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For one being fu'd to, one that humbly fues;
For Queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one that fcorn'd at me, now fcorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;

Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst ufurp my place, and doft thou now
Ufurp the juft proportion of my forrow?

Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke ;
From which ev'n here I flip my wearied head,
And leave the burthen of it all on thee.

Farewel, York's wife, and Queen of fad mifchance;
Thefe English woes fhall make me fmile in France.
Queen O thou well-fkill'd in curfes! stay a while,
And teach me how to cui fe mine enemies.

2 Mar. Forbear to fleep the night, and faft the day. Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were sweeter than they were, And he that flew them, fouler than he is: Bett'ring thy lofs makes the bad caufer worfe; Revolving this, will teach thee how to curse.

Queen. My words are dull; O! quicken them with

thine.

2. Mar. Thy woes will make them fharp, and pierce [Exit Margaret.

like mine

Duch. Why fhould calamity be full of words?
Queen. Windy attorneys to their client-woes,

Airy fucceeders of intellate joys,

Poor breathing orators of miferies!

Let them have fcope; tho' what they do impart,
Help nothing elfe, yet they do eafe the heart.

Duch. If fo. then be not tongue-ty'd; go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's fmother

My Damned fon, that thy two fweet fons fmother'd. [Drum within.

I hear his drum, be copious in exclaims

SCENE V. Enter King Richard, and his traik K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition?

Duch. O, the that might have intercepted thee, By ftrangling thee in her accurfed womb,

From all the flaughters, wretch, that thou haft done.
Queen. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden crown,
Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The flaughter of the prince that ow'd that crown,
And the dire death of my poor fons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-flave, where are my children?
Duch. Thou toad, thou toid, where is thy brother
And little Ned Plantagenet, his fon? [Clarence?
Queen. Where is kind Haftings, Rivers, Vaughan,

Gray?

K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens here thefe tell-tale-women

Rail on the Lord's anointed. Strike. I fay.

[Flourifo. Alarums,

Either be patient, and entreat me fair,
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my fon?

K. Rich. Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself.
Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.

K Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your condition, That cannot brook the accent of reproof.

Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words. K. Rich. And brief, good mother, for I am in hafte. Duch Art thou fo hafty! I have ftaid for thee, God knows, in anguith, pain, and agony.

K. Rich. And came I not at laft to comfort you? Duch. No, by the holy rood, thou know'lt it well; Thou cam'ft on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burthen was thy birth to me;

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Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy;

Thy fchool-days frightful, defp'rate wild, and furious; Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous ; Thy age confirm d, proud, fubtle, fly, and bloody." What confortable hour can't thou name,

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That ever grac'd me in thy company?

in thy company?

K. Rich. 'Faith, none but Humphry Houre, that call'd your Grace To breakfast once, forth of `my company.

If I be fo, &c.

K. Rich. If I be fo difgracious in your fight, Let me march on, and not offend your Grace, Strike up the drum.

Duch. I pr'ythee hear me fpeak.

K. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duch. Hear me a word;

For I fhall never speak to thee again.

K Rich. So,

Duch. Either thou'lt die by God's just ordinance,
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror;
Or I with grief and extreme age fhall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore take with thee my most heavy curfe
Which in the day of battle, tire thee more,
Than all the compleat armour that thou wear'ftL
My prayers on the adverse party fight;

e;

And there the little fouls of Edward's children
Whisper the fpirits of thine enemies,

And promife them fuccefs and victory!

Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end!

Shame ferves thy life, and doth thy death attend. [Exit. Queen. Tho' far more cause, yet much less spirit to

curfe

Abides in me, I fay Amen to her.

[Going. K. Rich. Stay, Madam, I must speak a word with

you.

Queen. I have no more fons of the royal blood For thee to flaughter; for my daughters, Richard, They fhall be praying nuns, not weeping Queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives.

K. Rich. You have a daughter call'd Elifabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.

Queen. And muft fhe die for this? O let her live,
And I'll corrupt her manners, ftain her beauty,
Slander myself as false to Edward's bed,
Throw over her the veil of infamy :

So fhe may live unfcarr'd from bleeding flaughter,
I will confefs fhe was not Edward's daughter.

K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, fhe is of royal blood.
Queen. To fave her life, I'll fay fhe is not fo.
K. Rich. Her life is fafeft only in her birth.
Queen. And only in that fafety dy'd her brothers.

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K. Rich. No, at their births good stars were opposite. Queen. No, to their lives bad friends were contrary. K. Rich. All unavoided is the doom of destiny. Queen. True; when avoided grace makes destiny. My babes were deftin'd to a fairer death,

If

grace

had blefs'd thee with a fairer life..

K. Rich. You fpeak as if that I had flain my cousins?
Queen. Coufins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
Whofe hands foever lanc'd their tender hearts,
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction,

No doubt the murd'rous knife was dull and blunt,
Till it was whetted on thy ftone-hard heart,
To revel in the intrails of my lambs.

But that ftill ufe of grief makes wild grief tame,
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;

And I in fuch a defp'rate bay of death,

Like a poor bark, of fails and tackling reft,
Rufh all to pieces on thy rocky bofom.

K, Rich. Madam, fo thrive I in my enterprise,
And dangerous fuccefs of bloody wars;.

As I intend more good to you and your's,
Than ever you or your's by me were harm'd!

Queen. What good is cover'd with the face of heav'n, To be discover'd, that can do me good!

K. Rich. Th' advancement of your children, gentle
Lady.

Queen. Up to fome scaffold, there to lofe their heads. K, Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune, The high imperial type of this earth's glory.

*

Queen. Flatter my forrows with report of it. Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour, Canft thou devife to any child of mine?

K. Rich. Ev'n all I have; ay, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine,

So in the Lethe of thy angry foul

Thou drown the fad remembrance of those wrongs, Which thou fuppofeft I have done to thee.

Queon. Be brief, left that the process of thy kindness Laft longer telling than thy kindness do.

i. e. the throne.

K. Rich. Then know, that from my foul I love thy

daughter,

Queen. My daughter's mother thinks it with her foul. K. Rich. What do you think?

Queen. That thou doft love my daughter from thy foul.

So from thy foul's love didft thou love her brothers;
And from my heart's love I-do thank thee for it.

K. Rich. Be not fo hafty to confound my meaning;
I mean, that with my foul I love thy daughter,
And do intend to make her Queen of England.

Queen. Say then, who dost thou mean fhall be her King?

K. Rich. Ev'n he that makes her Queen; who elfe fhould be?

Queen. What, thou!

K. Rich. Even fo; how think you of it?
Queen. How canft thou woo her ?

K Rich. I would learn of you,

As one being beft acquainted with her humour.
Queen. And wilt thou learn of me?

K Rich. With all my heart.

Queen. Send to her, by the man that flew her brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts; thereon ingrave
Edward and York; then haply will the weep.
Therefore prefent to her, as fometime Margret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,
A handkerchief; which, fay to her, did drain
The purple tide from her fweet brother's bodies,
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes therewith.
If this inducement move her not to love,
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds;

Tell her, thou mad'ft away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers; ay, and for her fake,

Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
K. Rich. You mock me Madam; this is not the way
To win your daughter.

Queen. There's no other way,

Unlels thou could't put on fome other shape,
And not be Richard that hath done all this.

K. Rich. Say that I did all this for love of her.