GRAY. And that is more than I will yield unto. I know I am too mean to be your queen;
And yet too good to be your concubine.
K. EDW. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen. GRAY. "Twill grieve your grace, my fons fhould call you father.
K. EDW. No more than when my daughters call thee mother.
Thou art a widow, and thou haft fome children;
And, by God's mother, I,, being but a batchelor,
Have other fome. Why, 'tis a happy thing,
To be the father unto many fons.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen.
GLO. The ghoftly father now hath done his shrift.
CLAR. When he was made a fhriver, 'twas for fhift.
K. EDW. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have
Gro. The widow likes it not, for she looks fad.
K. Edw. You'd think it strange, if I should
CLAR. To whom, my lord?
K. EDW. Why, Clarence, to myself.
GLO. That would be ten days wonder at the least.
CLAR. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.
GLO. By fo much is the wonder in extreams.
K. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers; I can tell you both Her fuit is granted for her husband's lands.
Noв. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
And brought your prifoner to your palace-gate.
K. EDW. See that he be conveyed unto the Tower" And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
To queftion of his apprehenfion.
-Widow, go you along lords, ufe her honourably.
SCENE III. Manet Gloucester.
GLO. Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all,
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring,
To cross me from the golden time I look for.
And yet between my foul's defire and me,
The luftful Edward's title buried,
Is Clarence, Henry, and his fon young Edward;
And all th' unlook'd for iffue of their bodies,
To take their rooms ere I can place myself.
A cold premeditation for my purpose !
Why, then I do but dream on fov'reignty,
Like one that ftands upon a promontory,
And fpies a far-off fhore where he would tread,
Withing his foot were equal with his eye,
And chides the fea that funders him from thence,
Saying, he'll' lade it dry to have his way;
So do I wish, the crown being fo far off,
And so I chide the means that keep me from it,
And fo, I fay, I'll cut the caufes off,
Flatt'ring my mind with things impoffible.
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much,
Unless my hand and ftrength could equal them.
-Well, fay there is no kingdom then for Richard,
What other pleasure can the world afford?
I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,
And deck my body in gay ornaments,
And 'witch fweet lad es with my words and looks.
Oh miferable thought! and more unlikely,
Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns.
Why, love for wore me in my mother's womb;
And, for I fhould not deal in her foft laws,
She did corrupt frail nature with fome bribe
To fhrink mine arm up like a wither'd fhrub;
To make an envious mountain on my back,
Where fits deformity to mock my body;
To fhape my legs of an unequal fize;
To difproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, or unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impreffion like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd?
O monftrous fauft, to harbour fuch a thought!
Then fince this earth affords no joy to me,
But to command, to check, to o'erbear fuch
As are of better perfon than myself;
I'll make my heav'n to dream upon the crown;
And, while I live, t'account this world but hell,
Until the mif-fhap'd trunk that bears this head,
Be round impaled with a glorious crown,
And yet I know not how to get a crown,
For many lives ftand between me and home,
And I, like one loft in a thorny wood,
That rends the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,
Seeking a way, and ftraying from the way,
Not knowing how to find the open air,
But toiling defp'rately to find it out,
Torment myself to catch the English crown.
And from that torment I will free myself,
Or hew my way out with a bloody ax.
Why, I can fmile, and murder while I fmiles
And cry, CONTENT, to that which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occafions.
I'll drown more failors than the mermaid fhall;
I'll flay more gazers, than the basilifk;
I'll play the orator as well as Neflor:
Deceive more flily than Ulyffes could,
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
I can add colours ev'n to the camelion;
Change thapes with Proteus, for advantages;
And fet the murd'rous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?
Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.
SCENE IV. Changes to France.
Flourish. Enter king Lewis, lady Bona, Bourbon, Edward prince of Wales, queen Margaret, and the earl of Oxford. Lewis fits, and rifeth up again.
K. LEw. Fair queen of England, worthy Margaret, Sit down with us; it ill befits thy ftate,
And birth, that thou shouldst stand, while Lewis fits.
QUEEN. No, mighty king of France, now Margaret
Muft ftrike her fail, and learn a while to ferve,
Where kings command. I was, I must confefs,
Great Albion's queen in former golden days,
But now mifchance hath trod my title down,
And with dishonour laid me on the ground;
Where I must take like feat unto my fortune,
And to my humble feat conform myself.
K. Lew. Why fay, fair queen, whence fprings this deep defpair?
QUEEN. From fuch a caufe as fills mine eyes with tears;
And ftops my tongue, while my heart's drown'd in cares. K. LEW. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself,
And fit thou by our fide.
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
It fhall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.
QUEEN. Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts,
And give my tongue-ty'd forrows leave to speak.
Now therefore be it known to noble Lewis,
That Henry, fole poffeffor of my love,
Is, of a king, become a banish'd man,
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn;
While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York,
Ufurps the regal title and the feat
Of England's true-anointed lawful king.
This is the caufe, that I, poor Margaret,
With this my fon prince Edward, Henry's heir,
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid,
And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done.
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help.
Our people and our peers are both 'mif-led,
Our treasures feiz'd, cur foldiers put to flight,
And, as thou feeft, ourselves in heavy plight.
K. LEW. Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm, While we bethink a means to break it off.
QUEEN. The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. K. LEw. The more I ftay, the more I'll fuccour thee. QUEEN. O, but impatience waiteth on true forrow: And fee, where comes the breeder of my forrow.
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