K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be them? Gray. What you command, that refts in me to do. K. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon? Gray. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. Gray. Why, then I will do what your Grace commands. Glo. He plies her hard, and much rain wears the marble. Clar. As red as fire! nay, then her wax muft melt. Gray. Why ftops my lord ? fhall I not hear my task ? K. Edw. An eafie task, 'tis but to love a King. Gray. That's foon perform'd, because I am a Subject. K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. Gray. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. Glo. The match is made, fhe feals it with a curtfie. K. Edw. But ftay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. Gray. The fruits of love I mean, my loving Liege. K. Edw. Ay, but I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'ft thou, I fue fo much to get? Gray. My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean fuch love. Gray. Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. K. Edw, But now you partly may perceive my mind. Gray. My mind will never grant what I perceive Your Highness aims at, if I aim aright. K. Edw. To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. Gray. Why, then mine honefty fhall be my dower; K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. Gray. Herein your Highnefs wrongs both them and me: But, But, mighty lord, this merry inclination K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt fay, Ay, to my requeft: No; if thou doft fay, No, to my demand. Gray. Then, No, my lord; my fuit is at an end. And the shall be my love, or elfe my Queen. But far unfit to be a Sovereign. K. Edw. Sweet Widow, by my State I.fwear to thee, I speak no more than what my foul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. Gray. And that is more than I will yield unto : I know, I am too mean to be your Queen; And yet too good to be your Concubine. K. Edw. You cavil, Widow; I did mean, my Queen. Gray. 'Twill grieve your Grace, my fons fhould call you father. K. Edw. No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou haft fome children; Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queen. Glo. The ghoftly father now hath done his fhrift. Glo. The widow likes it not, for the looks fad. her. VOL. V. G Clar. Clar. To whom, my lord? K. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself. Glo. That would be ten days' Wonder at the least. K. Edw. Well, jeft on, Brothers ; I can tell you both, Her fuit is granted for her husband's lands. Enter a Nobleman. Nob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your Palace-gate. K. Edw. See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, Brothers, to the man that took him, To queftion of his Apprehenfion. Widow, go you along: Lords, ufe her honourably. Manet Gloucester. [Exeunt. Glo. Ay, Edward will ufe women honourably. 'Would he were wafted, marrow, bones, and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for. foul's defire and me, (The luftful Edward's Title buried) Is Clarence, Henry, and his fon And between my yet young Edward; eye, Well, Well, fay there is no Kingdom then for Richard: And 'witch fweet ladies with my words and lcoks. I'll make my heav'n to dream upon the Crown; That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, Torment myself to catch the English Crown, Why, I can fmile, and murther while I fmile; And frame my face to all occafions : G 2 I'll drown more failors, than the Mermaid fhall; SCENE changes to France. [Exit. Flourish. Enter King Lewis, Lady Bona, Bourbon, Edward Prince of Wales, Queen Margaret, and the Earl of Oxford. Lewis fits, and rifeth up again. K. Lew. FAIR Queen of England, worthy Margaret, down with us; it ill befits thy State, And Birth, that thou should'ft ftand, while Lewis fits. K. Lew. Why, fay, fair Queen, whence fprings this Queen. From fuch a cause as fills mine eyes with tears; And ftops my tongue, while my heart's drown'd in cares. K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou ftill like thyself, And fit thee by our fide. Yield not thy neck [Seats her by him. To fortune's yoak, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; Queen. Thofe gracious words revive my drooping And |