To shape my legs of an unequal size,
To disproportion me in every part.
And am I then a man to be beloved?

Oh monstrous thought! more vain than my ambition.
Enter LIEUTENANT, hastily.

Lieut. My lord, I beg your grace

Glost. Begone, fellow! I'm not at leisure.
Lieut. My lord, the king, your brother, 's taken ill.
Glost. I'll wait on him: leave me, friend.

Ha! Edward taken ill!

'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, That from his loins no more young brats may rise, To cross me in the golden time I look for.

Enter LADY ANNE, in Mourning, LORD STANLEY, TRESSEL, GUARDS, BEARERS, with KING HENRY'S Body, and Six LADIES in Mourning.

But see, my love appears-look where she shines
Darting pale lustre, like the silver moon,
Through her dark veil of rainy sorrow!
So mourn'd the dame of Ephesus her love;
And thus the soldier, arm'd with resolution,
Told his soft tale, and was a thriving wooer.
'Tis true my form perhaps may little move her,
But I've a tongue shall wheedle with the devil:
Why I can smile, and smile, and murder when I smile,
And cry content, to that, which grieves my heart;
And wet my cheek with artificial tears,

And suit my face to all occasions.

Yet hold, she mourns the man that I have kill'd;
First let her sorrows take some vent-stand here,
I'll take her passion in its wain, and turu
This storm of grief to gentle drops of pity
For his repentant murderer.

[He retires yield day fu

Lady A. Hung he the heav'ns in black;
night;
Comets, importing change of times and states,
Brandish your fiery tresses in the sky,
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented to King Henry's death.
Oh! be accurst the hand that shed his blood,
Accurst the head, that had the heart to do it ;
If ever he have wife, let her he made

More miserable by the life of him,

Than I am now by Edward's death and thine.

Glost. Poor girl, what pains she takes to curse herself! Lady A. If ever she have child, abortive be it,

Prodigious, and untimely brought to light;

Whose hideous form, whose most unnatural aspect,
May fright the hopeful mother at her view,

And that be heir to his unhappiness!

Now on to Chertsey, with your sacred load.

Glost. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. Lady A. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds?

Glost. Villains, set down the corse, or by St. Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.

Guard. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. Glost. Unmanner'd slave! stand thou when I command, Advance thy halbert higher than my breast,

Or, by St. Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot,
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

Lady A. Why dost thou haunt him thus, unsated fiend? Thou hast but power over his mortal body:

His soul thou canst not reach, therefore begone.
Glost. Sweet saint, be not so hard for charity.
Lady A. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds,
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.

Why didst thou do this deed? could not the laws
Of man, of nature, nor of heav'n dissuade thee?
No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.
Glost. If want of pity be a crime so hateful,
Whence is it, thou, fair excellence! art guilty?
Lady A. What means the slanderer?

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

Lady A. Then take that sword, whose bloody point still

reeks

With Henry's life, with my loved lord's young Edward's,
And here let out thy own, to appease their ghosts.
Glost. By such despair I should accuse myself.

Lady A. Why, by despairing only canst thou stand excused.

Didst thou not kill the king?

Glost. I grant ye.

Lady A. Oh! he was gentle, loving, mild, and virtuous ; But he's in heaven, where thou canst never come.

Glost. Was I not kind to send him thither, then?

He was much fitter for that place than earth.
Lady A. And thou unfit for any place, but hel!.
Glost. Yes, one place else If you will hear

name it.

Lady A. Some dungeon.

Glost. Your bed-chamber.

Lady A. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest ! Glost. So it will, madam, till I lie in yours.

Lady A. I hope so.

Glost. I know so. But gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our tongues, And fall to something a more serious method,

me

Is not the causer of the untimely deaths

Of these Plantagenets, Heury and Edward,

As blameful as the executioner?

Lady A. Thou wert the cause, and most accursed ef

fect.

Glost. Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
Your beauty! that did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world,

So I might live one hour in that soft bosom!

Lady A. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These hands should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Glost. These eyes could not endure that beauty's
wreck;

You should not blemish it, if I stood by:
As all the world is nourish'd by the sun,
So I by that it is my day, my life!

Lady A. I would it were, to be revenged on thee.
Glost. It is a quarrel most unnatural,

To wish revenge on him that loves thee.
Lady A. Say rather 'tis my duty,

To seek revenge on him that kill'd my husband.
Glost. Fair creature! he that kill'd thy husband,

Did it to help thee to a better husband.

Lady A. His better does not breathe upon the earth. Glost. He lives, that loves thee better than he could. Lady A. Name him.

Glost. Plantagenet.

Lady A. Why, that was he.

Glost. The self-same name, but one of softer nature.
Lady A. Where is he?

Glost. Ah, take more pity in thy eyes, and see him

here.

Lady A. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee

dead!

Glost. I would they were, that I might die at once,
For now they kill me with a living death,
Darting with cruel aim despair and love.

never sued to friend or enemy;

My tongue could never learn soft smoothing words;
But, now thy beauty is proposed my fee,

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak.
Lady A. Is there a tongue on earth can speak for thee?
Why dost thou court my hate?

Glost. Oh, teach not thy soft lips such cold contempt ! If thy relentless heart cannot forgive,

Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword,

Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
And let the honest soul out, that adores thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg that death upon my knee.

Lady A, What shall I say or do? direct me, Heaven! When stones weep, sure the tears are natural; And Heaven itself instructs us to forgive, When they do flow from a sincere repentance.

[Aside. Glost. Nay, do not pause, for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy wondrous beauty did provoke me; Or, now dispatch-'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on: And I might still persist, (so stubborn is My temper) to rejoice at what I've doneBut that thy powerful eyes (as roaring seas Obey the changes of the moon) have turn'd My heart, and made it flow with penitence.

[She drops the Sword.

Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Lady A. No, though I wish thy death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Glost. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Lady A. I have already.

Glost. That was in thy rage;

Say it again, and even with thy word,

This guilty hand, that robb'd thee of thy love,
Shall, for thy love, revenge thee on thy lover:
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
What! not a word, to pardon or condemn me!
But thou art wise, and caust, with silence, kill me;
Yet, even in death, my fleeting soul pursues thee;
Dash not the tears of penitence away-

I ask but leave to indulge my cold despair.

Lady A. Would'st thou not blame me, to forgive thy

crimes?

Glost. They are not to be forgiven; no, not even
Penitence can atone them-Oh misery

Of thought, that strikes me with, at once, repentance
And despair!-though unpardon'd, yield me pity.
Lady A. 'Would I knew thy heart!
Glost. "Tis figured in my tongue.
Lady A. I fear me, both are false.
Glost. Then never man was true!

Lady A. Put up thy sword.

Glost. Say, then, my peace is made.
Lady A. That shalt thou know hereafter.

Glost. But, shall I live in hope?

Lady A. All men, I hope, live so.

Glost. I swear, bright saint, 1 am not what I was !

Those eyes have turn'd my stubborn heart to woman;

Thy goodness makes me soft in penitence,

And my harsh thoughts are turn'd to peace and love.

Oh! if thy pour devoted servant might

But beg one favour at thy gracious hand,

Thou would'st confirm his happiness for ever!

Lady A. What is't?

Glost. That it may please thee, leave these sad designs, To him, that has most cause to be a mourner, And, presently, repair to Crosby House; Where, after having solemnly interr'd, At Chertsey Monastery, this injured king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will, with all expedient duty, see you. For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this favour.

Lady A. I do, my lord, and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel and Stanley, go along with me.

Glost. Bid me farewell.

Lady A. 'Tis more than you deserve;

But since you teach me how to flatter you,
Imagine I have said farewell already.
Guards. Towards Chertsey, my lord?

[Exeunt.

Glost. No, to Whitefriars; there attend my coming.

[Exeunt Guards, with the Body.

Was ever woman, in this humour, woo'd?

Was ever woman, in this humour, won?
I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
What! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father,
To take her, in her heart's extremest hate,

With curses in her mouth, and tears in her eyes,
The bleeding witness of my hatred by;

Having Heaven, her conscience, and these bars against

me,

And I no friends to back my suit withal,
But the plain devil, and dissembling looks!
And yet to win her! all the world to nothing!
Can she abase her beauteous eyes on me,
Whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus!
My dukedom to a widow's chastity,
I do mistake my person, all this while,
Upon my life! she finds, (although I cannot,)
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll have my chambers lined with looking-glass;
And entertain a score or two of tailors,
To study fashions, to adorn my body.
Since 1 am crept in favour with myself,
1 will maintain it with some little cost;
But first, I'll turn St. Harry to his grave,
And then return, lamenting, to my love.
Shin out, fair sun, till I salute my glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.

[Exit.