K. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace; my foul is full of forrow. Stanl. I will not rife, unless your Highness hear me. K. Edw. Then fay at once, what is it thou request'ft? Stanl. The forfeit, Sovreign, of my fervant's life; Who flew to-day a riotous gentleman,
Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk.
K. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death?
And fhall that tongue give pardon to a slave?
My brother kill'd no man; his fault was thought;
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who fued to me for him? who, in my wrath,
Kneel'd at my feet, and bid me be advis'd?
Who spoke of brotherhood? who spoke of love?
Who told me, how the poor foul did forfake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me?
Who told me, in the field at Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me?
And faid, Dear brother, live, and be a King?
Who told me, when we both lay in the field,
Frozen almoft to death, how he did lap me
Ev'n in his garments, and did give himself
All thin and naked, to the numb cold night?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
Had fo much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters, or your waiting vaffals
Have done a drunken flaughter, and defac'd
The precious image of our dear Redeemer ;
You ftrait are on your knees for pardon, pardon,
And I, unjustly too, muft grant it you.
But for my brother not a man would speak,
Nor I, ungracious, fpake unto myself
For him, poor foul. The proudest of you all
Have been beholden to him in his life:
Yet none of you would once plead for his life.
O God! I fear, thy juftice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this.
Come, Haftings, help me to my closet.
Poor Clarence! [Exeunt fome with the King and Queen.
Glo. These are the fruits of rafhnefs: mark'd you not,
How that the guilty kindred of the Queen
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death?
O! they did urge it still unto the King.
God will revenge it. Come, Lords, will you go
To comfort Edward with our company?
Enter the Dutchess of York, with the two children of Clarence.
Son. Good Grandam, tell us, is our father dead ? › Dutch. No, boy.
Daugh. Why do you weep fo oft? and beat And cry, O Clarence! my unhappy fon!
Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your And call us orphans, wretches, caft-aways,
If that our noble father be alive?
Dutch. My pretty Coufins, you mistake me both. I do lament the fickness of the King,
As loth to lofe him; not your father's death;
It were loft forrow to wail one that's loft.
Son. Then you conclude, my Grandam, he is dead. The King mine uncle is to blame for this.
God will revenge it, whom I will importune
With daily earnest prayers.
Dutch. Peace, children, peace! the King doth love you well.
Incapable and fhallow Innocents!
You cannot guefs, who caus'd your father's death.
Son, Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Glofter
Told me, the King, provok'd to't by the Queen,
Devis'd impeachments to imprison him;
And when my uncle told me fo, he wept,
And pitied me; and kindly kift my cheek;
Bade me rely on him, as on my father,
And he would love me dearly as his child.
Datch. Ah! that deceit fhould fteal fuch gentle fhape, And with a virtuous vizor hide deep vice!
He is my fon, ay, and therein my shame;
Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit.
Son. Think you, my uncle did diffemble, Grandam ?
Dutch. Ay, boy.
Son. I cannot think it. Hark, what noife is this?
Enter the Queen with her hair about her ears, Rivers and Dorfet after her.
Queen. Ah! who fhall hinder me to wail and weep To chide my fortune, and torment myfelf? I'll join with black defpair against my foul, And to myself become an enemy.
Dutch. What means this fcene of rude impatience ? Queen. To make an act of tragick violence. Edward, my Lord, thy fon, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches, when the root is gone? Why wither not the leaves, that want their fap If you will live, lament; if die, be brief; That our fwift-winged fouls may catch the King's; Or, like obedient fubjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual reft.
Dutch. Ah! fo much int'reft have I in thy forrow,
As I had title to thy noble hufband;
I have bewept a worthy husband's death,
And liv'd by looking on his images.
But now two mirrors of his princely femblance
Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death;
And I for comfort have but one falfe glafs,
That grieves me when I fee my shame in him.
Thou art a widow, yet thou art a mother;
And haft the comfort of thy children left:
But death hath fnatch'd my husband from mine arms,
And pluckt two crutches from my feeble hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what caufe have I,
(Thine being but a moiety of my grief)
To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries!
Son. Ah, Aunt! you wept not for our father's death;
How can we aid you with our kindred tears?
Daugh. Our fatherless diftress was left unmoan'd,
Your widow dolours likewise be unwept!
Queen. Give me no help in lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth complaints :
All fprings reduce their currents to mine eyes,
That I, being govern'd by the watry moon,
May fend forth plenteous tears to drown the world.
Ah, for my hufband, for my dear Lord Edward!
Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence!
Dutch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence!
Queen. What stay. had I, but Edward? and he's gone.
Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence? and he's gone.
Dutch. What stays had I, but they? and they are gone.
Queen. Was never widow, had fo dear a lofs.
Chil. Were never orphans, had fo dear a lofs.
Dutch. Was never mother, had fo dear a lofs,
Alas! I am the mother of thefe griefs,
Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general.
She for an Edward weeps, and fo do I ;
I for a Clarence weep, fo doth not she;
These babes for Clarence weep, and fo do I.
Alas! you three, on me threefold-diftreft,
Pour all your tears; I am your forrow's nurse,
And I will pamper it with lamentations.
Dor. Comfort, dear mother; God is much difpleas'd,
That with unthankfulness you take his doing.
In common worldly things 'tis call'd ungrateful
With dull unwillingness to pay a debt,
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent :
Much more to be thus oppofite with heav'n;
For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
Rivers. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young Prince your fon; fend ftrait for him, Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives. Drown defperate forrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.
Enter Gloucefter, Buckingham, Stanley, Haftings, and
Ratcliff.
Glo. Sifter, have comfort: all of us have caufe
To wail the dimming of our fhining star :
But none can help our harms by wailing them.
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy;
I did not fee you.-Humbly on my knee
I crave your bleffing.
Dutch. God bless thee, and put meekness in thy breast, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty.
Glo. Amen, and make me die a good old man !That is the butt end of a mother's bleffing;
I marvel, that her Grace did leave it out.
Buck. You cloudy Princes, and heart-forrowing Peers,
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan,
Now chear each other in each other's love;
Though we have spent our harvest of this King,
We are to reap the harveft of his fon.
The broken rancour of your high-fwoln hearts,
But lately splinter'd, knit and join'd together,
Muft gently be preferv'd, cherifh'd and kept :
Me feemeth good, that, with fome little train,
Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be fetch'd (4)
Hither to London, to be crown'd our King.
Riv. Why with fome little train, my Lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Marry, my Lord, left by a multitude
The new-heal'd wound of malice fhould break out;
Which would be fo much the more dangerous,
By how much the estate is yet ungovern 'd.
Where every horfe bears his commanding rein,
(4) Forthwith from Ludlow the young Prince be fetch'd,] Edward, the young Prince, in his Father's Life-time and at his Demife, kept his Houfhold at Ludlow as Prince of Wales; under the Governance of Artbony Woodville Earl of Rivers, his Uncle by the Mother's fide, The Intention of his being funt thither was to fee Juftice done in the Marches; and, by the Authority of his Prefence, to restrain the Welshmen, who were wild, diffolute, and ill-difpoied, from their accustomed Murders and Outrages. Vid. Hall, Hollingshead, &c.
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