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 you better than he could.
Anne. Name him.

Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature.

Anne. Where is he?

Glo.

Why, that was he.

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.
Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once,
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 sued to friend, nor enemy;

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

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
[She looks at him scornfully.

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.

[Kneeling.

[He opens his breast: 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 ;

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 bid me kill myself, and I will do it.

That was in thy rage:

Anne. I have already.

Glo.

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. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me both are false.

Glo. Then, never man was true.

Anne. Well, well; put up your sword.
Glo. Say, then, my peace is made.

[Sheathing the sword.

Anne. That shalt thou know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take, is not to give.

[She puts it on.

Glo. Look, how my 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 most cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby-place: Where (after I have solemnly interr'd, At Chertsey monastery, 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 farewell.

Anne.

'Tis more than you deserve;

But since you teach me how to flatter you,

Imagine I have said farewell already.

[Exeunt Lady ANNE, TRESSEL, and BERKLEY.

Glo. Sirs, take up the corse.

Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

Glo. No, to Whitefriars; 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

The bleeding witness of my hatred by,

eyes,

Having 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 Tewkesbury?

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 mis-shapen 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 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.

[Exit.

SCENE III.-The Same. A Room in the Palace.

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.

4

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse:

-a beggarly DENIER,] A denier is the twelfth part of a French sous-a coin then in circulation.