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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 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 :

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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 butchered!

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 supposèd evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

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

For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

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

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself.

Anne. And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excus'd
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Glo. Say that I slew them not?
Anne,

Why, then, they are not dead: But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.

Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne.

Why, then, he is alive.
Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest : Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glo. I was provokèd by her slanderous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries :
Didst thou not kill this king ?

Glo.

Anne. Dost grant me, hedgehog ? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed ! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous !

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

Glo. Let him thank me, that holp 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 else, if you will hear me name it.
Anne. Some dungeon.
Glo.

Your bed-chamber.
Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest !
Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.

I grant ye.

Glo.

I know 80.-But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhát into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner ?

Anne. Thou wast the cause and most accurs'd effect.

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live) one hour in your sweet bosom.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's wreck;
You should not blemish it, if I stood by:
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!
Glo. Curse not thyself, 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 just 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 selfsame name, but one of better nature.
Anne. Where is he?
Glo.

Here. [She spits at him.] Why dost
thou spit at me ?
Anne. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!
Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

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