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INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.

THIS History was originally published in 1597. It was reprinted four times in quarto previous to its appearance in the folio of 1623.

To understand the character of the Richard III.' of Shakspere, we must have traced its development by the author of the previous plays. Those who study the subject carefully will find how entire the unity is preserved between the last of these four dramas, which everybody admits to be the work of the "greatest name in all literature," in an unbroken link with the previous drama, which some have been in the habit of assigning to some obscure and very inferior writer. We are taught to open the Life and Death of King Richard III.,' and to look upon the extraordinary being who utters the opening lines as some new creation, set before us in the perfect completeness of self-formed villainy. We have not learnt to trace the growth of the mind of this bold bad man; to see how his bravery became gradually darkened with ferocity; how his prodigious talents insensibly allied themselves with cunning and hypocrisy; how, in struggling for his house, he ultimately proposed to struggle for himself; how, in fact, the bad ambition would be naturally kindled in his mind, to seize upon the power which was sliding from the hands of the voluptuous Edward, and the "simple, plain Clarence."

The poet of the Richard III.' goes straightforward to his object; for he has made all the preparation in the previous dramas. No gradual development is wanting of the character which is now to sway the action. The struggle of the houses up to this point has been one only of violence; and it was therefore anarchical. "The big-boned" Warwick, and the fiery Clifford, alternately presided over the confusion. The power which changed the

"Dreadful marches to delightful measures," seemed little more than accident. But Richard proposed to himself to subject events to his domination, not by courage alone, or activity, or even by the legitimate exercise of a commanding intellect, but by the clearest and coolest perception of the strength which he must inevitably possess who unites the deepest sagacity to the most thorough unscrupulousness in its exercise, and is an equal master of the weapons of force and of craft.

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The character of Richard is essentially different from any other character which Shakspere has drawn. His bloody violence is not that of Macbeth; nor his subtle treachery that of Iago. It is difficult to say whether he derives a greater satisfaction from the success of his crimes, or from the consciousness of power which attends the working of them. This is a feature which he holds in common with Iago. But then he does not labour with a "motiveless malignity," as Iago does. He has no vague suspicions, no petty jealousies, no remembrance of slight affronts, to stimulate him to a disproportioned and unnatural vengeance. He does not hate his victims; but they stand in his way, and as he does not love them, they perish. Villains of the blackest die disguise their crimes even from themselves. Richard shrinks not from their avowal to others, for a purpose.

It is the result of the peculiar organization of Richard's mind, formed as it had been by circumstances as well as by nature, that he invariably puts himself in the attitude of one who is playing a part. It is this circumstance which makes the character (clumsy even as it has been made by the joinery of Cibber) such a favourite on the stage. It cannot be over-acted.

It is only in the actual presence of a powerful enemy that Richard displays any portion of his natural character. His bravery required no dissimulation to uphold it. In his last battle-field he puts forth all the resources of his intellect in a worthy direction: but the retribution is fast approaching. It was not enough for offended justice that he should die as a hero: the terrible tortures of conscience were to precede the catastrophe. The drama has exhibited all it could exhibit-the palpable images of terror haunting a mind already anticipating the end. "Ratcliff, I fear, I fear," is the first revelation of the true inward man to a fellow-being, But the terror is but momentary :

"Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls." To the last the poet exhibits the supremacy of Richard's intellect, his ready talent, and his unwearied energy. The tame address of Richmond to his soldiers, and the spirited exhortation of Richard, could not have been the result of accident.

KING RICHARD III.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

KING EDWARD IV.

Appears, Act II. sc. 1.

EDWARD PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards King
Edward V, son to the King.
Appears, Act III. sc. 1.

RICHARD, Duke of York, son to the King.

Appears, Act II. sc. 4. Act III. sc. 1.

GEORGE, Duke of Clarence, brother to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 1; sc. 4.

RICHARD, Duke of Gloster, afterwards King Richard III., brother to the King. Appears, Act I. sc. 1; sc. 2; sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1; sc. 2. Act III. se; sc. 4; sc. 5; sc. 7. Act IV. sc. 2; sc. 3; sc. 4. sc. 3; sc. 4.

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Act V.

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Appears, Act V. sc. 3; sc. 4.

EARL OF SURREY, son to the Duke of Norfolk. Appears, Act V. sc. 3.

EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward's Queen. Appears, Act I. sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1; sc. 2. Act III. sc. 3. MARQUIS OF DORSET, son to King Edward's Queen. Appears, Act I. se. 3. Act II. sc. 1; c. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. LORD GREY, 8on to King Edward's Queen. Appears, Act I. sc. 3. Act II. sc. 1. Act III. sc. 3. EARL OF OXFORD. Appears, Act V. sc. 2; sc. 3.

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LORD LOVEL.

Appears, Act IIl. sc. 4; sc. 5.

SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN.

Appears, Act III. sc. 3.

SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF.

Appears, Act II. sc. 2. Act III. sc. 3; sc. 4; sc. 5. sc. 3: sc. 4. Act V. sc. 3. SIR WILLIAM CATESBY.

Appears, Act I. sc. 3. Act III. sc. 2; sc. 5; sc. 7. sc. 2; sc. 4. Act V. sc. 3; sc. 4.

SIR JAMES TYRREL.
Appears, Act IV. sc. 2; sc. 3.

SIR JAMES BLOUNT.
Appears, Act V. sc. 2.

SIR WALTER HERBERT.

Appears, Act V. sc. 2.

Act IV

Act IV.

SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower
Appears, Act I. sc. 1; sc. 4. Act IV. sc. 1.
CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a Priest.
Appears, Act IV. sc. 5.

A Priest.

Appears, Act III. sc. 2.

Lord Mayor of London.

Appears, Act III. sc. 5; sc. 7.

Sheriff of Wiltshire.

Appears, Act V. sc. 1.

ELIZABETH, Queen of King Edward IV.

Appears, Act I. sc. 3.

Act II. sc. 1; so. 2; sc. 4. Act IV. sc. 1; sc. 4.

MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI.

Appears, Act I. sc. 3. Act IV. sc. 4.

DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV., Clarence, and Gloster.

Appears, Act II. sc. 2; sc. 4. Act IV. sc. 1; sc. 4. LADY ANNE, widow of Edward Prince of Wales, scn to King Henry VI., afterwards married to the Duke of Gloster.

Appears, Act I. sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. A young Daughter of Clarence. Appears, Act II. sc. 2. Act IV. sc. 1. Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, &c.

SCENE, ENGLAND.

SCENE I.-London. A Street.

Enter GLOSTER.

Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York;" And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

ACT I.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings;

An allusion to the cognizance of Edward IV., whic: adopted after the battle of Mortimer's Cross:

"Dazzle mine eyes or do I see three suns ?""

as

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front:
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ;-

I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty

To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;—
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,

a Barbed. Barbed and barded appear to have been D differently applied to a caparisoned horse.

Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;-
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plts have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And, if king Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that G

Of Edward's heirs the murtherer shall be.

Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence comes.

Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY.
Brother, good day: What means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?

Clar.
His majesty,
Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.

Glo. Upon what cause?
Clar.

Because my name is George. Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers O, belike, his majesty hath some intent That you should be new christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: But, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, And says, a wizard told him, that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he: These, as I learn, and such-like toys as these, Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Glo. Why, this it is when men are rul'd by women:
"T is not the king that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 't is she
That tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she and that good man of worsnip,
Antony Woodville, her brother there,

That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower,
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.

Clar. By Heaven, I think there is no man secure
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore.
Heard you not what an bumble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.

I'll tell you what,-I think it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men and wear her livery:
The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me;
His majesty hath straitly given in charge
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever, with his brother.

Glo. Even so; an please your worship, Brakenbury,

:

You may partake of anything we say:
We speak no treason, man :—we say, the king
Is wise and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue:
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to da Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell ther, fellow,

He that doth naught with her, excepting one,
Were best to do it secretly, alone.

Brak. What one, my lord?

Glo. Her husband, knave:-Wouldst thou betray me 1 Brak. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; and,

withal,

Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey
Brother, farewell: I will unto the king;
And whatsoe er you will employ me in,-
Were it to call king Edward's widow sister,-
I will perform it, to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver you, or else lie for you: a
Meantime, have patience.
Clar.

I must perforce; farewell. [Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er retum, Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If Heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings. Enter HASTINGS.

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to this open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment.

Glo. No doubt, no doubt, and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. What news abroad?

Hast. No news so bad abroad as this at home:
The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his physicians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by St. Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person;
"T is very grievous to be thought upon.
Where is he? in his bed?

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Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.
[Exit HASTINGS

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die
Till George be pack'd with posthorse up to heaven.
I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments:
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter.
What though I kill'd her husband and her father,
a Lie for you-be imprisoned in your stead.

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Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load,—
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,-
Whilst I a while obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,

To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,

Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds!
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes:
O, cursed be the hand that made these holes!
Cursed the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect

May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him,
Than I am made by my young lord, and thee!
Come now, toward Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there;
And, still as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse.

[The bearers take up the corpse, and advance.
Enter GLOSTER.

Glo. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys!

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I command: Advance thy alberd higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

[The bearers set down the coffin. Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell!

Thou hadst but power over his mortal body,

His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.

Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble

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O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 't is thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death'
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death
Either, Heaven, with lightning strike the murtherer dead
Or, earth, gape open wide and eat him quick,
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man ;
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry!
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed crimes to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
For these known evils but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou cans! make

No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair I should accuse myself.
Anne. And by despairing shalt thou stand excus'd,
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I slew them not.
Anne. Then say, they were not slain.

But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne.
Why, then he is alive.
Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.
Anne. In thy foul throat thou liest; queen Margaret

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Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed!
O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.

Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath him. Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. Glo. Let him thank me that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me naine it.
Anne. Some dungeon.

Glo.

Your bed-chamber.

Anne. Il rest betide the chamber where thou liest!
Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.

Glo. I know so.-But, gentle lady Anne,
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower niethod,
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths

Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,

As blameful as the executioner?

Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs delect.

Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, that did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's
wrack;

You should not blemish it if I stood by:
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy
life!

Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both.
Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.
Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,

To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.
Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
Glo. He lives that loves thee better than he could.
Anne. Name him.

Glo.

Anne.

Plantagenet.

Why, that was he. Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature. Anne. Where is he?

Glo. 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.
Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead!
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,
No, 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 sued to friend, nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing 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 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.

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:

Glo.

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. "T is figur'd 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 shalt thou 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 my 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 most cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-house :
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monastery, 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.

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me toc
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. Take up the corse, sirs.
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 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 eyes,
The bleeding witness of her hatred by;
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against ne,
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
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature,

[He lays his breast open; she offers at Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,

it with his sword.

Nay, do not pause; for I did kill king Henry;-
But 't was thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now despatch; 't was I that stabb'd young Ed-
[She again offers at his breast.
But 't was thy heavenly face that set me on.

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ward;

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 woeful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus? [She lets fall the sword. My dukedom to a beggarly denier, a Expedient-expeditious.

the sword again, or take up me.

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