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King EDWARD the Fourth.
-sons to the king.
King RICHARD III.
Henry VI.; afterwards married to the duke of Gloster.
Citizens, Murderers, Messengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, &c.
Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun? of York; And all the clouds, that lowr'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 changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
· This tragedy, though it is called the life and death of this prince, comprises at most but the last eight years of his time, for it opens with George, duke of Clarence, being shut up in the Tower, which happened in the beginning of the year 1477, and closes with the death of Richard at Bosworth-field, which battle was fought in the year 1485.—MALONE.
Alluding to the cognizance of Edward IV., which was a sun, in memory of the three suns which are said to have appeared at the battle which he gained over the Lancastrians at Mortimer's Cross.-STEEVENS.
And now,-instead of mounting barbed steeds,
"feature, for beauty.
• That puts together things of a dissimilar kind, as a brave soul and a deformed body. 3 Perhaps we might read,
And bate the idle pleasures.-Johnson. * i. e. preparations for mischief.
Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY. Brother, good day: What means this armed guard, That waits upon your grace? Clar.
Glo. Upon what cause ?
Because my name is–George,
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.