With whom my soul is any jot at odds, Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter:- Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this, To be so flouted in this royal presence? Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead? [They all start. You do him injury, to scorn his corse. K. Edw. Who knows not, he is dead! who knows he is? Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this! Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest? Dor. Ay, my good lord; and no man in the pre sence, But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. K. Edw. Is Clarence dead? the order was re vers'd. Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear; Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, - P God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! Enter STANley. Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace; my soul is full of sorrow. Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me. K. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou re quest'st. Stan. The forfeit,3 sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. K.Edw.Have Iatongue to doom my brother's death,* And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave? My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was bitter death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my wrath, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd? Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke 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 at Tewksbury, When Oxford had me down, he rescu'd 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 garments; and did give 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 to put it in my mind. But, when your carters, or your waiting-vassals, Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I, unjustly too, must grant it you: all But for my brother, not a man would speak,- you The forfeit,] He means the remission of the forfeit. * Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death,] This lamentation is very tender and pathetick. The recollection of the good qualities of the dead is very natural, and no less naturally does the King endeavour to communicate the crime to others. O God! I fear, thy justice will take hold O, [Exeunt King, Queen, HASTINGS, Rivers, DORSET, and GREY. Glo. 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? God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go, SCENE II. The same. [Exeunt. Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son and Daughter of Clarence. Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? Duch. No, boy. Daugh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your breast; And cry-O Clarence, my unhappy son! Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us orphans, wretches, cast-aways, If that our noble father be alive? Duch. My pretty cousins,' you mistake me both; I do lament the sickness of the king, my pretty cousins,] The Duchess is here addressing her grand-children, but cousin was the term used in Shakspeare's time, by uncles to nephews and nieces, grandfathers to grandchildren, &c. It seems to have been used instead of our kinsman, and kinswoman, and to have supplied the place of both. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will impórtune Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents," You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice! Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandam? Son. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? Enter Queen ELIZABETH, distractedly; RIVERS, and DORSET following her. Q. Eliz. Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and weep? Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience? • Incapable and shallow innocents,] Incapable is unintelligent. Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.— To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow, As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, But now, two mirrors of his princely semblance Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation, Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence. Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! 7—his images:] The children by whom he was represented. |