Glo. Wert thou not banished, on pain of death?

Q. Mar. I was; but I do find more pain in banish

ment,

Than death can yield me here by my abode.

A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me,-
And thou, a kingdom;—all of you, allegiance :
This sorrow that I have, by right is yours,
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.

Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee,
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes;
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ;—
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee,
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent. Hast. O! 't was the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless, that ere was heard of.

Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. Dors. No man but prophesied revenge for it. Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. Q. Mar. What! were you snarling all, before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat,

And turn you all your hatred now on me?

Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven,
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment,
Should all but answer for that peevish brat?
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven?-
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses
Though not by war, by surfeit die your king,
As ours by murder, to make him a king!
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, our son, that was prince of Wales,
Die in his youth by like untimely violence!
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self!

Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's death;'
And see another, as I see thee now,

Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine!
Long die thy happy days before thy death;

And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief,

1 loss: in quartos.

Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen!
Rivers, and Dorset, you were standers by,

And so wast thou, lord Hastings, when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him,
That none of you may live his natural age,

But by some unlook'd accident cut off!

Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag. Q. Mar. And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me.

If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O! let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation

On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace!
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul!
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st,
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends!
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine,
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils!
Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity

The stain' of nature, and the scorn' of hell!
Thou slander of thy heavy mother's womb!
Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins!
Thou rag of honour! thou detested-

Glo. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think, That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. Q. Mar. Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O! let me make the period to my curse.

Glo. 'T is done by me, and ends in-Margaret. Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse against yourself.

Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune;

Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottle3 spider,
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
1 slave in f. e. 2 son: in f. e. 3 bottled: in f. e.

To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-back'd toad. Hast. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience.

Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you; you have all mov'd mine.

Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught your duty.

Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me duty,

Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects.
O! serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty.
Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic.

Q. Mar. Peace, master marquess! you are malapert:

Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current.

O, that your young nobility could judge,

What 't were to lose it, and be miserable!

They that stand high have many blasts to shake them, And if they fall they dash themselves to pieces.

Glo. Good counsel, marry:—learn it, learn it, mar

quess.

Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. Glo. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high: Our eyry buildeth in the cedar's top,

And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.

Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade,-alas! alas!Witness my son, now in the shade of death;

Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.

Your eyry buildeth in our eyry's nest.—
O God! that seest it, do not suffer it:
As it was won with blood, lost be it so !

Buck. Peace, peace! for shame, if not for charity. Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt,

And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my shame,

And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage!

Buck. Have done, have done.

Q. Mar. O, princely Buckingham! I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee:

Now, fair befal thee, and thy noble house!

Thy garments are not spotted with our blood,
Nor thou within the compass of my curse.

Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air.

Q. Mar. I will not think' but they ascend the sky,
And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace.
O Buckingham! take heed of yonder dog:

Look, when he fawns, he bites; and, when he bites,
His venom tooth will rankle to the death:
Have not to do with him, beware of him;

Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him,
And all their ministers attend on him.

Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.

Q. Mar. What! dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel,

And soothe the devil that I warn thee from?

O! but remember this another day,

When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow,

And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess.—
Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's!

[Exit.

Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. Riv. And so doth mine. I muse', why she's at liberty.

Glo. I cannot blame her: by God s holy mother, She hath had too much wrong, and I repen

My part thereof, that I have done to her.*

Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge.
Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.
I was too hot to do somebody good,

That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid;
He is frank'd' up to fatting for his pains;
God pardon them that are the cause thereof!

Riv. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion,
To pray for them that have done scath to us.
Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd;

For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself.

Enter CATESBY.

[Aside.

Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you,And for your grace, and you, my noble lords.

I'll not believe in quartos. 2 rackle thee to death: in quarto, 3 I wonder she's in quartos. 4 to her not in quarto.

1597.

5 Styed.

Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come.-Lords, will you go with

me?

Riv. We wait upon your grace.

[Exeunt all but GLOSTER. Glo. I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,

I lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence, whom I, indeed, have cast in darkness,
I do beweep to many simple gulls;

Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham;
And tell them, 't is the queen and her allies,
That stir the king against the duke my brother.
Now, they believe it; and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey;
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture,
Tell them, that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,
And seem a saint when most I play the devil.
Enter two Murderers.

But soft! here come my executioners.—
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates!
Are you now going to dispatch this thing1?

1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant,

That we may be admitted where he is.

Glo. Well thought upon; I have it here about me.

[Gives the Warrant.

When you have done, repair to Crosby-place.

But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
Withal obdurate: do not hear him plead ;
For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps,

May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.

1 Murd. Tut, tut! my lord, we will not stand to prate :

Talkers are no good doers: be assur'd,

We go to use our hands, and not our tongues.

Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones', when fools' eyes

fall' tears:

I like you, lads-about your business straight;

Go, go, despatch.

1 Murd.

1 deed: in quartos. 2 A common proverb. 3 drop in quartos. Here the scene ends, in the quartos.