A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France; hoping, the consequence Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes here? Enter Queen ELIZABETH and the Duchess of YORK. Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! Q. Mar. Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute,Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done? Q. Mar. When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living ghost, Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,. Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down. Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood! Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afford a grave, As thou canst yield a melancholy seat; Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here! Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we? [Sitting down by her. Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent, [Sitting down with them. Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine :— I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him: Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept That foul defacer of God's handy-work; Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly convey'd from hence :- That I may live to say, The dog is dead! Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophecy, the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen; The flattering index of a direful pageant, One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below : Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? Having no more but thought of what thou wert, To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke; Farewel, York's wife,-and queen of sad mischance,- Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them with thine! pierce like mine. Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and [Exit Q. Margaret. Duch. Why should calamity be full of words? Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope: though what they do impart Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd: go with me, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother |