For now they kill me with a living death.

Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops.
These eyes, which never shed remorseful1 tear,-
No,-when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-faced 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 bedashed 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 soothing word;
But now thy beauty is proposed 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 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.

[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 stabbed young

Edward;

[She again offers at his breast.

[She lets fall the sword

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

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.

Glo.

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 figured 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.
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 favor at thy gracious hand,

Thou dost confirm his happiness forever.

Anne. What is it?

Glo. That it may please you leave these sad design s To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby-place;1 Where-after I have solemnly interred, At Chertsey monast'ry, this noble king,

1 Crosby Place is now Crosby Square, in Bishopsgate Street. Thi magnificent house was built in 1466, by sir John Crosby, grocer an woolman. He died in 1475. The ancient hall of this fabric is still re maining, though divided by an additional floor, and encumbered wit modern galleries, having been converted into a place of worship for Anti nomians, &c. The upper part of it was lately the warehouse of an eminen packer. Sir J. Crosby's tomb is in the neighboring church of St. Hele the Great.

And wet his grave with my repentant tears-
I will with all expedient1 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 White Friars; there attend my coming.

[Exeunt the rest, with the corse.

Was ever woman in this humor wooed?

Was ever woman in this humor won?

I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that killed her husband, and his father,
To take her in her heart's extremest hate;

With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

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!

Ha!

Hath she forgot already that brave prince,

Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,
Stabbed in my angry mood at Tewksbury??
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman-

1 i. e. expeditious.

2 This fixes the exact time of the scene to August, 1471. King Edward, however, is introduced in the second act dying. That king died in April, 1483; consequently there is an interval between this and the next act of almost twelve years. Clarence, who is represented in the preceding scene as committed to the Tower before the burial of king Henry VI., was in fact not confined nor put to death till March, 1477-8, seven years afterwards.

Framed 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 cropped 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,1

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 favor 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 accustomed 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.

Grey. The Heavens have blessed you with a goodly

son,

To be your comforter when he is gone.

Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young; and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster,

A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Riv. Is it concluded he shall be protector?
Q. Eliz. It is determined, not concluded yet;
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Το

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY.1

Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and Stanley.

Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace! Stan. God make your majesty joyful as you have

been!

Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord of Stanley,

your good prayer will scarcely say-Amen. Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured, I hate not you for her proud arrogance.

Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers;
Or, if she be accused on true report,

Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.
Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of
Stanley?

Stan. But now, the duke of Buckingham, and I, Are come from visiting his majesty.

1 By inadvertence, in the old copies Derby is put for Stanley. The person meant was Thomas lord Stanley, lord steward of king Edward the Fourth's household. But he was not created earl of Derby, till after the accession of king Henry VII. In the fourth and fifth acts of this play, he is every where called lord Stanley.

2 Margaret, daughter to John Beaufort, first duke of Somerset. After the death of her first husband, Edmund Tudor, earl of Richmond, halfbrother to king Henry VI., by whom she had only one son, afterwards king Henry VII., she married sir Henry Stafford, uncle to Humphrey, duke of Buckingham.