Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.

K. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter.

Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with. her soul.

K. Rich. What do you think?

Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul:

So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers; And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it.

K. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my mean

ing:

I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Say then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king?

K. Rich. Even he that makes her queen: who else should be?

Q. Eliz. What, thou?

K. Rich. Even I: what think you of it, madam? Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her?

K. Rich.

That would I learn of you,

As one being best acquainted with her humour.

Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me?

K. Rich.

Madam, with all my heart.

Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her

brothers,

A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon engraven
'Edward and York;' then haply will she weep:
Therefore present to her,- -as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steeped in Rutland's blood,——
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies,
And bid her dry her weeping eyes withal.

If this inducement force her not to love,
Send her a story of thy noble deeds;

Tell her thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake,

Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
K. Rich. You mock me, madam; this is not the

way

To win your daughter.

Q. Eliz.

There's no other way; Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this.

K. Rich. Say that I did all this for love of her. Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee,

Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.

K. Rich. Look, what is done cannot be now amended:

Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'll give it to your daughter.
If I have killed the issue of your womb,
To quicken your increase, I will beget
Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter:
A grandam's name is little less in love
Than is the doting title of a mother;
They are as children but one step below,
Even of your mettle, of your very blood;
Of all one pain,-save for a night of groans
Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss you have is but a son being king,
And by that loss your daughter is made queen.

I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil,
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity:

The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife,
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother;
Again shall you be mother to a king,
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repaired with double riches of content.
What! we have many goodly days to see:
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed
Shall come again, transformed to orient pearl,
`Advantaging their loan with interest

Of ten times double gain of happiness.
Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience;
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale;
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess
With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys:
And when this arm of mine hath chastiséd
The petty rebel, dull-brained Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed;
To whom I will retail my conquest won,
And she shall be sole victress, Cæsar's Cæsar.

Q. Eliz. What were I best to say? her father's
brother

Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle?
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles?
Under what title shall I woo for thee,

That God, the law, my honour and her love,

Can make seem pleasing to her tender years?

K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.

Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting war.

K. Rich. Tell her the king, that may command,

entreats.

Q. Eliz. That at her hands which the king's King forbids.

K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.

Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title 'ever'

last?

K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life

last?

K. Rich. So long as heaven and nature lengthen

it.

Q. Eliz. So long as hell and Richard like of it. K. Rich. Say I, her sovereign, am her subject

love.

Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty.

K. Rich. Be eloquent in my behalf to her.
Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best being plainly

told.

K. Rich. Then in plain terms tell her my loving

tale.

Q. Eliz. Plain and not honest is too harsh a

style.

K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow and too

Q. Eliz. O no, my reasons are too deep and dead;

Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave. K. Rich Harp not on that string, madam; that is past.

Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings

break.

K. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and

my crown,

Q. Eliz. Profaned, dishonoured, and the third usurped.

K. Rich. I swear

Q. Eliz. By nothing; for this is no oath : The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; The garter, blemished, pawned his knightly virtue; The crown, usurped, disgraced his kingly glory. If something thou wilt swear to be believed,

Swear then by something that thou hast not wronged.

K. Rich. Now, by the world

Q. Eliz.

'T is full of thy foul wrongs

K. Rich. My father's death-
Q. Eliz.

Thy life hath that dishonoured.

K. Rich. Then, by myself-
Q. Eliz.

Thyself is self misused.

K. Rich. Why then, by God—
Q. Eliz.
God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him,
The unity the king thy brother made

Had not been broken, nor my brother slain :
If thou hadst feared to break an oath by Him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy brow,
Had graced the tender temples of my child,
And both the princes had been breathing here,