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Test3

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You do him injury to scorn his corse.
RIVERS:
Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is?
QUEEN ELIZABETH:
All seeing heaven, what a world is this!
BUCKINGHAM:
Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest?
DORSET:
Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.
KING EDWARD IV:
Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed.
GLOUCESTER:
But he, poor soul, by your first order died,
And that a winged Mercury did bear:
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand,
That came too lag to see him buried.
God grant that some, less noble and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood,
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion!
DORSET:
A boon, my sovereign, for my service done!
KING EDWARD IV:
I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow.
DORSET:
I will not rise, unless your highness grant.
KING EDWARD IV:
Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st.
DORSET:
The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;
Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
KING EDWARD IV:
Have a tongue to doom my brother's death,
And shall the same give pardon to a slave?
My brother slew no man; his fault was thought,
And yet his punishment was cruel death.
Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage,
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised
Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love?
Who told me how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me,
And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his own garments, and gave himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters or your waiting-vassals
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon;
And I unjustly too, must grant it you
But for my brother not a man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholding to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
O God, I fear thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this!
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet.
Oh, poor Clarence!
GLOUCESTER:
This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not
How that the guilty kindred of the queen
Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death?
O, they did urge it still unto the king!
God will revenge it. But come, let us in,
To comfort Edward with our company.
BUCKINGHAM:
We wait upon your grace.
Boy:
Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead?
DUCHESS OF YORK:
No, boy.
Boy:
Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast,
And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!'