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 phyficians 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 perfon:
. '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 post-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 close intent,
Which I, by marrying her, must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence ftill breathes, Edward ftill lives and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit.
SCENE II. A Street.
Enter the Coarfe of Henry the Sixth, with balberds to guard
it, Lady Anne being the Mourner.
Anne. Set down, fet down your honourable load,
If honour may be fhrowded in a herse;
Whilft I a while obfequiously lament
Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor clay-cold figure of a holy King!
Pale afhes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood,
Be't lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd fon,
Stab'd by the felf-fame hand that made these wounds.
Lo, in these 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 afpect
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 Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there.
And still as you are weary of this weight,
Reft you, while I lament King Henry's Coarfe.
Enter Richard Duke of Gloucefter.
Glo. Stay you that bear the Coarfe, and fet it down,
anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend,
To ftop devoted charitable deeds?
Glo. Villains, fet down the Coarfe; or, by St. Paul, I'll make a Coarfe of him that disobeys.
Gent. My Lord, ftand back, and let the coffin pafs. 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 spurn 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.
Avant, thou dreadful minifter of hell!
Thou had'ft but pow'r over his mortal body,
His foul thou can'ft not hurt; therefore be gone.
Glo. Sweet faint, for charity, be not fo curft.
Anne. Foul dev'l! for God's fake hence, trouble us not, For thou haft made the happy earth thy hell: 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. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy prefence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells. Thy deeds inhuman 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 ftrike the murth❜rer dead
Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick,
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, bleffings 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 so angry :
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of thefe fuppofed crimes, to give me leave,
By circumftance, but to acquit my felf.
Anne. Vouchfafe, diffus'd infection of a man, For thefe 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 leifure to excufe my self.
Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee,
Thou canst make no excufe that will be currant,
Unless thou hang thy felf.
Glo. By fuch despair I should accuse my self.
Anne. And by despairing fhalt thou ftand excus'd,
For doing worthy vengeance on thy felf,
That didft unworthy flaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I flew them not.
Anne. Then fay, they were not slain:
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 Marg ret faw
Thy murd'rous faulchion fmoaking in his blood:
The which thou once didft bend against her breaft,
But that thy brothers beat afide the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her fland'rous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
Anne. Thou waft provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on ought but butcheries:
Didft thou not kill this King?
Anne. Doft grant me, hedge-hog? thenGod grant me too, Thou may'ft be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild and virtuous.
Glo. The fitter for the King of heav'n that hath him. - ́ Anne. He is in heav'n, where thou shalt never come. Glo. Let him thank me that help'd to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth.
Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Glo. Yes, one place elfe, if you will hear me name it.
Anne. Some dungeon.
Anne. Ill reft betide the chamber where thou lyeft!
Glo. So will it, madam, 'till I lye with you.
Anne. I hope fo.
Glo. And I know fo. But, gentle Lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall fomething into a flower method:
Is not the caufer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the Executioner ?
Anne. Thou waft the cause, and most accurft th' effect.
Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect:
Your beauty that did haunt me in my fleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bofom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
Thefe nails fhould rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Glo. Thefe eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck,
You should not blemish it, if I ftood by ;
As all the world is cheered by the fun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.
Anne. Black night o'er-fhade thy day, and death thy life!
Glo. Curfe not thy felf, fair creature, thou art both.
Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.
Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.
Anne. It is a quarrel juft and reasonable,
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd
my husband.
Glo. He that bereft thee, Lady, of thy husband,
Did it to help thee to a better husband.
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
Glo. He lives, that loves thee better than he could.
Anne. Name him.
Glo. Plantagenet.
Anne. Why, that was he.
Glo. The felf-fame name, but one of better nature.
Anne. Where is he?
Glo. Here: why doft thou spit at me? [She fpits at him.
Anne. Would it were mortal poison for thy fake!
Glo. Never came poifon from fo fweet a place.
Anne. Never hung poifon on a fouler toad.
Out of my fight! thou doft infect mine eyes.
Glo. Thine eyes, fweet Lady, have infected mine.
Anne. Would they were bafilifks to ftrike thee dead!
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once:
For now they kill me with a living death.
Thofe eyes of thine from mine have drawn falt tears;
Sham'd their afpects with ftore of childish drops:
These eyes, which never fhed remorseful tear,
Not when my father York, and Edward wept,
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