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Glo. Why, what a peevish? fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl?
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.
K. Hen. I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course;
The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward; and thyself, the sea,
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words!
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragick history.
But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life?
Glo. Think'st thou, I am an executioner?
K. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art;
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.

Glo. Thy son I kill'd, for his presumption.
K. Hen. Hadst thou been kill'd, when first thou
didst presume,

Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
And thus I prophesy, — that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear;
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye,
Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate,
And orphans for their parents' timeless death,
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time;
Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees;
The raven rook'd 3 her on the chimney's top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain,
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope;
To wit,
an indigest deformed lump,
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born,
To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world:
And, if the rest be true which I have heard,
Thou cam'st-

-

Glo. I'll hear no more; - Die, prophet, in thy
speech;
[Stabs him.
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd.
K. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
O God! forgive my sins, and pardon thee! [Dies.
Glo. What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have

mounted.

See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death!
O, may such purple tears be always shed
From those that wish the downfal of our house!
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell; and say.

. I sent thee thither,

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And not in me; I am myself alone. ·
Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light;
But I will sort a pitchy day for thee:
For I will buz abroad such prophecies,
That Edward shall be fearful of his life;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone :
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best.
I'll throw thy body in another room,
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom.

[Exit.

SCENE VII. A Room in the Palace.
KING EDWARD is discovered sitting on his Throne;
QUEEN ELIZABETH with the infant Prince, CLA-
RENCE, GLOSTER, HASTINGS, and others, near him.
K. Edw. Once more we sit in England's royal throne,
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn,
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride?
For hardy and undoubted champions :
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd

Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound:
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon-

tague,

And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion,
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat,
And made our footstool of security.
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy :
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself,
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night;
That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace;
Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat,
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.

Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave;
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back: -
Work thou the way, and thou shalt execute.

[Aside.

K. Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely
queen;

And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Clar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty,
I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe.

K. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother,
thanks.

Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st,

[Stabs him again. Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit.

I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear.
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of;
As I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward:
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste,
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd; and the women cried,
0, Heaven bless us, he is born with teeth!
And so I was; which plainly signified-
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it.
I have no brother, I am like no brother:
And this word-love, which greybeards call divine,

Be resident in men like one another,

2 Childish. 3 To rook signified to lodge on any thing.

K. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights,
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.
Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar-
garet?

Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransome.
K. Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to
France.

And now what rests, but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comick shows,
Such as befit the pleasures of the court?
Sound, drums and trumpets! -farewell, sour annoy!
For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. [Exeunt.

4 Select.

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SCENE I.- London, A Street. Enter GLOSTER.

ACT I.

Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds, that low'r'd upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty,

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To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them;
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time;
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity;
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, -
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days,
Plots have I laid, inductions3 dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence, and the king,
In deadly hate the one against the other:
3 Preparations for mischief.

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His majesty, Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. Glo. Upon what cause? Clar.

Because my name is George. Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: Belike his majesty hath some intent,

That you shall be new christen'd in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know?
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest,
As yet I do not: But, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams;
And from the cross-row plucks the letter G,
And says a wizard told him, that by G
His issue disinherited should be;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he:
These as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.

Glo. Why, this it is, when men are rul'd by women:-
'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower;
My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she,
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, her brother there,

That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower;
From whence this present day he is deliver'd?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.

Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure,
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore.
Heard you not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?

Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what, I think, it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men, and wear her livery: The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself 4, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.

Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me ; His majesty hath straitly given in charge, That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever with his brother.

Glo. Even so? an please your worship, Brakenbury,

You may partake of any thing we say :
We speak no treason, man; We say, the king
Is wise, and virtuous; and his noble queen
Well struck in years; fair, and not jealous:
We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip,

A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue;
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks:
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?

Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do,
The queen and Shore.

And I beseech your grace to pardon me; and, withal,
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and
will obey.

- sister,

Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it, to call king Edward's widow I will perform it to enfranchise you. Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood, Touches me deeper than you can imagine,

Clar. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; I will deliver you, or else lie for you: Mean time, have patience.

Clar.

I must perforce; farewell. [Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and Guard.

Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? Enter HASTINGS.

Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain ! Well are you welcome to this open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners

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Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.
[Exit HASTINGS.

He cannot live, I hope; and must not die,
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live:
Which done, Heaven take king Edward to his mercy,
And leave the world for me to bustle in!
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:
What though I kill'd her husband, and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is -to become her husband, and her father:
The which will I; not all so much for love,
As for another secret close intent,

By marrying her, which I must reach unto,
But yet I run before my horse to market:
Clarence still breathes: Edward still lives, and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
[Exit.

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