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I grant ye. Anne. O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. Glo. The fitter for the King of heaven that hath

him. Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him

For he was fitter for that place, than earth.

Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me

name it.
Anne. Some dungeon.

Your bed-chamber,
Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou

Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.
I know so. —

But, gentle lady Anne,-
To leave this keen encounter of our wits,
And fall somewhat into a slower method ;-
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry, and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner ?
Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd

effect. Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep, To undertake the death of all the world.

Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my

Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's

wreck ;
You should not blemish it, if I stood by :
As all the world is cheered by the sun,
So I by that; it is my day, my life.

Anne. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death

thy life:

Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art

Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.

Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural,
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.

Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable,
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.

Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth.
Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he

Anne. Name him.


Why, that was he.
Glo. The self-same name, but one of better

Anne. Where is he?

Here: [She spits at him.] Why
dost thou spit at me ?
Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy

Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.

Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight! thou dost infect mine eyes.

Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee

dead !
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once ;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt

Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops:

eyes, which never shed remorsefuló tear,Nor, when


father York and Edward wepts To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him :

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6 Pitying.

Nor when tlıy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death ;
And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time,
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;
And what these sorrows could not thence exhale,
Thy beauty bath, and made them blind with

I never su'd to friend, nor enemy;,
My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word;
But now thy beauty is propos’d my fee,
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to

speak. [She looks scornfully at him. Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made. For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

[He lays his breast open; she offers at it with

his sword. Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill king Henry ;But 'twas thy beauty that provok'd me. „Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young

Edward ;- [She again offers at his breast. But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on,

[She lets fall the sword. Take up the sword again, or take up me. Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy

I will not be thy executioner.

Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.

That was in thy rage :
Speak it again, and, even with the word,
This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy love,

Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ;
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.

Anne. I would, I knew thy heart.
Glo. 'Tis figur’d in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then man was never true.
Arne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take, is not to give.

[She puts on the ring, Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may.
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

Anne. What is it?
Glo. That it may please you leave these sad

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place?:
Where -- after I have solemnly intérr’d,
At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,
I will with all expedient duty see you,
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.
Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me

'too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me.

Glo. Bid me farewell.

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'Tis more than you deserve ; But, since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already.

(Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and BERKLEY. Glo. Take up the corse, sirs. Gent.

Towards Chertsey, noble lord ? Glo. No, to White Friars; there attend my

coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the Corse. Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ? Was ever woman in this humour won ? I'll have her, - but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; With God, her conscience, and these bars against

me, And I no friends to back my suit withal, But the plain devil, and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, - all the world to nothing ! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since, Stabb’d in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford: And will she yet abase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet'prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that hált, and am misshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while : Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man,

A small French coin.

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