Dorset: Attendants with them.

Dut.
Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet,
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster? ^note
Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the tower,
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince.—
Daughter, well met.

Ann.
God give your graces both
A happy and a joyful time of day!

Que.
As much to you, good sister! Whither away? ^note

Ann.
No farther than the tower; and, as I guess,
Upon the like devotions as yourselves,
To gratulate the gentle princes ^note there.

Que.
Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all together: Enter Brakenbury.
And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes.—
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the ^note prince, and my young son of York ^note?

Bra.
Right well, dear madam: By your patience, ^note
I may not suffer you to visit them ^note;
The king hath strictly ^note charg'd the ^note contrary.

Que.
The king! who's ^note that?

Bra.
I ^note mean, the lord protector.

Que.
The Lord protect him from that kingly title!
Hath he set bounds ^note between their love, and me?
I am their mother, Who shall bar me ^note from them?

Dut. ^note
I am their father's mother ^note, I will see them.

Ann.
Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:
Then bring me to their sights; I'll ^note bear thy blame,
And take thy office from thee, on my peril.

Bra.
No, madam, no, I may not leave it so;
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. ^note [Exit.

Enter Stanley.

Sta.
Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour ^note hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
And reverend ^note looker-on, of two fair queens.—
Come, madam, [to Ann.] you must straight to ^note Westminster,
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.

Que.
Ah, cut my lace asunder ^note! that my pent heart
May have some scope to beat, or else I ^note swoon
With this dead-killing ^note news.

Ann.
Despiteful tidings! o unpleasing news! ^note

Dor.
Be of good chear:—14Q0884 Mother, how ^note fares your grace?

Que.
O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone ^note,
Death and destruction dog ^note thee at the heels ^note;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children:
If thou wilt out-strip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of ^note hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou encrease the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,—
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.

Sta.
Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam:—
Take all the swift advantage of the hours ^note;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way: ^note
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay ^note.

Dut.
O ill-dispersing wind of misery!—
O my accursed womb, the bed of death;
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murtherous!

Sta.
Come, madam, come; I ^note in all haste was sent ^note.

Ann.
And I with all ^note unwillingness will go.—
O, would ^note to God, that the inclusive ^note verge

Of golden metal, that must round my brow,
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain ^note!
Anointed let me be with deadly venom; ^note
And die, ere men can say—God save the queen!

Que.
Go, go, poor ^note soul, I envy not thy glory;
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.

Ann.
No! why ^note?—When he, that is my husband now,
Came to me, as ^note I follow'd Henry's corse;
When scarce the blood was well wash'd ^note from his hands,
Which issu'd from my other angel husband,
And that dead saint ^note which then ^note I weeping follow'd;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
This was my wish,—Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd,
For making me, so young, so old a widow!
And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife (if any be so mad ^note)
More miserable ^note by the life of ^note thee,
Than thou ^note hast made me by my dear lord's death!
Lo, ere I ^note can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, ^note my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And prov'd the subject ^note of my own ^note soul's curse:
Whith ^note hitherto hath held mine ^note eyes from rest;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy ^note the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd ^note.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt ^note, shortly be rid of me.

Que.
Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining. ^note

Ann.
No more than with my ^note soul I mourn for yours.

Dor.
Farewel, thou woful welcomer of glory. ^note

Ann.
Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st ^note thy leave of it.

Dut.
Go thou to Richmond, And good fortune guide thee!—
Go thou to Richard, And good angels tend thee ^note!—
Go thou to sanctuary, And good thoughts possess thee!—
I to my grave, Where peace and rest lye with me!
Eighty odd ^note years of sorrow have I seen,
And each hour's joy wreck'd with a week of teen.

Que.
Stay yet; look back, with me, unto the tower.— ^note
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones,
Rude ragged nurse, old sullen play-fellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow ^note bids your stones farewel. [Exeunt.

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