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That all without desert have frown'd on me ;-
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive,
With whom 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 holyday shall this be kept hereafter :-
I would to God, all strifes were well compounded.-
My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.
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 revers'd.
Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear; Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried : 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 prythee, 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
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
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 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 ;
But for my brother, not a man would speak,-
Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholden to him in his life;
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.-
O God! I fear, thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this.
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. O,
Poor Clarence !
[Ereunt King, Queen, Hast. Riv. Dor. 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? 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.
Enter the Duchess of York, with a Son and Daughter
of Clarence. Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead? Duch. No, boy. Duugh. 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,
As loath to lose him, not your father's death ;
It were lost sorrow, to wail one that's lost.
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 importune
With earnest prayers, all to that effect.
Daugh. And so will I.
Duch. Peace, children, peace! the king doth love
Incapable and shallow innocents,
You cannot guess who caus’d your father's death.
Son. Grandam, we can: for my good uncle Gloster Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen,
Devis'd impeachments to imprison him:
And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek;
Bade me rely on him, as on my father,
And he would love me dearly as his child.
Duch. Ah, that deceit should steal such gentle
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice!
He is my son, ay, and therein my shame,
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.
Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandam?
Duch. Ay, boy.
Sun. 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
To chide my fortune, and torment myself ?
I'll join with black despair against my soul,
And to myself become an enemy.
Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience?
Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragick violence :-Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead Why grow the branches, when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap ? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief ; That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's ; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.