Shakespeare's First Folio Part 427

Dors. Be of good cheare: Mother, how fares your Grace?

Qu. O Dorset, speake not to me, get thee gone, Death and Destruction dogges thee at thy heeles, Thy Mothers Name is ominous to Children.

If thou wilt out-strip Death, goe crosse the Seas, And liue with Richmond, from the reach of h.e.l.l.

Goe hye thee, hye thee from this slaughter-house, Lest thou encrease the number of the dead, And make me dye the thrall of Margarets Curse, Nor Mother, Wife, nor Englands counted Queene

Stanley. Full of wise care, is this your counsaile, Madame: Take all the swift aduantage of the howres: You shall haue Letters from me to my Sonne, In your behalfe, to meet you on the way: Be not ta'ne tardie by vnwise delay

Duch.Yorke. O ill dispersing Winde of Miserie.

O my accursed Wombe, the Bed of Death: A c.o.c.katrice hast thou hatcht to the World, Whose vnauoided Eye is murtherous

Stanley. Come, Madame, come, I in all haste was sent

Anne. And I with all vnwillingnesse will goe.

O would to G.o.d, that the inclusiue Verge Of Golden Mettall, that must round my Brow, Were red hot Steele, to seare me to the Braines, Anoynted let me be with deadly Venome, And dye ere men can say, G.o.d saue the Queene

Qu. Goe, goe, poore soule, I enuie not thy glory, To feed my humor, wish thy selfe no harme

Anne. No: why? When he that is my Husband now, Came to me, as I follow'd Henries Corse, When scarce the blood was well washt from his hands, Which issued from my other Angell Husband, And that deare Saint, which then I weeping follow'd: O, when I say I look'd on Richards Face, This was my Wish: Be thou (quoth I) accurst, For making me, so young, so old a Widow: And when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy Bed; And be thy Wife, if any be so mad, More miserable, by the Life of thee, Then thou hast made me, by my deare Lords death.

Loe, ere I can repeat this Curse againe, Within so small a time, my Womans heart Grossely grew captiue to his honey words, And prou'd the subiect of mine owne Soules Curse, Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest: For neuer yet one howre in his Bed Did I enioy the golden deaw of sleepe, But with his timorous Dreames was still awak'd.

Besides, he hates me for my Father Warwicke, And will (no doubt) shortly be rid of me

Qu. Poore heart adieu, I pittie thy complaining

Anne. No more, then with my soule I mourne for yours

Dors. Farewell, thou wofull welcommer of glory

Anne. Adieu, poore soule, that tak'st thy leaue of it

Du.Y. Go thou to Richmond, & good fortune guide thee, Go thou to Richard, and good Angels tend thee, Go thou to Sanctuarie, and good thoughts possesse thee, I to my Graue, where peace and rest lye with mee.

Eightie odde yeeres of sorrow haue I seene, And each howres ioy wrackt with a weeke of teene

Qu. Stay, yet looke backe with me vnto the Tower.

Pitty, you ancient Stones, those tender Babes, Whom Enuie hath immur'd within your Walls, Rough Cradle for such little prettie ones, Rude ragged Nurse, old sullen Play-fellow, For tender Princes: vse my Babies well; So foolish Sorrowes bids your Stones farewell.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Sound a Sennet. Enter Richard in pompe, Buckingham, Catesby, Ratcliffe, Louel.

Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham

Buck. My gracious Soueraigne

Rich. Giue me thy hand.

Sound.

Thus high, by thy aduice, and thy a.s.sistance, Is King Richard seated: But shall we weare these Glories for a day?

Or shall they last, and we reioyce in them?

Buck. Still liue they, and for euer let them last

Rich. Ah Buckingham, now doe I play the Touch, To trie if thou be currant Gold indeed: Young Edward liues, thinke now what I would speake

Buck. Say on my louing Lord

Rich. Why Buckingham, I say I would be King

Buck. Why so you are, my thrice-renowned Lord

Rich. Ha? am I King? 'tis so: but Edward liues

Buck True, n.o.ble Prince

Rich. O bitter consequence!

That Edward still should liue true n.o.ble Prince.

Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull.

Shall I be plaine? I wish the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds dead, And I would haue it suddenly perform'd.

What say'st thou now? speake suddenly, be briefe

Buck. Your Grace may doe your pleasure

Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all Ice, thy kindnesse freezes: Say, haue I thy consent, that they shall dye?

Buc. Giue me some litle breath, some pawse, deare Lord, Before I positiuely speake in this: I will resolue you herein presently.

Exit Buck[ingham].

Catesby. The King is angry, see he gnawes his Lippe

Rich. I will conuerse with Iron-witted Fooles, And vnrespectiue Boyes: none are for me, That looke into me with considerate eyes, High-reaching Buckingham growes circ.u.mspect.

Boy

Page. My Lord

Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting Gold Will tempt vnto a close exploit of Death?

Page. I know a discontented Gentleman, Whose humble meanes match not his haughtie spirit: Gold were as good as twentie Orators, And will (no doubt) tempt him to any thing

Rich. What is his Name?

Page. His Name, my Lord, is Tirrell

Rich. I partly know the man: goe call him hither, Boy.

Enter.

The deepe reuoluing wittie Buckingham, No more shall be the neighbor to my counsailes.

Hath he so long held out with me, vntyr'd, And stops he now for breath? Well, be it so.

Enter Stanley.