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Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Wara

wick, Ay, and forswore himself,—Which Jesu pardon! Q. Mar. Which God revenge !

Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown; And, for his meed, 2 poor lord, he is mew'd 3 up: I would to God, my heart were flint like Edward's, Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine; I am too childish-foolish for this world. Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this

world,
Thou cacodæmon !4 there thy kingdom is.

Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days,
Which here you urge, to prove us enemies,
We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king;
So should we you,

if you

should be our king.
Glo. If I should be?-I had rather be a pedlar :
Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof!

Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose.
You should enjoy, were you this country's king;
As little joy you may suppose in me,
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.

Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing.
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that which you have pillids from me:
Which of you trembles not, that looks on me?
If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects ;
Yet that, by you depos’d, you quake like rebels ? -

2 Reward,

3 Confined.
5 Pillaged.

4 Corrupt devil.

Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!
Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st 'thou in

my sight? Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make, before I let thee go.

Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death?
Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in ba-

nishment,
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me,
And thou, a kingdom ;-all of you, allegiance :
This sorrow that I have, by right is yours;
And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine.

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee,
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with

paper, And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes; And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland;His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounc'd against thee, are all fall’n upon thee ; And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent.

Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless, that e’er was heard of. Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re

ported. Dors. No man but prophecied revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to

see it.

Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all, before I

came, Ready to catch each other by the throat,

And turn you

all
your

hatred now on me?
Did York's dread curse prevail.so much with heaven,
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
Could all but answer for that peevish brat ?
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven ?-
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick

curses !
Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder, to make him a king !
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence !
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self !
Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss;
And see another, as I see thee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stallid in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death ;
And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
Rivers,--and Dorset,--you were standers by,
And so wast thou, lord Hastings,—when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers; God, I pray him,
That none of you may

live
your natural

age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off ! Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd

hag. Q: Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou

shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store, Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,

1

peace !

0, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee,' the troubler of the

poor world's
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils !
Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive, rooting hog !
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature, and the son of hell!
Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins !
Thou rag of honour! thou detested-

Glo. Margaret.
Q. Mar.

Richard !
Glo.

Ha?
Q. Mar.

I call thee not. Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think, That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.

Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse.

Glo.. 'Tis done by me ; and ends in-Margaret.
Q. Eliz. Thus have

you
breath'd

your curse against yourself. ; Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my

fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

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. Alluding to Gloster's form and venom.

Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad.

Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantick curse;
Lest, to thy harm, 'thou move our patience.
Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all mov’d

mine.
Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught

your duty.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me

duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty.

Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatick.

Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert:
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current ::
0, that your young nobility could judge,
What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable !
They that stand high, have many blasts to shake

them ;

And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.
Glo. Good counsel, marry; - learn it, learn it,

marquis.
Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.

Glo. Ay, and much more : But I was born so high,
Our aiery 8 buildeth in the cedar's top,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.
Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ;-alas!

alas!
Witness my son, now in the shade of death;
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath

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