By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY. Brother, good day. What means this armed guard, That waits upon your grace? Clar. 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: That you should be new christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know; but I protest, As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams; And, for my name of George begins with G, 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, 't is she, That tempts him to this harsh extremity. Was it not she, and that good man of worship, That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower, Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure, Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity Are mighty gossips in our monarchy. Brak. 1 beseech your graces both to pardon me : Of what degree soever, with your brother. Glo. Even so; an please your worship, Brakenbury, We speak no treason, man: we say, the king 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; How say you, Sir? can you deny all this? Brak. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. Glo. Nought to do with mistress Shore? I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best to do it secretly, alone. Brak. What one, my lord? Glo. Her husband, knave. Would'st thou betray me? Brak. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; and withal, Forbear your conference with the noble duke. Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. And whatsoe'er you will employ me in, Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood 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, If heaven will take the present at our hands. Hast. Enter HASTINGS. 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 must; But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks, That were the cause of my imprisonment. Glo. No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too, For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. Hast. More pity, that the eagles should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. Glo. What news obroad? Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home: The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, that news is bad indeed. O! he hath kept an evil diet long, And over-much consum'd his royal person: 'T is very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he? in his bed? Hast. He is. Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you. [Exit. HASTINGS. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take king Edward to his mercy, For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns; SCENE II. The Same. Another Street. [Exit. Enter the Corpse of King HENRY the Sixth, borne in an open Coffin, Gentlemen bearing Halberds, to guard it; and Lady ANNE as mourner. Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I a while obsequiously lament Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds! May fright the hopeful mother at the view; Than I am made by my young lord, and thee! And still, as you are weary of this weight, Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. [The Bearers take up the Corpse and advance. Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. To stop devoted charitable deeds? Glo. Villains! set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. |