« ÎnapoiContinuați »
With hate in those where I expect most love!
[Embracing RIVERS, &c.
Glo. Good-morrow to my sovereign king, and
queen ; And, princely peers, a happy time of day! K. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the
Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege.
; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace : "Tis death to me, to be at enmity ;
I hate it, and desire all good men's love.
my soul is any jot at odds, More than the infant that is born to-night ; I thank my God for my humility.
Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept here-after :-
Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this,
[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 revers'd.
Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died,
That came too lag to see him buried :-
Stan. A boon my sovereign, for my service done! K. Edw. I pr’ythee, peace; my soul is full of
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, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman, Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. K. Edw. Have I a tongue 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,
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night ?
for this. Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. O, Poor Clarence !
[Exeunt King, Queen, HASTINGS, RIVERS,
DORSET and GREY.
not, How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death? 0! they did urge it still unto the king : God will revenge it. Come, lords; will you go, To comfort Edward with our company? Buck. We wait upon your grace.
[Exeunt. SCENE II.,
Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son und 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–Clarence, my unhappy son !
Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head,
Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both;
Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
Daugh. And so will I.
you well :
Son. Grandam, we can : for my good uncle Gloster Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen,