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DioLiu
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Test3

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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 he made
A miserable by the death of him
As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
Come, now towards 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.
GLOUCESTER:
Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.
LADY ANNE:
What black magician conjures up this fiend,
To stop devoted charitable deeds?
GLOUCESTER:
Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.
Gentleman:
My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.
GLOUCESTER:
Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command:
Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
LADY 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.
GLOUCESTER:
Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.
LADY 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,
Provokes this deluge most unnatural.
O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death!
O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death!
Either heaven with lightning strike the
murderer 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!
GLOUCESTER:
Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
LADY ANNE:
Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man:
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.
GLOUCESTER:
But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
LADY ANNE:
O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!
GLOUCESTER:
More wonderful, when angels are so angry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.
LADY ANNE:
Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.
GLOUCESTER:
Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.
LADY ANNE:
Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.