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Come, I have learn'd, that fearful commenting
The same. Before the Palace.
Enter Queen MARGARET. Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk’d, To watch the waning of mine enemies. A dire induction 8 am I witness to, And will to France; hoping, the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! who comes here?
Enter Queen ELIZABETH and the Duchess of YORK.
And hear your mother's lamentation !
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
[Sitting down by her.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine :-
Duch. I had a Richard too, and thou did'st kill him;
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
Edward ; Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; Young York he is but boot, a 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,
? Thrown in to boot.
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey,
fortune; I call’d thee then, poor shadow, painted queen; The presentation of but what I was, The flattering index 3 of a direful pageant, One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below : A mother only mock'd with two fair babes ; A dream of what thou wast; a garish 4 flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot; A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble; A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? Where be thy two sons ? wherein dost thou joy? Who sues, and kneels, and says-God save the queen? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?
3 Indexes were anciently placed at the beginning of books.
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
pierce like mine. [Exit Q. MARGARET.'