For now they kill me with a living death.

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops:
These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,—
Not, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him:
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death;

And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time,
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;

And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
I never su'd to friend, nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee,

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
[She looks scornfully at him.
Teach, not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.

If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,

Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,

And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

[He lays his Breast open; she offers at it with his Sword. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry;

But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.

Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward;- [She again offers at his Breast.

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

[She lets fall the Sword.

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Anne. Arise dissembler; though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Glo. Then bi me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.

Gle.

That was in thy rage:

Speak it again, and, even with the word,

This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love,
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love;

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. I would, I knew thy heart.

Glo.
My tongue.
Anne.

'Tis figur'd in

I fear me, both are false.

I hope, live so.

Glo.

Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

Anne. To take, is not to give. [She puts on the Ring. Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;

Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may

But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,

Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

Anne. What is it?

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby-place: Where-after I have solemnly interr'd, At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this boon.

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me.

Glo. Bid me farewel.

K

Anne.

But, since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewel already.

'Tis more than you deserve:

[Exeunt Lady ANNE, Tress. and Berk.

Glo. Take up the corse, sirs.

Gent.

Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Glo. No, to White-Fryars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the corse.

Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?

Was ever woman in this humour won?

I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;

With God, her conscience, and these bars against me,
And I no friends to back my suit withal,

But the plain devil, and dissembling looks,,
And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!
Ha!

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,

Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,—

Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,-
The spacious world cannot again afford:

And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,

And made her widow to a woful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?

On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus?

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,

I do mistake my person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favour with myself,

I will maintain it with some little cost.

But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave;
And then return lamenting to my love.-
Shine out, fair sun, 'till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.

SCENE III.

The same. A Room in the Palace.

[Exit.

Enter Queen ELIZABETH, Lord RIVERS, and Lord GREY. Riv. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt, his

majesty

Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me? Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord.

Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter, when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector?
Q. Eliz. It is determin❜d, not concluded yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY.

Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace!

Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have been!
Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of
Stanley,

To your good prayer will scarcely say-amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she 's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers;

Or, if she be accus'd on true report,

Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice,
Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of Stanley?
Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I,
Are come from visiting his majesty.

Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords? Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully.

Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer with him?

Buck. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement
Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers,
And between them and my lord chamberlain;
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.

Q. Eliz. 'Would all were well!-But that will never be;

I fear, our happiness is at the height.

Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET. Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it :Who are they, that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly, That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abus'd By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace. When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong ?— Or thee?or thee?-or any of your faction?

A plague upon you all! His royal grace,—
Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while,

But you must trouble him with lewd complaints.

Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter: