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Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature.
Anne. Where is 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.
Oụt of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.
Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee
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 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 the 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 bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.
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. "Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then man was never true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you 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 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 : 2 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.
Annie. 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.
'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. Take up
Towards Chertsey, noble lord ?
Glo. No, to White-Friars ; 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 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 !
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, ber lord, whom I some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovlier 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,
shadow as I pass.
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.