Johnson.

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

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
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,
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 spy 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.
Plots 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 murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul! here Clarence

[comes.

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 shall 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 wo

men;

'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she,
That tempers him to this extremity.

Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, 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 humble 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 this 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.

N*

[bury,

Glo. Even so an please your worship, Braken-
You may partake of any thing 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 gentle folks:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do.

Glo. Naught to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, 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:-Would'st thou betray me? [withal, Brak. I beseech your grace to pardon me; and, 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: Mean time, have patience. Clar.

I must perforce; farewell. [Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and guard. Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return,

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.

[too;

Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence 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 Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he that kept an evil diet long,

And over-much consum'd his royal person; 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed?

Hast.

He is.

Gio. 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?
The readiest way to make the wench amends,

When they are gone, then must I count my gains. (Exit.

SCENE II.-The same. Another Street. Enter the corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, borne in an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halberds, to guard it; and Lady ANNE as mourner. 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!
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspéct
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. [fiend, Anne. What black magician conjures up this To stop devoted charitable deeds?

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

1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. [mand: Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I comAdvance thy halberd 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 had'st 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 us not;

For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries:-
O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh !-
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells;

Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provoses this deluge most nonatural.—

O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his
death!
[dead,
Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer
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.-
Vonchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. [have Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

[make

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

[cus'd;

Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. Anne. Aud, by despairing, shalt thou stand exFor doing worthy vengeance on thyself, That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. Glo. Say, that I slew them not? Anne.

Why then, they are not dead: 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 soul's throat thou liest; queen Mar

garet saw

Thy murderous faulchion smoking in his blood;
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glo. I was provoked by her slanderous tongue,
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind,
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries:
Didst thou not kill this king?

Glo.
I grant ye.
Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog? then, God
grant me too,

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

[him. Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never

Anne. Ill 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 method;-
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry, and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner?

[effect.
Anne. Thou wast the canse, and most accurs'd
Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty, which 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
wreck,

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. [earth.
Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the
Glo. He lives, that loves you 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. 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!

Here: (She spits at him.) Why dost thou spit at me?

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 sa❜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 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 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.

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 figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me,
both are false.

Glo.

Was never true.

Anne.

Glo. Anne.

Then man Well, well, put up your sword. Glo. Say then, my peace is made. Anne. That shall you know Hereafter. But shall I live in hope?

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;
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.

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. 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; 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,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury?
A sweeter and a lovelier 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 mis-shapen 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.-
Shire 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; theres 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. Grey. The heavens have bless'd 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 determin'd, not concluded yet:
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.

Enter BUCKINGHAM and STANLEY.

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,

To your good prayer will scarcely say-amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife,
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
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 accus'd 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.

Q. Eliz.What likelihood of his amendment, lords? Buck. Madam, good hope; his grace speaks [with him?

cheerfully.

Q. Eliz. God grant him health! Did you confer Buck. Ay, madam: he desired to make atonement Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers, And between them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. Q. Eliz. 'Would all were well!-But that will never be;

I fear, our happiness is at the height.

Enter GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET.
Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it :-
Who are they, that complain unto the king,
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly
That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair,
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog,
Duck with French nods and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.

Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?

[grace?

-

Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace. When have I injur'd thee? when done thee wrong?Or thee?-or thee?-or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal grace,Whom God preserve better than you would wish!— Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the

matter:

The king, of his own royal disposition,