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These, as I learn, and such-like toys as these,
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Glo. 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 tempers him to this extremity. (1)
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodville, her brother there, (2)
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.

Clar. By heaven, I think there is no man secure
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore.
Heard ye not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings 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 gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. Beseech (8) 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.

Glo. Even so; an please your worship, Brakenbury,
You may partake of any thing we say :
We speak no treason, man ;-we say the king
Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous ;-
We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue ;(4)
And that the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks :
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.
Glo. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee,

fellow, VOL. V.

AA

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord ?
Glo. Her husband, knave :-wouldst thou betray me?
Brak. Beseech) your grace to pardon me; and, withal,

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Forbear your conference with the noble duke.

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

Glo. We are the queen’s abjects, and must obey.-
Brother, farewell: I will unto the king ;
And whatsoe'er you will employ me in,-
Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,—
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.

Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver you, or else lie for you:
Meantime, have patience.
Clar.

I must perforce : farewell.

[Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. Glo. 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.
Hast. 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?

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

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and go shall Clarence too;
For they that were your enemies are his,
And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

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

Glo. What news abroad ?

Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home,
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And overmuch consum'd his royal person :
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed?

Hast. He is.
Glo. 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 must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes ; Edward still lives and reigns :
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit.

SCENE II. The same. Another street.

Enter the corpse of King HENRY the Sixth, borne in an open coffin,

Gentlemen with halberds to guard it,-among them TRESSEL
and BERKELEY ; and Lady ANNE as mourner.

Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load,
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament

Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.

[The Bearers set down the coffin. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! Pale ashes 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 slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : 0, cursèd be the hand that made these holes ! Cursèd the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursèd the blood that let this blood from hence ! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, 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 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 miserable by the death of him Than I am made by my young lord and thee !Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interrèd there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse

[The Bearers take up the coffin and move forwards.

Enter GLOSTER.
Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

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

Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys !

First Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand 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.

[The Bearers set down the coffin.
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 minister of hell!
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,-
His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, be gone.

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

Anne. 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, 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 murderer dead; Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butcherèd !

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

Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man:
No beast so fierce but knows some 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 these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,

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