These eyes, which never shed remorseful 1 tear,-
No, when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made,
When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him :
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,

Told the sad story of my father's death;
And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep,
That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time,
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear;

And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.

I never sued to friend nor enemy;

My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee,

speak.

My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
[she looks scornfully at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful 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 soul forth that adoreth thee,

I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,

And humbly beg the death upon my knee.

[he lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword.

1 Pitying.

Nay, do not pause, for I did kill king Henry ;-
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me:

Nay, now despatch: 'twas I that stabb'd young Ed

ward;

[she again offers at his breast.

But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.

[she lets fall the sword.

Take up the sword again, or take up me.

Anne. Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy

death,

I will not be thy executioner.

Glos. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. Anne. I have already.

Glos.

That was in thy rage:

Speak it again; and, even with the word,

This hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love,

Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love :

To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.

Anne. I would, I knew thy heart.
Glos. 'Tis figured in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glos. Then never man was true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glos. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. That shall you know hereafter.
Glos. But shall I live in hope?
Anne. All men, I hope, live so.
Glos. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.

Anne. To take is not to give.

[she puts on the ring.

Glos. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy

finger,

Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart:

Wear both of them, for both of them are thine:
And, if thy poor devoted servant may

But beg one favor at thy gracious hand,

Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.

Anne. What is it?

Glos. That it may please you leave these sad de

signs

To him that hath more cause to be a mourner,
And presently repair to Crosby-place; 1
Where, after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monastery, this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears,—
I will with all expedient 2 duty see you.
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you,
Grant me this boon.

Anne. With all my heart; and much it joys me

too,

To see you are become so penitent.

Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me.

Glos. Bid me farewell.

Anne.

'Tis more than you deserve:

But, since you teach me how to flatter you,

Imagine I have said farewell already.

[Exeunt Lady Anne, Tressel, and Berkley.

Glos. Sirs, take up the corse.

Gen.

Towards Chertsey, noble lord?

A house in Bishopsgate-street belonging to the duke of

Glos. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. [Exeunt the rest with the corse.

Was ever woman in this humor woo'd?

Was ever woman in this humor 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, tears in her eyes,

The bleeding witness of her hatred by;

With God, 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! ah! Hath she forgot already that brave prince,

Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since,

Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewkesbury?

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman,—

Framed in the prodigality of nature,

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal,-
The spacious world cannot again afford :
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,

That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince,
And made her widow to a woful bed?

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ?

My dukedom to a beggarly denier,1

A small French coin.

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 be at charges for a looking-glass;
And entertain some score or two of tailors,
To study fashions to adorn my body:
Since I am crept in favor with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost:
But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave,
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.

[Exri.

SCENE 111.

The same. A room in the palace.

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORE

GREY.

Ri. Have patience, madam; there's no doubt, his

majesty

Will soon recover his accustom'd health.

Grey. In that you brook it ill, it makes him

worse:

Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.
Q. Eli. If he were dead, what would betide of
me?

Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord.

Q. Eli. The loss of such a lord includes all

harms.