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twg_000000025000 | A woman, and thine aunt, great king, tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door! A beggar begs that never begged before. KING HENRY. Our scene is altered from a serious thing, And now changed to The Beggar and the King. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. I know shes come to pray for your foul sin. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025001 | Enter Duchess. YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray, More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. This festered joint cut off, the rest rest sound; This let alone will all the rest confound. DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man. Love loving not itself none other can. YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025002 | dugs once more a traitor rear? DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. [_Kneels_.] Hear me, gentle liege. KING HENRY. Rise up, good aunt. DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech. For ever will I walk upon my knees And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy, until thou bid me joy By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. AUMERLE. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025003 | Unto my mothers prayers I bend my knee. [_Kneels._] YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be. [_Kneels._] Ill mayst thou thrive if thou grant any grace! DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face. His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast. He prays | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025004 | but faintly and would be denied; We pray with heart and soul and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do outpray his; then let them have That mercy which true | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025005 | prayer ought to have. KING HENRY. Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS. Nay, do not say stand up. Say pardon first, and afterwards stand up. An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, Pardon should be the first word of thy speech. I never longed to hear a word till now. Say pardon, king; let pity teach thee how. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025006 | The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like pardon for kings mouths so meet. YORK. Speak it in French, King, say pardonne moy. DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah! my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That sets the word itself against the word! Speak pardon as tis current in our land; The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025007 | chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there, Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee pardon to rehearse. KING HENRY. Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand. Pardon is all the suit I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025008 | in hand. KING HENRY. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. DUCHESS. O, happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again, Twice saying pardon doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. KING HENRY. With all my heart I pardon him. DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art. KING HENRY. But | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025009 | for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or whereer these traitors are; They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell, and cousin, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025010 | adieu. Your mother well hath prayed, and prove you true. DUCHESS. Come, my old son. I pray God make thee new. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. Another room in the Castle. Enter Exton and a Servant. EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake: Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear? Was it not so? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025011 | SERVANT. These were his very words. EXTON. Have I no friend? quoth he. He spake it twice And urged it twice together, did he not? SERVANT. He did. EXTON. And speaking it, he wishtly looked on me, As who should say I would thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart, Meaning the king at Pomfret. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025012 | Come, lets go. I am the Kings friend, and will rid his foe. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. Pomfret. The dungeon of the Castle. Enter Richard. RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world; And for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025013 | Yet Ill hammer it out. My brain Ill prove the female to my soul, My soul the father, and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermixed With scruples, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025014 | and do set the word itself Against the word, as thus: Come, little ones; And then again: It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a needles eye. Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025015 | world, my ragged prison walls, And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortunes slaves, Nor shall not be the last, like silly beggars Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame That many have and others must sit there; And in this thought they find | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025016 | a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endured the like. Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am. Then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025017 | kinged again, and by and by Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing. But whateer I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased till he be eased With being nothing. Music do I hear? [_Music_.] Ha, ha! keep time! How sour sweet music is When time is broke | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025018 | and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of mens lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear To check time broke in a disordered string; But for the concord of my state and time Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025019 | time made me his numbring clock. My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dials point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now, sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, Which is the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025020 | bell. So sighs and tears and groans Show minutes, times, and hours. But my time Runs posting on in Bolingbrokes proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o the clock. This music mads me! Let it sound no more; For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025021 | Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me, For tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. Enter a Groom of the stable. GROOM. Hail, royal Prince! RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer. The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou, and how comest thou hither Where no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025022 | man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal masters face. O, how it erned my heart when I beheld In London | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025023 | streets, that coronation day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dressed. RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? GROOM. So proudly as if he disdained the ground. RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025024 | hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? Would he not fall down, Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be awed by man, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025025 | Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse, And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spurred, galled and tired by jauncing Bolingbroke. Enter Keeper with a dish. KEEPER. [_To the Groom_.] Fellow, give place. Here is no longer stay. RICHARD. If thou love me, tis time thou wert away. GROOM. My tongue dares not, that my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025026 | heart shall say. [_Exit._] KEEPER. My lord, willt please you to fall to? RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do. KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary. RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025027 | it. [_Strikes the Keeper._] KEEPER. Help, help, help! Enter Exton and Servants, armed. RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy deaths instrument. [_Snatching a weapon and killing one._] Go thou and fill another room in hell. [_He kills another, then Exton strikes him down._] That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025028 | That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the Kings blood stained the Kings own land. Mount, mount, my soul! Thy seat is up on high, Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [_Dies._] EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood! Both have I spilled. O, would the deed were good! For now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025029 | the devil that told me I did well Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king Ill bear. Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. Windsor. An Apartment in the Castle. Flourish. Enter King Henry and York with Lords and Attendants. KING HENRY. Kind uncle York, the latest | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025030 | news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire, But whether they be taen or slain we hear not. Enter Northumberland. Welcome, my lord. What is the news? NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is: I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025031 | Blunt, and Kent. The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. KING HENRY. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains, And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. Enter Fitzwater. FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025032 | consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. KING HENRY. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot. Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. Enter Harry Percy with the Bishop of Carlisle. PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave. But here is Carlisle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025033 | living, to abide Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. KING HENRY. Carlisle, this is your doom: Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life. So as thou livst in peace, die free from strife; For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025034 | have I seen. Enter Exton with attendants, bearing a coffin. EXTON. Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. KING HENRY. Exton, I thank thee not, for thou hast wrought A deed of slander with thy fatal hand Upon my head | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025035 | and all this famous land. EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. KING HENRY. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025036 | With Cain go wander thorough shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent. Ill make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025037 | this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after; grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier. [_Exeunt._] KING RICHARD THE THIRD Contents ACT I Scene I. London. A street Scene II. London. Another street Scene III. London. A Room in the Palace Scene IV. London. A Room in the Tower ACT II Scene I. London. A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025038 | Room in the palace Scene II. Another Room in the palace Scene III. London. A street Scene IV. London. A Room in the Palace ACT III Scene I. London. A street Scene II. Before Lord Hastings house Scene III. Pomfret. Before the Castle Scene IV. London. A Room in the Tower Scene V. London. The Tower Walls Scene VI. London. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025039 | A street Scene VII. London. Court of Baynards Castle ACT IV Scene I. London. Before the Tower Scene II. London. A Room of State in the Palace Scene III. London. Another Room in the Palace Scene IV. London. Before the Palace Scene V. A Room in Lord Stanleys house ACT V Scene I. Salisbury. An open place Scene II. Plain | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025040 | near Tamworth Scene III. Bosworth Field Scene IV. Another part of the Field Scene V. Another part of the Field Dramatis Person RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III. LADY ANNE, widow to Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI.; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester KING EDWARD THE FOURTH, brother to Richard QUEEN ELIZABETH, Queen | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025041 | to King Edward IV. Sons to the king: EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards KING EDWARD V. RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE, brother to Edward and Richard BOY, son to Clarence GIRL, daughter to Clarence DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV., Clarence, and Gloucester QUEEN MARGARET, widow to King Henry VI. DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM LORD HASTINGS, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025042 | the Lord Chamberlain LORD STANLEY, the Earl of Derby EARL RIVERS, brother to Queen Elizabeth LORD GREY, son of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage MARQUESS OF DORSET, son of Queen Elizabeth by her former marriage SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN SIR WILLIAM CATESBY SIR RICHARD RATCLIFFE LORD LOVELL DUKE OF NORFOLK EARL OF SURREY HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025043 | VII. EARL OF OXFORD SIR JAMES BLUNT SIR WALTER HERBERT SIR WILLIAM BRANDON CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY John Morton, BISHOP OF ELY SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower SIR JAMES TYRREL Another Priest LORD MAYOR OF LONDON SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, a Pursuivant, Scrivener, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025044 | Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, &c. SCENE: England ACT I SCENE I. London. A street Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester, alone. RICHARD. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York; And all the clouds that loured upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025045 | victorious wreaths, Our bruised arms hung up for monuments, Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a ladys chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025046 | am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want loves majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025047 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025048 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025049 | Clarence closely be mewed up About a prophecy which says that G Of Edwards heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes. Enter Clarence, guarded and Brakenbury. Brother, good day. What means this armed guard That waits upon your Grace? CLARENCE. His Majesty, Tendring my persons safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025050 | to the Tower. RICHARD. Upon what cause? CLARENCE. Because my name is George. RICHARD. 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 should be new-christened in the Tower. But whats the matter, Clarence? May I know? CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know, for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025051 | 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025052 | I learn, and such like toys as these, Hath moved his Highness to commit me now. RICHARD. Why, this it is when men are ruled by women. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025053 | worship, Antony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is delivered? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man secure But the Queens kindred, and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore. Heard you not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025054 | what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery? RICHARD. Humbly complaining to her deity Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty. Ill 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 oer-worn widow and herself, Since that our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025055 | brother dubbed them gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in our monarchy. BRAKENBURY. 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 your brother. RICHARD. Even so; an please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of anything we say. We speak no treason, man. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025056 | We say the King Is wise and virtuous, and his noble Queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous. We say that Shores wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the Queens kindred are made gentlefolks. How say you, sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY. With this, my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025057 | lord, myself have naught to do. RICHARD. 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. BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord? RICHARD. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025058 | the noble Duke. CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. RICHARD. We are the Queens abjects and must obey. Brother, farewell. I will unto the King, And whatsoeer you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edwards widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025059 | you can imagine. CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. RICHARD. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long. I will deliver or else lie for you. Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell. [_Exeunt Clarence, Brakenbury and guard._] RICHARD. Go tread the path that thou shalt neer return. Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so That | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025060 | I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? The new-delivered Hastings? Enter Lord Hastings. HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord. RICHARD. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain. Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brooked imprisonment? HASTINGS. With | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025061 | patience, noble lord, as prisoners must; But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. RICHARD. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too, For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevailed as much on him as you. HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mewed, Whiles | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025062 | kites and buzzards prey at liberty. RICHARD. What news abroad? HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home: The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. RICHARD. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person. Tis very grievous | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025063 | to be thought upon. Where is he, in his bed? HASTINGS. He is. RICHARD. Go you before, and I will follow you. [_Exit Hastings._] He cannot live, I hope, and must not die Till George be packed with post-horse up to heaven. Ill in to urge his hatred more to Clarence With lies well steeled with weighty arguments; And, if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025064 | 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 Ill marry Warwicks youngest daughter. What though I killed her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025065 | husband and her father; The which will I, not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market. Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns. When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [_Exit._] SCENE II. London. Another | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025066 | street Enter the corse of King Henry the Sixth, with Halberds to guard it, Lady Anne, being the mourner, Tressel and Berkeley and other Gentlemen. ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament Th untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king, Pale | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025067 | 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 slaughtered son, Stabbed by the selfsame hand that made these wounds. Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life I pour the helpless balm of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025068 | 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. More direful hap betide that hated wretch That makes us wretched by the death of thee Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venomed thing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025069 | 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 be made More miserable by the death of him Than I am made by my young lord | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025070 | and thee. Come now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Pauls to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of this weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henrys corse. [_They take up the bier._] Enter Richard, Duke of Gloucester. RICHARD. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. ANNE. What black magician conjures | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025071 | up this fiend To stop devoted charitable deeds? RICHARD. Villains, set down the corse or, by Saint Paul, Ill make a corse of him that disobeys! GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. RICHARD. Unmannered dog, stand thou, when I command! Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, Or by Saint Paul Ill strike thee to my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025072 | foot And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. [_They set down the bier._] 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025073 | begone. RICHARD. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. ANNE. Foul devil, for Gods sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Filled 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 Henrys wounds Open | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025074 | their congealed 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 deeds, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madst, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drinkst, revenge his death! Either heaven | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025075 | with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good Kings blood, Which his hell-governed arm hath butchered. RICHARD. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. ANNE. Villain, thou knowst nor law of God nor man. No beast so fierce | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025076 | but knows some touch of pity. RICHARD. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! RICHARD. More wonderful when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed crimes to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffused infection of a man, Of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025077 | these known evils but to give me leave, By circumstance, to accuse thy cursed self. RICHARD. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. ANNE. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current but to hang thyself. RICHARD. By such despair I should accuse myself. ANNE. And by despairing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025078 | shalt thou stand excused For doing worthy vengeance on thyself That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. RICHARD. Say that I slew them not? ANNE. Then say they were not slain. But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. RICHARD. I did not kill your husband. ANNE. Why then he is alive. RICHARD. Nay, he is dead, and slain by | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025079 | Edwards hand. ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest. Queen Margaret saw Thy murdrous falchion smoking in his blood, The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. RICHARD. I was provoked by her slandrous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. ANNE. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025080 | That never dreamst on aught but butcheries. Didst thou not kill this King? RICHARD. I grant ye. ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed. O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. RICHARD. The better for the King of Heaven that hath him. ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025081 | shalt never come. RICHARD. Let him thank me that holp to send him thither, For he was fitter for that place than earth. ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell. RICHARD. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. ANNE. Some dungeon. RICHARD. Your bed-chamber. ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! RICHARD. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025082 | So will it, madam, till I lie with you. ANNE. I hope so. RICHARD. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall something into a slower method: Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? ANNE. Thou wast the cause | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025083 | and most accursed effect. RICHARD. Your beauty was the cause of that effect: Your beauty, that 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. RICHARD. These | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025084 | eyes could not endure that beautys wrack; 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 oershade thy day, and death thy life. RICHARD. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. ANNE. I would I were, to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025085 | be revenged on thee. RICHARD. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth thee. ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that killed my husband. RICHARD. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. ANNE. His better doth not breathe | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025086 | upon the earth. RICHARD. He lives that loves thee better than he could. ANNE. Name him. RICHARD. Plantagenet. ANNE. Why, that was he. RICHARD. The selfsame name, but one of better nature. ANNE. Where is he? RICHARD. Here. [_She spits at him._] Why dost thou spit at me? ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake. RICHARD. Never came | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025087 | poison from so sweet a place. ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes. RICHARD. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead! RICHARD. I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025088 | Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspects with store of childish drops. These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025089 | story of my fathers death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedashed 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 sued to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025090 | friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025091 | 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 kneels and lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword._] Nay, do not pause, for I did | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025092 | kill King Henry But twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; twas I that stabbed young Edward But twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [_She falls 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. RICHARD. Then bid me kill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025093 | myself, and I will do it. ANNE. I have already. RICHARD. 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. RICHARD. Tis | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025094 | figured in my tongue. ANNE. I fear me both are false. RICHARD. Then never was man true. ANNE. Well, well, put up your sword. RICHARD. Say then my peace is made. ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter. RICHARD. But shall I live in hope? ANNE. All men, I hope, live so. RICHARD. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. ANNE. To take | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025095 | is not to give. [_He places the ring on her hand._] RICHARD. Look how my 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025096 | What is it? RICHARD. That it may please you leave these sad designs To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interred At Chertsey monastery this noble King, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you. For divers unknown | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025097 | 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 Berkeley, go along with me. RICHARD. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025098 | Anne, Tressel and Berkeley._] RICHARD. Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMAN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? RICHARD. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming. [_Exeunt Halberds and Gentlemen with corse._] Was ever woman in this humour wooed? Was ever woman in this humour won? Ill have her, but I will not keep her long. What, I that killed her husband | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000025099 | and his father, To take her in her hearts extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by, Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks? And yet to win her, all the | 60 | gutenberg |
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