Duch. Why fhould calamity be full of words? Queen. Windy attorneys to their client-woes, Airy fucceeders of inteftate joys, Poor breathing orators of miferies! Let them have scope, tho' what they do impart Help nothing elfe, yet they do ease the heart. Duch. If fo they be not tongue-ty'd. Go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's fmother S CE NE V. Enter King Richard, and his Train. K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition? Duch. O, fhe that might have intercepted thee, By ftrangling thee in her accurfed womb, From all the flaughters, wretch, that thou haft done. Queen. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be branded, if that right were right, The flaughter of the Prince that ow'd that crown, And the dire death of my poor fons and brothers Tell me, thou villain-flave, where are my children? Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother And little Ned Plantagenet his fon? [Clarence, Queen. Where is kind Haftings, Rivers, Vaughan, Gray? K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets! ftrike alarum, drums! Let not the heav'n hear thefe tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike, I fay. [Flourish. Alarums. -Either be patient, and intreat me fair, K. Rich. Ay, I thank God, my father, and your felf. Duch. Then patiently, hear my impatience. K. Rich, Madam, I have a touch of your condition, That cannot brook the accent of reproof. Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. K. Rich. And brief, good mother, for I am in hafte. Duch. Art thou fo hafty? I have staid for thee, God knows in anguifh, pain, and agony. K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'ft it well, Thou cam'ft on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burden was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy fchool-days frightful, defp'rate, wild and furious; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold and venturous; K. Rich Faith, none but Humphry Houre, that To breakfast once forth of my company. Let me march on, and not offend your Grace. Duch I pr'ythee hear me fpeak. K. Rich. You fpeak too bitterly. For I fhall never fpeak to thee again. K. Rich. So, Duch. Either thou'lt die by God's just ordinance, Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror; Or I with grief and extreme age fhall perifh," Therefore take with thee my mot heavy curfe; And promise them fuccefs and victory! Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end! Shame ferves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Ex. Queen. Tho' far more caufe, yet much lets fpirit to curfe Abides in me. I fay Amen to her. [Going K. Rich. Stay, Madam, I muft fpeak a word with Queen. I have no more fons of the royal blood For thee to flaughter: for my daughters, Richard, They fhall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives. K Rich. You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. Queen. And muft fhe die for this? O let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, flain her beauty, Slander myself as false to Edward's bed, Throw over her the veil of infamy ;' So fhe may live unfcarr'd from bleeding flaughter, I will confefs the was not Edward's daughter. K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, fhe is of royal blood. Queen. To fave her life, I fay fhe is not fo. Queen. No, to their lives bad friends were con trary. K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. Queen. True; when avoided grace makes destiny, My babes were deftin'd to a fairer death, If grace had bleft thee with a fairer life. K. Rich. You fpeak as if that I had flain my coufins? Queen. Coufins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whofe hands foever lanc'd their tender hearts, Thy head, all indire&ly, gave direction. No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt But that still ufe of grief makes wild grief tame, K. Rich. Madam, fo thrive I in my enterprize, And dangerous fuccefs of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours by me were harm'd. Queen. What good is cover'd with the face of To be difcover'd, that can do me good?. [heav'n, K. Rich. Th' advancement of your children, gentle Lady. Queen. Up to fome fcaffold, there to lofe their heads. K. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory. Queen. Flatter my forrows with report of it. Tell me what ftate, what dignity, what honour, Canft thou demife to any child of mine? K Rich. Ev'n all I have; ay, and myfelf and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry foul Thou drown the fad remembrance of those wrongs Which thou fuppofeft I have done to thee. Queen. Be brief, left that the process of thy kindness Lait longer telling than thy kindness do. K. Rich. Then know, that from my foul I love thy daughter Queen. My daughter's mother thinks it with her foul: So from thy foul's love didit thou love her brothers; And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. t K. Rich. Be not fo hafty to confound my meanI mean, that with my foul I love thy daughter, [ing; And do intend to make her Queen of England. Queen. Say then, who doft thou mean fhall be her King? KRich By he that makes her Queen; who elfe fhould be?i sonial flavor of Queen. What thou! K. Rich. Even fo how think you of it? K. Rich. I would learn of you, As one being beft acquainted with her humour. K. Rich. With all my heart. Queen. Send to her, by the man that flew her brothers, A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engrave Tell her thou, mad'ft away her uncle Clarence, Mad'it quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. Queen. There's no other way, Uniefs thou couldft put on fome other fhape, Tway K. Rich Say that I did all this for love of her. hate thee, Having bought love with fuch a bloody spoil. K. Rich Look, what is done cannot be now Men fhall deal unadvifedly fometimes, amended; Which after-hours give leifure to repent of. If I did take the kingdom from your fons, To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter. If I have kill'd the ilue of your womb, To quicken your increafe I will beget Mine iffue of your blood. upon your daughter. A grandam's name is little lefs in love Than is the doting title of a mother They are as children but one ftep below, Ev'n of your metal, of your very blood; Of all one pain, fave for a night of groans Endur'd of her, for whom you bid * like sorrow. * Bid is the paft tenfe from bide. Johnson. |