Ric.
Now is the winter of our ^note discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds, that lour'd ^note upon our house,
In the deep bosom of ^note the ocean bury'd:
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures ^note: ^note
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkl'd front;
And now,—instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,—
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute ^note.
But I,—that am not shap'd ^note for sportive tricks,
Nor ^note made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty,

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,14Q0864
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce ^note half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionably ^note,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;—
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy my ^note shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore,—since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,—
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I lay'd, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophesies, libels, and dreams,
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 prophesy, which says—that G
Of Edward's heirs the murtherer ^note shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul; here Clarence comes. Enter Clarence; Brakenbury, and a Guard, with him.
Brother, good day ^note: What means this armed guard,
That waits upon your grace?

Cla.
His majesty,
Tend'ring my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the tower.

Ric.
Upon what cause?

Cla.
Because my name is—George.

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

Cla.
Yea, Richard, when I ^note know; for, I protest,
As yet I do not: But, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophesies, and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says—a wizard told him, that by G
His issue dis-inherited 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 toys as these,
Have ^note mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Ric.
Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by women:—
'Tis not the king, that sends you to the tower;
My lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she,
That tempts him to this harsh ^note extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, her brother there,
That made him send lord Hastings to the tower;
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.

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

Ric.
Humbly complaining to her deity

Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what,—I think, it is our ^note way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men, and wear her livery:
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dub'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy ^note.

Bra.
I beseech 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 brother ^note.

Ric.
Even so? an please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man;—We say, the king 14Q0865
Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble ^note queen
Well strook in years, yet fair still, and not jealous:
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, ^note a passing pleasing tongue;
That ^note the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

Bra.
With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

Ric.
Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
'Twere best he do ^note it secretly. ^note

Bra.
What one, my lord?

Ric.
Her husband, knave: Would'st thou betray me? ha?

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

Cla.
We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Ric.
We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
Brother, farewel: I will unto the king;

And whatsoever you'll employ me in,—
Were it, to call king Edward's widow—sister,—
I will perform it, to enfranchise you.
Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood ^note
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Cla.
I know, it pleaseth neither of us well.

Ric.
Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver you, or else ^note lye for you:
Mean time, have patience.

Cla.
I must perforce; farewel. [Exeunt Cla. Bra. and Guard.

Ric.
Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er 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 hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter Hastings.

Has.
Good time of day unto my gracious lord!

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

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

Ric.
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.

Has.
More pity, that the eagle ^note should be mew'd,
While kites and buzzards prey at ^note liberty.

Ric.
What news abroad?

Has.
No news so bad abroad, as this at home;—
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,

And his physicians fear him mightily.

Ric.
Now, by saint Paul, ^note this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil ^note diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person;
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is ^note he in his bed?

Has.
He is.

Ric.
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 up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With 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 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 her, which I ^note must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives, and ^note reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit Richard. SCENE II. The same. Another Street. Enter the Corpse14Q0866 of Henry the sixth, born in an open Coffin, and slenderly attended: Gentlemen, bearing

Halberds, with it; and Lady Anne, as Mourner.

Ann.
Set down, set ^note down your honourable load,—
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,—
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.— [Bearers set down the Coffin.
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 lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stab'd by the self-same hand 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:—
O ^note, cursed be the hand, that made these holes ^note!
Cursed the ^note heart, that had the heart to do it!
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,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspéct
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
More miserable ^note by the death of him,
Than I ^note am made by my young lord ^note, and thee!—
Come, now, towards Chertsey with your holy load,

Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And, still as you are weary ^note of the weight ^note,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. Bearers take up the Corpse, and move forward: Enter Richard.

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

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

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

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

Ric.
Unmanner'd dog, stand ^note thou when I command:
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. [Corpse set down.

Ann.
What, do you tremble? are you all afraid?
Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal,
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.—
Avant, thou dreadful ^note minister of hell!
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,
His soul thou canst not have ^note; therefore, be gone.

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

Ann.
Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not;
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;
Thy deed ^note, inhuman, and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.—
O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death!
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murtherer dead;
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick;
As thou dost ^note swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

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

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

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

Ann.
O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

Ric.
More wonderful, when angels are so angry:
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, ^note to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit ^note myself.

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

Ric.
Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Ann.
Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Ric.
By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Ann.
And, by despairing, shalt thou ^note stand excus'd;
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst ^note unworthy slaughter upon others.

Ric.
Say, that I slew them not?

Ann.
Then say, they were not slain: ^note
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

Ric.
I did not kill your husband.

Ann.
Why, then he is alive.

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

Ann.
In thy foul throat thou ly'st; queen Margaret saw
Thy murd'rous faulchion ^note smoaking in his blood;
The which thou once didst bend ^note against her breast,
But that thy brothers ^note beat aside the point.

Ric.
I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue,
Which lay'd ^note their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

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

Ric.
I grant ye.

Ann.
Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God grant me too,
Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Ric.
The fitter ^note for the king of heaven that hath him.

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

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

Ann.
And thou unfit for any place, but hell.

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

Ann.
Some dungeon.

Ric.
Your bed-chamber.

Ann.
Ill rest betide the chamber where thou ly'st!

Ric.
So will it, madam, 'till I lye with you.

Ann.
I hope so.

Ric.
I know so. But, gentle lady Anne,—

To leave this keen ^note encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method;—
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry, and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

Ann.
Thou wast ^note the cause,14Q0867 and most accurs'd effect ^note.

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

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

Ric.
These eyes could not endure that beauty's ^note wreck,
You should not blemish it, if ^note I stood by:
As all the world is cheared ^note by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Ann.
Black night o'er-shade thy day, and death thy life!

Ric.
Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.

Ann.
I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.

Ric.
It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee ^note.

Ann.
It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my ^note husband.

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

Ann.
His better doth not breath upon the earth.

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

Ann.
Name him.

Ric.
Plantagenet.

Ann.
Why, that ^note was he.

Ric.
The self-same name, but one of better nature.

Ann.
Where is he?

Ric.
Here: [she spits at him.] Why dost thou ^note spit at me? ^note

Ann.
'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

Ric.
Never came poison from so sweet a place.

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

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

Ann.
'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!

Ric.
I would they were, that I might die at once;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Sham'd their aspécts ^note with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,— ^note
Not, when ^note my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him:
Nor when thy 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.
I never su'd to friend ^note, nor enemy,
My tongue could never learn sweet soothing ^note word ^note;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. [she looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made ^note
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, [kneels, and gives his Sword.

Lo, here I lend thee this † sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true ^note breast,
And let the soul forth ^note that adoreth ^note thee,
I lay it naked † to the deadly ^note stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry;— ^note [she offers at his Breast.
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I, that stab'd young Edward;— ^note [offers at it again.
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [throws away the Sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Ann.
Arise, dissembler; though I wish thy death,
I will not be thy executioner ^note.

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

Ann.
I have already.

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

Ann.
I would, I knew thy heart.

Ric.
'Tis figur'd in my tongue.

Ann.
I fear me, both are false.

Ric.
Then never man was ^note true.

Ann.
Well, well, put up your sword.

Ric.
Say then, my peace is made.

Ann.
That shall you ^note know hereafter.

Ric.
But shall I ^note live in hope?

Ann.
All men, I hope, live so.

Ric.
Vouchsafe to wear this † ring.

Ann.
To take is not to give. ^note

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

Ann.
What is it?

Ric.
That it may please you leave these ^note sad designs
To him that hath more cause ^note to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place ^note:
Where—after I have solemnly interr'd
At Chertsey monast'ry 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.

Ann.
With all my heart; and much it joys me too,
To see you are become so penitent.—
Tressel, and Berkley ^note, go along with me.

Ric.
Bid me farewel.

Ann.
'Tis more than you deserve:
But, since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewel already. [Exeunt Lady Anne, and two Gen.

Ric.
Take up the corse, sirs ^note. ^note

2. G.
Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Ric.
No, to ^note White-friars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the Corpse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?
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 his father ^note,
To take her in her heart's extreamest hate ^note;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred ^note by;
With God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I no friends to back my suit withal ^note,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her,—all the world to nothing!
Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stab'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,—
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,
Young, valiant, wise, and (no doubt) right royal,—
The spacious world ^note cannot again afford:
And will she yet ^note abase ^note her eyes on me,
That crop'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am unshapen ^note thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while:
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvelous proper man.
I'll be at charges ^note for a looking-glass;
And entertain a score ^note or two of taylors,
To study fashions to adorn ^note my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little ^note cost.
But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave;

And then re-turn lamenting to my love.—
Shine out, fair sun, 'till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit. SCENE III. The same. A Room in the Palace. Enter the Queen, Lord Grey her Son, and Lord Rivers her Brother.

Riv.
Have patience, madam; there's no doubt, his majesty
Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

Gre.
In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse:
Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words ^note.

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

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

Que.
The loss of such a lord includes all harms ^note.

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

Que.
Ah, he ^note is young; and his minority
Is put unto the ^note trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.

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

Que.
It is determin'd, not concluded yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry. Enter Buckingham, and Stanley.14Q0868

Gre.
Here come ^note the lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

Buc.
Good time of day unto your royal grace!

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

Que.
The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley,
To your good prayer ^note will scarcely ^note say—amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,

I hate not you for her proud arrogance ^note.

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

Riv.
Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley? ^note

Sta.
But now the duke of Buckingham, and I,
Are ^note come ^note from visiting his majesty.

Que.
What likelihood of his amendment, lords?

Buc.
Madam, good hope; his grace speaks ^note chearfully.

Que.
God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

Buc.
Ay, madam: he ^note desires to make atonement
Between ^note the duke of Gloster and your brothers,
And between ^note them and my lord chamberlain;
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

Que.
'Would, all were well! But that will never be;
I fear, our happiness is at the height. ^note Enter Richard; Hastings, and Dorset, with him.

Ric.
They do me wrong, and I will not endure it:—
Who are they ^note, that complain ^note unto the king,
That I, forsooth, am stern, and ^note love them not?
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 fair ^note,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a ranc'rous ^note enemy.
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm,
But thus his simple ^note truth must be abus'd
By silken ^note, sly, insinuating Jacks?

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

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

Que.
Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter:
The king—of his ^note own royal disposition,
And not provok'd ^note by any suitor else;
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred,
That in your outward action ^note shews itself,
Against my children, brothers, ^note and myself,—
Hath sent for you;14Q0869 that ^note thereby he ^note may gather
The ground of your ill will, and so ^note remove it.

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

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

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

Que.
By Him that rais'd 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.

Ric.
You may deny too, that you were the ^note cause ^note
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.

Riv.
She may, my lord; for ^note—

Ric.
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 desert ^note.
What may she not? She may,—ay, marry ^note, may she,

Riv.
What, marry, may she?

Ric.
What, marry, may she? marry with a king,
A batchelor, a ^note handsome stripling too:
I wis, your grandam had a ^note worser match.

Que.
My lord of Gloster, I have too long born
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs:
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty,
With those gross taunts I often have ^note endur'd.
I had rather be a country servant-maid,
Than a great ^note queen, with this condition—
To be so baited, scorn'd, and stormed at: ^note Enter Queen Margaret, at a Distance.
Small joy have I in being England's queen.

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

Ric.
What threat you me with telling of the ^note king?
Tell him, and spare not; look, what I have said ^note
I will avouch ^note in presence of the king:
I dare adventure to be sent to the tower. ^note

'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot.

Q. M.
Out, devil! I remember ^note them too well:
Thou kill'dst ^note my husband Henry in the tower,
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.

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

Q. M.
Ay, and ^note much better blood than his, or thine.

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

Q. M.
A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.

Ric.
Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick,
Ay, and forswore himself,—Which Jesu pardon!—

Q. M.
Which God revenge!

Ric.
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 for this world.

Q. M.
Hie ^note thee to hell for shame, and leave this world,
Thou cacadæmon; ^note there thy kingdom is.

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

Ric.
If I should be?—I had rather be a pedlar:
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! ^note

Que.
As little joy, my lord, as you suppose ^note
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. M. ^note
A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient.— [advancing.
Hear me, you wrangling pyrates, that fall out
In sharing that ^note which you have pill'd from me:
Which of you trembles not, that looks on ^note me?
If not, that, I being queen ^note, you bow like subjects;
Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels?—
Ah, gentle ^note villain, do not turn away.

Ric.
Foul wrinkl'd witch, what mak'st thou in my sight?

Q. M.
But repetition of what thou hast mar'd;
That will I make, before I let thee go.

Ric.
Wert thou not banished, on pain of death; ^note

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

Ric.
The curse my noble father lay'd on thee,—
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy scorns ^note drew'st ^note rivers from his eyes;
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultless ^note blood of pretty Rutland;—
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounc'd against thee, are all ^note fall'n upon thee;

And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

Que.
So just is God, to right the innocent.

Has.
O, 'twas the foulest deed, to slay that babe,
And the most merciless, that ere was heard of.

Riv.
Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported.

Dor.
No man but prophesy'd revenge for it.

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

Q. M.
What, were you snarling all, before I came,
Ready to catch each other by the throat,
And turn you all your hatred ^note now on 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 answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?—
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses.—
Though not ^note by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours ^note by murther, to make him a king!
Edward thy son, that now ^note is prince of Wales,
For Edward my son, that was ^note prince of Wales,
Die ^note in his youth, by like untimely violence! ^note
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Out-live thy glory, like my wretched self!
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss ^note;
And see another, as I see thee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as ^note thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;
And, after many lengthen'd 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
Was stab'd with bloody daggers; God I pray him,

That none of you may live your natural ^note age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

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

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

Ric.
Margaret.

Q. M.
Richard!

Ric.
Ha?

Q. M.
I call thee not.

Ric.
I cry thee mercy then; for I did think ^note,
That ^note thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

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

Ric.
'Tis done by me; and ends in—Margaret ^note.

Que. ^note
Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself.

Q. M.
Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune,
Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottl'd spider,
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou ^note shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous ^note bunch-back'd toad.

Has.
False-boding ^note woman, end thy frantick curse;
Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience.

Q. M.
Foul shame upon you! you have all mov'd mine.

Riv.
Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your duty.

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

Dor.
Dispute not with her, she is lunatick.

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

Ric.
Good counsel,marry;—learn it, learn it, marquess.

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

Ric.
Ay, and ^note much more: But I was born so high,
Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Q. M.
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 aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest:—
O God, that see'st it, do not suffer it;

As it was won ^note with blood, lost be it so!

Buc.
Peace, peace, for ^note shame, if not for charity.

Q. M.
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 live ^note my sorrow's rage!

Buc.
Have done ^note, have done.

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

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

Q. M.
I will not think14Q0870 but ^note they ascend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
O Buckingham, take heed of ^note yonder dog;
Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites,
His venom ^note tooth will rankle to the death:
Have not to do with him, beware of him;
Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks upon him,
And all their ministers attend on him.

Ric.
What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?

Buc.
Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

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

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

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

Ric.
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.

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

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

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

Ric.
So do I ever, being well advis'd;—
&clquo;For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.&crquo; Enter Catesby.

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

Que.
Catesby, I come:—Lords, will you go with me? ^note

Riv.
We wait upon your ^note grace. [Exeunt All but Richard.

Ric.
I do the ^note wrong, and first begin to brawl.
The secret mischiefs ^note that I set abroach,
I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence,—whom ^note I, indeed, have cast in ^note darkness,—
I do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Hastings ^note, Stanley, Buckingham;
And tell them—'tis the ^note queen, and her allies,
That stir ^note the king against the duke my brother.
Now they believe it; and ^note, withal, whet me ^note
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey ^note:

But then I ^note sigh, and, with a piece of scripture,
Tell them—that God bids us do ^note good for evil:
And thus I cloath my naked villany
With odd old ^note ends, stoln forth of ^note holy writ;
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. Enter two Murtherers.
But soft, here come ^note my executioners.—
How now, my hardy, stout, resolved mates?
Are you now going ^note to dispatch this thing?

1. M.
We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.

Ric.
Well ^note thought upon, I have it here about me: [gives the Warrant.
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.

1. M.
Tut, tut, my ^note lord, we will not stand to prate,
Talkers are no good doers; be assur'd,
We go to ^note use our hands, and not our tongues.

Ric.
Your eyes drop mil-stones, when fools' eyes drop tears ^note:
I like you, lads; about your business straight; ^note;
Go, go, dispatch.

1. M.
We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. The same. A Room in the Tower. Enter Clarence ^note, and Brakenbury.14Q0871

Bra.
Why looks your grace so heavily to-day?

Cla.
O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, ^note

That, as I am a christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Bra.
What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me. ^note

Cla.
Methoughts, that I had broken from the tower ^note,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy;
And, in my company, my brother Gloster:
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 heavy times ^note,
During the wars of York and Lancaster
That had befall'n us. As we ^note pac'd ^note along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought, that Gloster stumbl'd ^note; and, in falling,
Strook ^note me (that thought to stay him) over-board,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O Lord ^note! methought, what pain it was to drown!
What dreadful noise of water ^note in mine ears!
What sights ^note of ugly death ^note within mine eyes!
Methought ^note, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks;
A thousand ^note men, that fishes gnaw'd upon;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl,
Inestimable stones, unvalu'd jewels,
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: ^note
Some lay in dead men's sculls; and, in those holes ^note
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 'twere ^note in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd ^note the slimy bottom of the deep,
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.

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

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

Bra.
Awak'd you not with this ^note fore agony?

Cla.
O, no, ^note my dream was lengthen'd after life;
O, then began the tempest to my ^note soul.
I pass'd ^note, methought, the melancholy flood,
With that sour ferry-man ^note which poets write of,
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night:
The first that there did greet my stranger ^note soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned ^note Warwick;
Who cry'd aloud ^note, What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?
And so he vanish'd: Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright ^note hair
Dabbl'd ^note in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud,
Clarence is come,—false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence,—
That stab'd me in the field by Tewksbury ^note;—
Seize on him, furies, take him unto torment ^note.
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and ^note howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after,
Could not believe but that I was in hell;
Such terrible impression made my dream ^note.

Bra.
No marvel, lord ^note, though it affrighted you;
I am afraid ^note, methinks, to hear you tell it.

Cla.
O, Brakenbury, I ^note have done these ^note things,—
That now give ^note evidence against my soul,—

For Edward's sake; and, see, how he requites ^note me!
I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; [retiring to a Chair.
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.

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

1. M.

Ho! who's here? ^note

Bra.

What would'st thou, fellow? and how cam'st thou ^note hither?

1. M.

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

Bra.

What, so ^note brief?

2. M.
O, sir, it is better be ^note brief than tedious:—
Shew him our commission, talk ^note no more. [Brakenbury receives a Paper, and reads it.

Bra.
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 the ^note meaning.
Here are &dagger2; the keys; there † sits the duke asleep ^note:
I'll to the king; and signify to him, ^note
That thus I have resign'd to you my charge ^note.

1. M.

You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom: Fare you ^note well.

2. M.

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

1. M.

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

2. M.

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

1. M.

Why, then he'll say, we stab'd him sleeping.

2. M.

The urging of that word, judgment, hath bred a kind of remorse in me.

1. M.

What, art afraid ^note?

2. M.

Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ^note; but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which ^note no warrant can defend me. ^note

1. M.

I thought, thou hadst been resolute.

2. M.

So I am, to let him live.

1. M.

I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and ^note tell him so.

2. M.

Nay, I pry'thee, stay a little: I hope ^note, this compassionate humour of mine will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one tells ^note twenty.

1. M.

How dost thou feel thyself now?

2. M.

Some ^note certain dregs of conscience are yet within me.

1. M.

Remember our reward, when the deed's done.

2. M.

Come, he ^note dies; I had forgot the reward.

1. M.

Where's thy conscience now?

2. M.

In ^note the duke of Gloster's purse,

1. M.

So ^note, when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out.

2. M.

'Tis no matter ^note; let it go ^note; there's few, or none, will entertain it.

1. M.

What, if ^note it come to thee again?

2. M.

I'll not meddle with it, it makes ^note a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; ^note a man cannot swear, but it checks him; ^note a man cannot lye with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'Tis a

blushing shame-fac'd ^note spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills a man full ^note of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of ^note gold, that by chance ^note I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turn'd out of all ^note towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man, that means to live well, endeavours ^note to trust to himself, and live ^note without it.

1. M.

'Zouns ^note, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke.

2. M.

Shake the devil out of thy ^note mind, and believe him not: he would insinuate with thee, but ^note to make thee sigh.

1. M.

I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail with me. ^note

2. M.

Spoke like ^note a tall fellow, that ^note respects ^note his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work? ^note

1. M.

Take him over the ^note costard with the hilts of thy ^note sword, and then throw him into the ^note malmsey-but in the next room.

2. M.

O excellent device! and ^note make a sop of him.

1. M.

Soft, he wakes. ^note

2. M.

Strike.

1. M.

No, we'll reason with him.

Cla.
Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine.

1. M.
You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. ^note

Cla.
In God's name, what art thou?

1. M.

A man, as you are. ^note

Cla.
But not, as I am, royal.

1. M.
Nor you, as we are, loyal. ^note

Cla.
Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble.

1. M.
My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. ^note

Cla.
How darkly, and how deadly dost thou speak!
Your eyes do menace me: Why look you pale? ^note

Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come?

2. M.
To, to, to, ^note— ^note

Cla.
To murther me?

1. 2.
Ay, ay. ^note

Cla.
You scarcely ^note have the hearts ^note to tell me so,
And therefore cannot have the hearts ^note to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you?

1. M.
Offended us you have not, but the king.

Cla.
I shall be reconcil'd to him again.

2. M.
Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die,

Cla.
Are you drawn forth among a ^note world of men,
To slay the innocent? What is my offence?
Where is the ^note evidence that doth accuse ^note me?
What lawful quest have given ^note their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounc'd
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death?
Before I be convict by course of law,
To threaten me with death, is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope ^note for any goodness,
That you depart, and lay no hands ^note on me;
The deed you undertake is damnable.

1. M.
What we will do, we do upon command.

2. M.
And he, that hath commanded, is ^note our king.

Cla.
Erroneous vassal ^note! the great King of kings
Hath in the table ^note of his law commanded,
That thou shalt ^note do no murther; Wilt thou ^note then
Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's?
Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hand ^note,
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.

2. M.
And that same vengeance doth he hurl on ^note thee,
For false forswearing, and for murther too:
Thou didst receive the sacrament, ^note to fight

In quarrel ^note of the house of Lancaster.

1. M.
And, like a traitor to the name of God,
Didst break that vow; and, with thy treacherous blade,
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son:

2. M.
Whom thou wast sworn ^note to cherish and defend.

1. M.
How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us,
When thou hast broke it in such dear ^note degree?

Cla.
Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake:
He ^note sends you not to murther me for this;
For in that sin ^note he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for the deed ^note,
O, know you yet, he doth it publickly; ^note
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm;
He needs no indirect nor ^note lawless course,
To cut off those that have offended him.

1. M.
Who made thee then a bloody minister,
When gallant-springing ^note brave Plantagenet,
That princely ^note novice, was struck dead by thee?

Cla.
My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.

1. M.
Thy brother's love, our duty, and ^note thy fault ^note,
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee ^note.

Cla.
If you do love my ^note brother, hate not me;
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you are hir'd for meed ^note, go back again,
And I will send you to my brother Gloster;
Who shall ^note reward you better for my life,
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.

2. M.
You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloster hates you.

Cla.
O, no; he loves me, and he holds me dear:
Go you to him from me.

1. M.
Ay, so we will. ^note

Cla.
Tell him, when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other, ^note
He little thought of this divided friendship:
Bid Gloster think on this ^note, and he will weep.

1. M.
Ay, mil-stones; as he lesson'd us to weep. ^note

Cla.
O, do not slander him, for he is kind.

1. M.
Right, as snow in harvest. Come, you deceive yourself; ^note
'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. ^note

Cla.
It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune, ^note
And hug'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
That he would labour my delivery.

1. M.
Why, so he doth, when he delivers you ^note
From this earth's ^note thraldom to the joys of heaven.

2. M.
Make ^note peace with God, for you must die, my lord.

Cla.
Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul ^note,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul ^note so blind,
That thou wilt ^note war with God by murd'ring ^note me?—
Ah, sirs, consider, he, that ^note set you on
To do this deed, will hate you for the deed ^note.

2. M.
What shall we do?

Cla.
Relent, and save your souls. ^note

1. M.
Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish.

Cla.
Not to relent, is beastly, savage, dev'lish ^note.—
My friend ^note, I spy some pity in thy looks;
O, if thine eye ^note be not a flatterer,
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me:
A begging prince what beggar pities not? ^note

1. M.
Ay, thus, and thus; [stabbing him.] and, if this will not serve,
I'll drown you in the malmsey ^note-but within.

2. M.
A bloody deed, and desp'rately dispatch'd ^note!
How fain, like Pilate ^note, would I wash my hands ^note
Of this most grievous murther? ^note

1. M.
How now? what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? ^note
By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have been.

2. M.
I would he knew, that I had sav'd his brother!
Take thou the see, and tell him what I say;
For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit.

1. M.
So do not I; go, coward as thou art.—
Well, I'll go hide the body ^note in some hole,
'Till that the duke give ^note order for his burial:
And when I have my meed, I will away ^note;
For this will out, and then I ^note must not stay. [Exit, with the Body.

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