But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds,
That trudge between the King and Miftrefs Shore.
Heard you not what an humble fuppliant
Lord Haftings was to her for his delivery?
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity,
Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what; I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the King,
To be her men, and wear her livery.
The jealous o'erworn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty goffips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beg your Graces both to pardon me:
His Majefty has ftraitly giv'n in charge,
That no man fhall have private conference,
Of what degree foever, with your brother.

Glo. Ev'n fo, an't please your Worship, Brakenbury! You may partake of any thing we fay:

We speak no treason, man- we fay the King
Is wife and virtuous; and his Noble Queen
Well ftrook in years; fair, and not over-jealous
We fay that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a paffing pleafing tongue :
That the Queen's kindred are made gentle-folk.
How fay you, Sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my Lord, myfelf have nought to do.
Glo. What, fellow? nought to do with Mistress Shore?
I tell you, Sir, he that doth naught with her,
Excepting one, were beft to do it fecretly.
Brak. What one, my Lord?

Glo. Her husband, knave-wouldst thou betray me? Brak. I do befeech your Grace to pardon me, And to forbear your conf'rence with the Duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Glo. We are the Queen's abjects, and muft obey.
Brother, farewel; I will unto the King,
And whatfoe'er you will employ me in,
(Were it to call King Edward's widow fifter),
I will perform it to infranchife you.

Mean time, this deep difgrace of brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine,

Clar.

Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

Glo. Well, your imprisonment fhall not be long; I will deliver you, or else lie for you.

Mean time have patience.

Clar. I must perforce; farewel. Exe. Brak. Clar. Glo. Go, tread the path that thou fhalt ne'er return: Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee fo, That I will fhortly fend thy foul to heav'n, If heav'n will take the present at my hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Haftings? Enter Lord Haftings.

Haft. Good time of day unto my gracious Lord. Glo. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain ! Well are you welcome to the open air.

How hath your Lordship brook'd imprisonment? Haft. With patience, Noble Lord, as pris'ners must: But I fhall live, my Lord, to give them thanks, That were the caufe of my imprisonment.

Glo. 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.

Haft. More pity that the eagle fhould be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. What news abroad?

Haft. No news fo bad abroad as this at home: : The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy;

And his physicians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by St. Paul, that news is bad indeed.

O, he hath kept an evil diet long,

And over-much confum'd his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he? in his bed?

Haft. He is, my Lord.

Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.

[Exit Haftings.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
Till George be pack'd with poft-horse up to heav'n.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well fteel'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 buftle 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 fo much for love,
As for another fecret clofe intent,

Which I, by marrying her, must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence ftill breathes, Edward still lives and reigns;
When they are gone, then muft I count my gains.

SCENE II. Changes to a freet.

[Exit.

Enter the corfe of Henry the Sixth, with halberts to guard it, Lady Anne being the mourner.

Anne. Set down, fet down your honourable load, If honour may be throuded in a herfe; Whilft I a while obfequioufly lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor clay-cold figure of a holy King! Pale afhes of the houfe of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be't lawful that I invocate thy ghoft, To hear the lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd fon;

Stabb'd by the felf-fame hand that made these wounds. Lo, in thefe windows that let forth thy life,

I

pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.

Curs'd be the hand that made thefe fatal holes!
Curs'd be the heart that had the heart to do it!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can with to adders, fpiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious and untimely brought to light,
Whofe ugly and unnatural aspect

May fright the hopeful mother at the view:
And that be heir to his unhappiness!

If ever he have wife, let her be made

More miferable by the death of him,

Than I am made by my young Lord and thee !
Come now tow'rds Chertfey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there.
And ftill, as you are weary of this weight,
Reft you, while I lament King Henry's corfe.
Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester.

Glo. Stay, you that bear the corfe, and fet it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To ftop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo. Villains fet down the corfe, or, by St. Paul, I'll make a corfe of him that disobeys.

Gen. My Lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! ftand thou when I command; Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by St. Paul, I'll ftrike thee to my foot, And fpurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas! I blame you not, for you are mortal; And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minifter of hell! Thou hadft but power over his mortal body; His foul thou canst not hurt; therefore be gone. Glo. Sweet faint, for charity, be not fo curs'd. Anne. Foul dev'l! for God's fake, hence, trouble us For thou haft made the happy earth thy hell; [not; Fill'd it with curfing cries, and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. Oh, gentlemen, fee! fee dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh. Blufh, blufh, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy prefence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells. Thy deeds, inhumane and unnatural.

Provoke this deluge most unnatural.

O God! which this blood mad'ft, revenge his death: O Earth! which this blood drink'ft, revenge his death. Or, Heav'n, with lightning strike the murth'rer dead, Or, Earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick;

VOL. V.

Z

As

As thou doft fwallow up this good King's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!

Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, bleflings for curfes.
Anne. Villain, thou know'ft nor law of God nor man;
No beaft fo fierce, but knows fome touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth !—
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are fo angry.
Vouchfafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these fuppofed crimes, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchfafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumftance, to curfe thy curfed felf.

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

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canft

No excufe current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By fuch defpair I fhould accufe myself.

[make

Anne. And by despairing fhalt thou ftand excus'd,

For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,

That didit unworthy flaughter upon others.

Glo. Say that I flew them not.

Anne. Then fay they were not flain :

But dead they are, and, devilish flave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.

Anne. Why, then he is alive.

Glo. Nay, he is dead, and flain by Edward's hands. Anne. In thy foul throat thou ly'ft. Queen Margret Thy murd'rous faulchion fmoking in his blood: [faw The which thou once didft bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glo. I was provoked by her fland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltlefs fhoulders. Anne. Thou waft provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dream'd on aught but butcheries. Didft thou not kill this King?

Glo. I grant ye.

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

[too

Glo.