.
Then never Man was true.

Lady A.
Put up thy Sword.

Rich.
Say then, my Peace is made.

Lady A.
That shalt thou know hereafter.

Rich.
But shall I live in hope?

Lady A.
All Men, I hope, live so.

Rich.
I swear, bright Saint, I am not what I was:
Those Eyes have turn'd my stubborn heart to Woman,
This goodness makes me soft in Penitence,
And my harsh thoughts are tun'd to Peace and Love.
O! if thy poor devoted Servant might
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou wouldst confirm his Happiness for ever.

Lady A.
What is it?

Rich.
That it may please thee, leave these sad designs
To him that has most cause to be a Mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby House,
Where, after I have solemnly Interr'd
At Chertsey Monastery, this Injur'd 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 favour.

Lady A.
I do my Lord, and much it joys me too
To see you are become so Penitent.
Tressel and Berkley go along with me.

Rich.
Bid me Farewell.

Lady A.
'Tis more than you deserve;
But since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said Farewell already. [Exit with Tress. and Berk.

Guard.
Towards Chertsey, my Lord?

Rich.
Now to White-Fryars, there attend my coming. [Exit with the Body. Richard Solus.

Rich. (smiling.)
Was ever Woman in this humour wooed?
Was ever Woman in this humour won?
I'll have her: But I will not keep her long.
What! I that kill'd her Husband and her Father,
To take her in her Hearts extreamest hate,
With Curses in her mouth, Tears in her Eyes,
The bleeding witness of my hatred by,
Having Heaven, her Conscience, and these Bars against me,
And I no Friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain Devil, and dissembling looks?
And yet to win her! All the world to nothing.
Can she abuse her Beauteous eyes on me?
Whose all not equals Edward's moiety?

On me! that halt and am mishapen, Thus
‘My Dukedom to a Widows Chastity
I do mistake my Person all this while!
Upon my life! she finds, altho I cannot,
My self to be a marvellous proper Man,
‘I'll have my Chambers lin'd with Looking-glass
And entertain a score or two of Taylors
To study fashions to adorn my body.
Since I am crept in favour with my self,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
‘But first, I'll turn St. Harry to his grave,
And then return lamenting to my Love.
‘Shine out fair Sun till I salute my Glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass. (Exit.

Next section