Glo.

A C T I. SCENE I.

The court.

Enter Richard Duke of Gloucester folus.

N

OW is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious fummer by this fun of York;
And all the clouds that low'rd upon our
[houfe,

In the deep bofom of the ocean bury'd.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our ftern alarums change'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-vifage'd War hath fmooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, inftead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the fouls of fearful adverfaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lafcivious pleafing of a lute.

But I, that am not fhap'd for fportive tricks,
Nor made to court an am'rous looking-glafs ;-
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty,
To ftrut before a wanton, ambling nymph;
1, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by diffembling * Nature,
Deform'd, unfinifh'd, fent before my time
Into this breathing world, fcarce half made up;
And that fo lamely and unfafhionably,
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them:
Why I (in this weak piping time of peace)
Have no delight to pafs away the time,
Unless to spy my fhadow in the fun,
And defcant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, fince I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain thefe fair well-fpoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleafures of thefe days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,

*By diffembling is not meant hypocritical nature, that pretends one thing and does another; but nature that pu's together things of a diffmilar kind, as a brave foul and a deformed body.

Το

To fet my brother Clarence and the King
In deadly hate, the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just,
As I am fubtle, falfe, and treacherous,
This day fhould Clarence clofely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which fays, that G

Of Edward's heirs the murtherer fhall be.

Dive, thoughts, down to my foul! here Clarence comes.

Enter Clarence guarded, and Brakenbury.

Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your Grace?

Clar. His Majefty,

Tend'ring my perfon's fafety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Glo. Upon what cause?

Clar. Becaufe my name is George.

Glo. Alack, my Lord, that fault is none of your's: He should for that commit your godfathers.

Belike his Majefty hath fome intent,

That you

fhould be new chriftened in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence, may 1 know? Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest yet I do not; but, as I can learn,

As

He hearkens after prophecies and dreams,

And from the cross-row plucks the letter G;
And fays a wizard told him, that by G
His iffue difinherited fhould be.

And for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he.
Thefe, as I learn, and fuch like toys as thefe,
Have mov'd his Highnefs to commit me now.

Glo. Why this it is, when men are rul'd by women. 'Tis not the King that fends you to the Tower; My Lady Gray his wife, Clarence, 'tis fhe,

That tempts him to this harsh extremity.

Was it not fhe, and that good man of worship,
Anthony Woodvil her brother there,

That made him fend Lord Haftings to the Tower?
From whence this day he is delivered.

We are not fafe; Clarence, we are not fafe.

Clar. By Heav'n, I think there is no man fecure

But

But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds.
That trudge between the King and Mistress Shore.
Heard you not what an humble fuppliant
Lord Haltings 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 goflips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beg your Graces both to pardon me:
His Majesty has ftraitly giv'n in charge,

That no man fhall have private conference,
Of what degree foever, with your brother.

Gl. Ev'nfo, an't please your Worship, Brakenbury! You may partake of any thing we say:

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, myself have nought to do. Glo. What, fellow? nought to do with Miftrefs 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 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 must 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 pleafeth neither of us well.

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

Mean time have patience.

Clar. I must perforce; farewel. Exe. Brak. Clar. Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return: Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee fo, That I will shortly 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 cause of my imprisonment.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and fo fhall 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 phyficians fear him mightily.

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

Ó, 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 Haflings.

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 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 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.

SCENE II. Changes to a street.

[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 shrouded in a herfe;
Whilft I a while obfequiously lament
The 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 ghoft,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd fon :
Stabb'd by the self-fame hand that made thefe wounds.
Lo, in thefe windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helplefs balm of my poor eyes.
Curs'd be the hand that made these 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 wish 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 !

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