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A dire induction am I witness to,
Enter Queen ELIZATETH and the Duchess of YORK.
Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender
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
Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living
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
[Sitting down by her.
hand. If sorrow can admit society,
(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: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.
Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;
That foul de facer of God's handy-work;
Duch. O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes; God witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. Mar. Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss. Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward; And the beholders of this tragick play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer; Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls, And send them thither: But at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Farth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly convey'd from hence :Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, That I may live to say, The dog is dead ! Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophecy, the time would
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
day; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, And he, that slew them, fouler than he is : Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse ; Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. Q. Eliz. My words are dull, 0, quicken them with
thine ! Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and
pierce like mine. [Erit 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