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Was it not fhe, and that good man of worship,
Anthony Woodvil her brother there,

That made him fend Lord Haftings to the Tower?
From whence this day he is delivered.

We are not fafe; Clarence, we are not safe.

Clar. By heav'n, I think, there is no man fecure
But the Queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds,
That trudge between the King and miftrefs Shore.
Heard you not, what an humble fuppliant
Lord Haftings was to her for his delivery?
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity,
Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.
I'll 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 o'erworn widow, and herself,
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty goffips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beg your Graces both to pardon me;
His Majefty hath ftraitly giv'n in charge,
That no man fhall have private conference,
Of what degree foever, with your brother.

Glo. Ev'n fo, an't please your worship, Brakenbury! You may partake of any thing we fay :

We fpeak no treafon, man-we fay, the King
Is wife and virtuous; and his noble Queen
Well frook in years; fair, and not jealous-
We fay, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip, a paffing pleafing tongue :
That the Queen's kindred are made gentle-folk:
How fay you, Sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my Lord, myfelf have nought to do.
Glo. What, fellow? nought to do with mistress Shore?
I tell you, Sir, he that doth naught with her,
Excepting one, were beft to do it fecretly.
Brak. What one, my Lord?

Glo. Her husband, knave-would't thou betray me? Brak. I do befeech your Grace to pardon me, And to forbear your conf'rence with the Duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.

Glo. We are the Queen's abjects, and must obey.
Brother, fare vel; I will unto the King,
And whatfoe'er you will employ me in,
(Were it to call King Edward's widow fifter)
I will perform it to infranchise you.

Mean time, this deep difgrace of brotherhood
Touches me deeper than you can imagine.

Clar. I know, it pleaseth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your imprisonment fhall not be long,
I will deliver you, or elfe lie for you:
Mean time have patience.

Clar. I muft periorce; farewel. [Exe Brak. Clar.
Glo. Go, tread the path, that thou shalt ne'er return:
Simple, plain Clarence !-- I do love thee fo,
That I will fhortly fend thy foul to heav'n,
If heav'n will take the prefent at our hands.
But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Haftings?
Enter Lord Haflings.

Haft. Good time of day unto my gracious Lord. Glo. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain: Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your Lordship brook'd imprisonment? Haft With patience, noble Lord, as pris'ners muft: But I shall live, my Lord, to give them thanks, That were the caufe of my imprisonment.

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Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too;

For they, that were your enemies, are his,

And have prevail'd as much on him as you.

Haft. More pity, that the eagle fhould be mew'd, (3) While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. What news abroad?

Haft. No news fo bad abroad, as this at home:

(3) More pity, that the eagle should be mew'd,

While kites and buzzards play at liberty.]

I have, upon the authority of the old quarto's, reftored prey, as the moft expreffive and proper word. And our author again in this very play makes Glocefler repeat the fame thought, and ufe the fame expreffion.

--

-the world is grown fo bad,

That wrens make prey, where eagles dare not perch.

I 3

The

The King is fickly, weak, and melancholy,
And his phyficians fear him mightily.

Glo. Now, by St. Paul, that news is bad, indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long,

And over-much confum'd his royal perfon: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he, in his bed?

Haft. He is.

Gio. Go you before, and I will follow you.

[Exit Haftings.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
'Till George be pack'd with poft horfe up to heav'n.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lyes well fteel'd with weighty arguments;
And if 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 buftle in!

For then, I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:
What though I kill'd her husband, and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is to become her husband and her father:
The which will I, not all fo much for love,
As for another fecret clofe intent,

By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horfe to market:

Clarence fill breathes, Edward still lives and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains. [Exit.

SCENE changes to a Street.

Enter the Coarfe of Henry the Sixth, with halberds to guard it, Lady Anne being the Mourner.

Anne.

•SE

ET down, fet down your honourable load,
If honour may be shrouded in a herse;
Whilft I awhile obfequioufly lament
Th' untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster,
Poor key-cold figure of a holy King!
Pale afhes of the houfe of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!

Be't lawful, that I invocate thy ghoft,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,

Wife to thy Edward, to thy flaughter'd fon;
Stab'd by the felf-fame hand, that made thefe wounds.
Lo, in thefe windows, that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.

Curs'd be the hand, that made thefe fatal holes!
Curs'd be the heart, that had the heart to do it!
'More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wifh to adders, fpiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whofe ugly and unnatural afpect

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 miferable by the death of him,

Than I am made by my young Lord and thee!
Come, now tow'rds Cherifey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there.
And ftill, as you are weary of this weight,
Reft you, while I lament King Henry's coarfe.
Enter Richard Duke of Glocefter.

Glo. Stay you, that bear the coarfe, and fet it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To ftop devoted charitable deeds ?

Glo. Villains, fet down the coarfe; or, by St. Paul, I'll make a coarse of him that disobeys.

Gen. My Lord, ftand back, and let the coffin pass. Glo. Unmanner'd dog! ftand thou, when I command; Advance thy halbert higher than my breaft,

Or, by St. Paul, I'll ftrike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
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.
Avant, thou dreadful minister of hell!

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Thou hadft but pow'r over his mortal body,
His foul thou canst not have; therefore be gone.
Glo. Sweet faint, for charity, be not fo curft.
Anne. Foul dev'l! for God's fake hence, trouble us not,
For thou haft made the happy earth thy hell:
Fill'd it with curfing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

Oh, gentlemen! fee! fee, dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh.
Bluth, bluth, thou lump of foul deformity;
For 'tis thy prefence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells.
Thy deeds, inhuman and unnatural,

Provoke this deluge moft unnatural.

O God! which this blood mad'ft, revenge his death
O earth! which this blood drink'ft, revenge his death : ̧
Or heav'n with lightning ftrike the murd'rer dead;
Or Earth gape open wide, and eat him quick,
As thou doft fwallow up this good King's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered!
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, bleffings for curfes.
Anne. Villain, thou know'it nor law of God nor man;
No beast so fierce, but knows fome touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beaft.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!—
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are fo angry
Vouchfafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of thefe fuppofed crimes, to give me leave,
By circumftance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchfafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
For thefe known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumftance, to curfe thy curfed felf..

Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leifure to excufe myself.

Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make

No excufe current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By fuch defpair I fhould accufe myself.

Anne. And by defpairing fhalt thou ftand excus'd,

For

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