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Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er re

turn, 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

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 eagle should be mew'd, While kites, and buzzards prey at liberty.

Glo. What news abroad?

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, this news is bad in

deed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person ;
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, 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,
Till George be pack'd with posthorse 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, God 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.

[Erit.

SCENE II.

Another Street.

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
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster-
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood !
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,

$ With becoming reverence for the dead.

Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb’d by the self-same hand that made these

wounds! Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, I pour

the helpless balm of my poor eyes :0, cursed be the hand that made these holes! Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness ! If ever he have wife, let her be made More mis able by the death of him, Than I am made by my young lord, and thee !Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; And, still as you are weary of the weight, Rest you,

whiles I lament king Henry's corse. [The Bearers take up the Corpse, and advance.

.

Enter GLOSTER.

Glo. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it

down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this

fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds ? Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint

Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. 1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coftin

pass.

Glo. Unmanner'd dog! stand thou when I com

mand:
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast,
Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

[The bearers set down the coffin. Anne. What, do you tremble? are you all afraid ? Alas, I blame

you not;

for

you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, begone.

Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. Anne. Foul devil, for heaven's sake, hence, and

trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries :O; gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeald mouths, and bleed afresh!-Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deforinity ; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells ; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O Thou, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his

death! Either, Heaven, with lightning strike the murderer

dead,
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick;
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood,
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered !

Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor

man; No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.

Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no

beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth !
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so an-

gry.
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman,
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

Anne. Vouchsafe, diffus'd infection of a man,
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.
Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me

have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou

canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself.

Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself. Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand ex

cus'd;
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself,
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

Glo. Say, that I slew them not ?
Anne.

Why then, they are not dead :
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill

your

husband. Anne.

Why, then he is alive. Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's

hand. Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest; queen Mar

garet saw Thy murd'rous faulchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point.

Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue, That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, That never dreamt on aught but butcheries : Didst thou not kill this king ?

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