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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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SCENE I. The COURT. Flourish. Enter King Edward sick, the Queen, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Catesby, Buckingham, and Woodvil.

K. Edward.
Why so; now have I done a good day's work.
You Peers continue this united league:
I every day expect an embassage
From my redeemer to a noterecall me hence.
And b notenow in peace my soul shall part to heav'n,
Since I have made my friends at peace on earth;
Hastings and Rivers, take each other's hand,
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.

Riv.
By heav'n, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate,
And with my hand I seal my true heart's love.

Hast.
So thrive I, as I truly swear the like.

K. Edw.
Take heed you dally not before your King,
Lest he that is the supream King of Kings
Confound your hidden falshood, and award
Either of you to be the other's end.

-- 350 --

Hast.
So prosper I, as I swear perfect love.

Riv.
And I, as I love Hastings with my heart.

K. Edw.
Madam, your self is not exempt from this;
Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham nor you;
You have been factious one against the other.
Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand,
And what you do, do it unfeignedly.

Queen.
There Hastings, I will never more remember
Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine.

K. Edw.
Dorset, embrace him: Hastings, love lord Marquiss.

Dor.
This interchange of love, I here protest,
Upon my part, shall be inviolable.

Hast.
And so swear I.

K. Edw.
Now Princely Buckingham, seal thou this league
With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
And make me happy in your unity.

Buck.
When ever Buckingham doth turn his hate
Upon your grace, and not with duteous love, [To the Queen.
Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me
With hate in those where I expect most love.
When I have most need to imploy a friend,
And most assured that he is a friend,
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
Be he to me; this do I beg of heaven,
When I am cold in zeal to you or yours.
[Embracing Riv. &c.

K. Edw.
A pleasing cordial, Princely Buckingham,
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
There wanteth now our brother Glo'ster here,
To make the blessed period of this peace.

Buck.
And in good time, here comes the noble Duke.
Enter Ratcliff and Gloucester.

Glo.
Good morrow to my Sovereign King and Queen,

-- 351 --


And Princely Peers a happy time of day.

K. Edw.
Happy indeed, as we have spent the day:
Brother, we have done deeds of charity,
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate,
Between these swelling wrong-incensed Peers.

Glo.
A blessed labour, my most Sovereign Liege:
Among this Princely heap, if any here
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise
Hold me a foe: if I unwittingly
Have ought committed that is hardly born
By any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace:
'Tis death to me to be at enmity;
I hate it, and desire all good men's love.
First, madam, I intreat true peace of you,
Which I will purchase with my duteous service.
Of you my noble cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us.
Of you and you, lord Rivers and of Dorset,
That all without desert have frown'd on me:
Of you lord Woodvil, and lord Scales of you,
Dukes, Earls, lords, gentlemen, indeed of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive,
With whom my soul is any jot at odds,
More than the infant that is born to-night;
I thank my God for my humility.

Queen.
A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter;
I would to God all strifes were well compounded.
My Sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.

Glo.
Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this,
To be so flouted in this royal presence?
Who knows not that the gentle Duke is dead? [They all start.

-- 352 --


You do him injury to scorn his coarse.

K. Edw.
Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is?

Queen.
All-seeing heaven, what a world is this?

Buck.
Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest?

Dor.
Ay, my good lord; and no man in the presence
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.

K. Edw.
Is Clarence dead? the order was revers'd.

Glo.
But he, poor man, by your first order died,
And that a winged Mercury did bear:
Some tardy cripple had the countermand,
That came too lag, to see him buried.
God grant, that some less noble, and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood,
Deserve no worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go currant from suspicion.
Enter Earl of Derby.

Derby.
A boon, my Sov'raign, for my service done.

K. Edw.
I pr'ythee peace, my soul is full of sorrow.

Derby.
I will not rise, unless your highness hear me.

K. Edw.
Then say at once, what is it thou request'st.

Derby.
The forfeit, Sov'raign, of my servant's life,
Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman,
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.

K. Edw.
Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death?
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him? who, in my wrath,
Kneel'd at my feet; and bid me be advis'd?
Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love?
Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?

-- 353 --


Who told me in the field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me?
And said, dear brother live and be a King?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field,
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Ev'n in his garments, and did give himself
All thin and naked to the numb cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters, or your waiting vassals
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd
The precious image of our dear redeemer,
You strait are on your knees for pardon, pardon,
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you.
But for my brother, not a man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, spake unto my self
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholden to him in his life:
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
O God! I fear thy justice will take hold
On me, and you; and mine, and yours, for this.
Come Hastings help me to my closet. Ah!
Poor Clarence! [Exeunt some with the King and Queen.

Glo.
These are the fruits of rashness: mark'd you not,
How that the guilty kindred of the Queen
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death?
O! they did urge it still unto the King.
God will revenge it. Come, lords, will you go,
To comfort Edward with our company?
[Exeunt.

-- 354 --

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George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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