What answer shall I make to this base man? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars On equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soil’d With the attainder of his slanderous lips. There is my gage, the manual seal of death That marks thee out for hell. I say thou liest, And will maintain what thou hast said is false In thy heart-blood, through being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword. BOLINGBROKE. Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up. AUMERLE. Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence that hath mov’d me so. FITZWATER. If that thy valour stand on sympathy, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine. By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand’st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak’st it, That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester’s death. If thou deniest it twenty times, thou liest; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier’s point. AUMERLE. Thou dar’st not, coward, live to see that day. FITZWATER. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. AUMERLE. Fitzwater, thou art damn’d to hell for this. PERCY. Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true In this appeal as thou art an unjust;
And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing. Seize it, if thou dar’st. AUMERLE. An if I do not, may my hands rot of And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe!
ANOTHER LORD. I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; And spur thee on with fun as many lies As may be halloa’d in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun. There is my honour’s pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. AUMERLE. Who sets me else? By heaven, I’ll throw at all! I have a thousand spirits in one breast To answer twenty thousand such as you. SURREY. My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. FITZWATER. ‘Tis very true; you were in presence then, And you can witness with me this is true. SURREY. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. FITZWATER. Surrey, thou liest.
SURREY. Dishonourable boy!
That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword That it shall render vengeance and revenge Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do he In earth as quiet as thy father’s skull. In proof whereof, there is my honour’s pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou dar’st. FITZWATER. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness,
And spit upon him whilst I say he lies, And lies, and lies. There is my bond of faith, To tie thee to my strong correction.
As I intend to thrive in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal.
Besides, I heard the banish’d Norfolk say That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble Duke at Calais.
AUMERLE. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage That Norfolk lies. Here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal’d to try his honour. BOLINGBROKE. These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repeal’d-repeal’d he shall be And, though mine enemy, restor’d again To all his lands and signories. When he is return’d, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. CARLISLE. That honourable day shall never be seen. Many a time hath banish’d Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens; And, toil’d with works of war, retir’d himself To Italy; and there, at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country’s earth, And his pure soul unto his captain, Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. BOLINGBROKE. Why, Bishop, is Norfolk dead? CARLISLE. As surely as I live, my lord. BOLINGBROKE. Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage Till we assign you to your days of trial
Enter YORK, attended
YORK. Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to the From plume-pluck’d Richard, who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand.
Ascend his throne, descending now from him- And long live Henry, fourth of that name! BOLINGBROKE. In God’s name, I’ll ascend the regal throne. CARLISLE. Marry, God forbid!
Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would God that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard! Then true noblesse would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here that is not Richard’s subject? Thieves are not judg’d but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them; And shall the figure of God’s majesty, His captain, steward, deputy elect,
Anointed, crowned, planted many years, Be judg’d by subject and inferior breath, And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, That in a Christian climate souls refin’d Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr’d up by God, thus boldly for his king. My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford’s king; And if you crown him, let me prophesy- The blood of English shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act; Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny,
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call’d The field of Golgotha and dead men’s skulls. O, if you raise this house against this house, It will the woefullest division prove
That ever fell upon this cursed earth. Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, Lest child, child’s children, cry against you woe. NORTHUMBERLAND. Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains, Of capital treason we arrest you here. My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. May it please you, lords, to grant the commons’ suit? BOLINGBROKE. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender; so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
YORK. I will be his conduct. Exit BOLINGBROKE. Lords, you that here are under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer. Little are we beholding to your love,
And little look’d for at your helping hands.
Re-enter YORK, with KING RICHARD, and OFFICERS bearing the regalia
KING RICHARD. Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign’d? I hardly yet have learn’d To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee. Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men. Were they not mine? Did they not sometime cry ‘All hail!’ to me? So Judas did to Christ; but he, in twelve, Found truth in all but one; I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the King! Will no man say amen? Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen. God save the King! although I be not he; And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. To do what service am I sent for hither? YORK. To do that office of thine own good will Which tired majesty did make thee offer- The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke.
KING RICHARD. Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown. Here, cousin,
On this side my hand, and on that side thine. Now is this golden crown like a deep well That owes two buckets, filling one another; The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen, and full of water. That bucket down and fun of tears am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. BOLINGBROKE. I thought you had been willing to resign. KING RICHARD. My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine. You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs; still am I king of those. BOLINGBROKE. Part of your cares you give me with your crown. KING RICHARD. Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. My care is loss of care, by old care done; Your care is gain of care, by new care won. The cares I give I have, though given away; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. BOLINGBROKE. Are you contented to resign the crown? KING RICHARD. Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me how I will undo myself:
I give this heavy weight from off my head, And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; With mine own tears I wash away my balm, With mine own hands I give away my crown, With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duteous oaths; All pomp and majesty I do forswear;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forgo; My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny. God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev’d, And thou with all pleas’d, that hast an achiev’d. Long mayst thou live in Richard’s seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit. God save King Henry, unking’d Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days! What more remains?
NORTHUMBERLAND. No more; but that you read These accusations, and these grievous crimes Committed by your person and your followers Against the state and profit of this land; That, by confessing them, the souls of men May deem that you are worthily depos’d. KING RICHARD. Must I do so? And must I ravel out My weav’d-up follies? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record,
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, There shouldst thou find one heinous article, Containing the deposing of a king
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, Mark’d with a blot, damn’d in the book of heaven. Nay, all of you that stand and look upon me Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands, Showing an outward pity-yet you Pilates Have here deliver’d me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin.
NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, dispatch; read o’er these articles.
KING RICHARD. Mine eyes are full of tears; I cannot see. And yet salt water blinds them not so much But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest; For I have given here my soul’s consent T’undeck the pompous body of a king;
Made glory base, and sovereignty a slave, Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord-
KING RICHARD. No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man, Nor no man’s lord; I have no name, no tide- No, not that name was given me at the font- But ’tis usurp’d. Alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself! O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke To melt myself away in water drops!
Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, An if my word be sterling yet in England, Let it command a mirror hither straight, That it may show me what a face I have Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.
BOLINGBROKE. Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. Exit an attendant NORTHUMBERLAND. Read o’er this paper while the glass doth come. KING RICHARD. Fiend, thou torments me ere I come to hell. BOLINGBROKE. Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND. The Commons will not, then, be satisfied. KING RICHARD. They shall be satisfied. I’ll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that’s myself.
Re-enter attendant with glass
Give me that glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine
And made no deeper wounds? O flatt’ring glass, Like to my followers in prosperity,
Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? Was this the face That like the sun did make beholders wink? Is this the face which fac’d so many follies That was at last out-fac’d by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face;
As brittle as the glory is the face; [Dashes the glass against the ground] For there it is, crack’d in a hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport- How soon my sorrow hath destroy’d my face. BOLINGBROKE. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy’d The shadow of your face.
KING RICHARD. Say that again.
The shadow of my sorrow? Ha! let’s see. ‘Tis very true: my grief lies all within; And these external manner of laments
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortur’d soul. There lies the substance; and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only giv’st Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I’ll beg one boon, And then be gone and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it?
BOLINGBROKE. Name it, fair cousin. KING RICHARD. Fair cousin! I am greater than a king; For when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg. BOLINGBROKE. Yet ask.
KING RICHARD. And shall I have?
BOLINGBROKE. You shall.
KING RICHARD. Then give me leave to go. BOLINGBROKE. Whither?
KING RICHARD. Whither you will, so I were from your sights. BOLINGBROKE. Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. KING RICHARD. O, good! Convey! Conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king’s fall. Exeunt KING RICHARD, some Lords and a Guard BOLINGBROKE. On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation. Lords, prepare yourselves. Exeunt all but the ABBOT OF WESTMINSTER, the BISHOP OF CARLISLE, and AUMERLE ABBOT. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. CARLISLE. The woe’s to come; the children yet unborn Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. AUMERLE. You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? ABBOT. My lord,
Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament
To bury mine intents, but also to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise.
I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears. Come home with me to supper; I will lay A plot shall show us all a merry day. Exeunt
<
ACT V. SCENE 1.
London. A street leading to the Tower
Enter the QUEEN, with her attendants
QUEEN. This way the King will come; this is the way To Julius Caesar’s ill-erected tower,
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Is doom’d a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke. Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true King’s queen.
Enter KING RICHARD and Guard
But soft, but see, or rather do not see, My fair rose wither. Yet look up, behold, That you in pity may dissolve to dew,
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand; Thou map of honour, thou King Richard’s tomb, And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why should hard-favour’d grief be lodg’d in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest? KING RICHARD. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden. Learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awak’d, the truth of what we are Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim Necessity; and he and
Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France, And cloister thee in some religious house. Our holy lives must win a new world’s crown, Which our profane hours here have thrown down. QUEEN. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform’d and weak’ned? Hath Bolingbroke depos’d Thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart? The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o’erpow’r’d; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take the correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion and the king of beasts? KING RICHARD. A king of beasts, indeed! If aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometimes queen, prepare thee hence for France. Think I am dead, and that even here thou takest, As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. In winter’s tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks, and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages long ago betid;
And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs Tell thou the lamentable tale of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds; For why, the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue, And in compassion weep the fire out;
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, For the deposing of a rightful king.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND attended
NORTHUMBERLAND. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is chang’d; You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta’en for you: With all swift speed you must away to France. KING RICHARD. Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head Shall break into corruption. Thou shalt think Though he divide the realm and give thee half It is too little, helping him to all;
And he shall think that thou, which knowest the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne’er so little urg’d, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked men converts to fear; That fear to hate; and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death.
NORTHUMBERLAND. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave, and part; for you must part forthwith. KING RICHARD. Doubly divorc’d! Bad men, you violate A twofold marriage-‘twixt my crown and me, And then betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkiss the oath ‘twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss ’twas made. Part us, Northumberland; I towards the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My wife to France, from whence set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas or short’st of day. QUEEN. And must we be divided? Must we part? KING RICHARD. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. QUEEN. Banish us both, and send the King with me. NORTHUMBERLAND. That were some love, but little policy. QUEEN. Then whither he goes thither let me go. KING RICHARD. So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off than near, be ne’er the near. Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. QUEEN. So longest way shall have the longest moans. KING RICHARD. Twice for one step I’ll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let’s be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. QUEEN. Give me mine own again; ’twere no good part To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. So, now I have mine own again, be gone. That I may strive to kill it with a groan. KING RICHARD. We make woe wanton with this fond delay. Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. Exeunt
SCENE 2.
The DUKE OF YORK’s palace
Enter the DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS
DUCHESS. My Lord, you told me you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off, Of our two cousins’ coming into London. YORK. Where did I leave?
DUCHESS. At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgoverned hands from windows’ tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard’s head. YORK. Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed
Which his aspiring rider seem’d to know, With slow but stately pace kept on his course, Whilst all tongues cried ‘God save thee, Bolingbroke!’ You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage; and that all the walls With painted imagery had said at once ‘Jesu preserve thee! Welcome, Bolingbroke!’ Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed’s neck, Bespake them thus, ‘I thank you, countrymen.’ And thus still doing, thus he pass’d along. DUCHESS. Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? YORK. As in a theatre the eyes of men
After a well-grac’d actor leaves the stage Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious;
Even so, or with much more contempt, men’s eyes Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried ‘God save him!’ No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home; But dust was thrown upon his sacred head; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience,
That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel’d The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events, To whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye allow. DUCHESS. Here comes my son Aumerle.
YORK. Aumerle that was
But that is lost for being Richard’s friend, And madam, you must call him Rudand now. I am in Parliament pledge for his truth And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Enter AUMERLE
DUCHESS. Welcome, my son. Who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new come spring? AUMERLE. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not. God knows I had as lief be none as one. YORK. Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp’d before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? Do these justs and triumphs hold? AUMERLE. For aught I know, my lord, they do. YORK. You will be there, I know.
AUMERLE. If God prevent not, I purpose so. YORK. What seal is that that without thy bosom? Yea, look’st thou pale? Let me see the writing. AUMERLE. My lord, ’tis nothing.
YORK. No matter, then, who see it. I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. AUMERLE. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me; It is a matter of small consequence
Which for some reasons I would not have seen. YORK. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear-
DUCHESS. What should you fear?
‘Tis nothing but some bond that he is ent’red into For gay apparel ‘gainst the triumph-day. YORK. Bound to himself! What doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing.
AUMERLE. I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. YORK. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. [He plucks it out of his bosom, and reads it] Treason, foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! DUCHESS. What is the matter, my lord?
YORK. Ho! who is within there?
Enter a servant
Saddle my horse.
God for his mercy, what treachery is here! DUCHESS. Why, York, what is it, my lord? YORK. Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. Exit servant
Now, by mine honour, by my life, my troth, I will appeach the villain.
DUCHESS. What is the matter?
YORK. Peace, foolish woman.
DUCHESS. I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle? AUMERLE. Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer.
DUCHESS. Thy life answer!
YORK. Bring me my boots. I will unto the King.
His man enters with his boots
DUCHESS. Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amaz’d. Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. YORK. Give me my boots, I say.
DUCHESS. Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Have we more sons? or are we like to have? Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age And rob me of a happy mother’s name?
Is he not like thee? Is he not thine own? YORK. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta’en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands To kill the King at Oxford.
DUCHESS. He shall be none;
We’ll keep him here. Then what is that to him? YORK. Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son I would appeach him.
DUCHESS. Hadst thou groan’d for him As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind: thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal to thy bed
And that he is a bastard, not thy son. Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind. He is as like thee as a man may be
Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him.
YORK. Make way, unruly woman! Exit DUCHESS. After, Aumerle! Mount thee upon his horse; Spur post, and get before him to the King, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. I’ll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York; And never will I rise up from the ground Till Bolingbroke have pardon’d thee. Away, be gone. Exeunt
SCENE 3.
Windsor Castle
Enter BOLINGBROKE as King, PERCY, and other LORDS
BOLINGBROKE. Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? ‘Tis full three months since I did see him last. If any plague hang over us, ’tis he.
I would to God, my lords, he might be found. Inquire at London, ‘mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent With unrestrained loose companions,
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes And beat our watch and rob our passengers, Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute a crew.
PERCY. My lord, some two days since I saw the Prince, And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. BOLINGBROKE. And what said the gallant? PERCY. His answer was, he would unto the stews, And from the common’st creature pluck a glove And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. BOLINGBROKE. As dissolute as desperate; yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years May happily bring forth. But who comes here?
Enter AUMERLE amazed
AUMERLE. Where is the King?
BOLINGBROKE. What means our cousin that he stares and looks So wildly?
AUMERLE. God save your Grace! I do beseech your Majesty, To have some conference with your Grace alone. BOLINGBROKE. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. Exeunt PERCY and LORDS What is the matter with our cousin now? AUMERLE. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, [Kneels]
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.
BOLINGBROKE. Intended or committed was this fault? If on the first, how heinous e’er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee.
AUMERLE. Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. BOLINGBROKE. Have thy desire.
[The DUKE OF YORK knocks at the door and crieth] YORK. [Within] My liege, beware; look to thyself; Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. BOLINGBROKE. [Drawing] Villain, I’ll make thee safe. AUMERLE. Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. YORK. [Within] Open the door, secure, foolhardy King. Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face? Open the door, or I will break it open.
Enter YORK
BOLINGBROKE. What is the matter, uncle? Speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it.
YORK. Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. AUMERLE. Remember, as thou read’st, thy promise pass’d. I do repent me; read not my name there; My heart is not confederate with my hand. YORK. It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor’s bosom, King; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence. Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. BOLINGBROKE. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy! O loyal father of a treacherous son!
Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, From whence this stream through muddy passages Hath held his current and defil’d himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. YORK. So shall my virtue be his vice’s bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers’ gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my sham’d life in his dishonour lies. Thou kill’st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man’s put to death. DUCHESS. [Within] I What ho, my liege, for God’s sake, let me in. BOLINGBROKE. What shrill-voic’d suppliant makes this eager cry? DUCHESS. [Within] A woman, and thine aunt, great King; ’tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door. A beggar begs that never begg’d before. BOLINGBROKE. Our scene is alt’red from a serious thing, And now chang’d to ‘The Beggar and the King.’ My dangerous cousin, let your mother in. I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. YORK. If thou do pardon whosoever pray, More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. This fest’red joint cut off, the rest rest sound; This let alone will all the rest confound.
Enter DUCHESS
DUCHESS. O King, believe not this hard-hearted man! Love loving not itself, none other can. YORK. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? DUCHESS. Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. [Kneels]
BOLINGBROKE. Rise up, good aunt.
DUCHESS. Not yet, I thee beseech.
For ever will I walk upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees
Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. AUMERLE. Unto my mother’s prayers I bend my knee. [Kneels]
YORK. Against them both, my true joints bended be. [Kneels]
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! DUCHESS. Pleads he in earnest? Look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast. He prays but faintly and would be denied; We pray with heart and soul, and all beside. His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees still kneel till to the ground they grow. His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have That mercy which true prayer ought to have. BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS. do not say ‘stand up’;
Say ‘pardon’ first, and afterwards ‘stand up.’ An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, ‘Pardon’ should be the first word of thy speech. I never long’d to hear a word till now; Say ‘pardon,’ King; let pity teach thee how. The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like ‘pardon’ for kings’ mouths so meet. YORK. Speak it in French, King, say ‘pardonne moy.’ DUCHESS. Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That sets the word itself against the word! Speak ‘pardon’ as ’tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there; Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear, That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee ‘pardon’ to rehearse. BOLINGBROKE. Good aunt, stand up.
DUCHESS. I do not sue to stand;
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. BOLINGBROKE. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. DUCHESS. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear. Speak it again. Twice saying ‘pardon’ doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong.
BOLINGBROKE. With all my heart
I pardon him.
DUCHESS. A god on earth thou art.
BOLINGBROKE. But for our trusty brother-in-law and the Abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where’er these traitors are. They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell; and, cousin, adieu;
Your mother well hath pray’d, and prove you true. DUCHESS. Come, my old son; I pray God make thee new. Exeunt
SCENE 4.
Windsor Castle
Enter SIR PIERCE OF EXTON and a servant
EXTON. Didst thou not mark the King, what words he spake? ‘Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?’ Was it not so?
SERVANT. These were his very words. EXTON. ‘Have I no friend?’ quoth he. He spake it twice And urg’d it twice together, did he not? SERVANT. He did.
EXTON. And, speaking it, he wishtly look’d on me, As who should say ‘I would thou wert the man That would divorce this terror from my heart’; Meaning the King at Pomfret. Come, let’s go. I am the King’s friend, and will rid his foe. Exeunt
SCENE 5.
Pomfret Castle. The dungeon of the Castle
Enter KING RICHARD
KING RICHARD. I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And, for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I’ll hammer it out. My brain I’ll prove the female to my soul, My soul the father; and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermix’d With scruples, and do set the word itself Against the word,
As thus: ‘Come, little ones’; and then again, ‘It is as hard to come as for a camel
To thread the postern of a small needle’s eye.’ Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders: how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls; And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortune’s slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame, That many have and others must sit there; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endur’d the like. Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented. Sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am. Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king’d again; and by and by
Think that I am unking’d by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing. But whate’er I be, Nor I, nor any man that but man is,
With nothing shall be pleas’d till he be eas’d With being nothing. [The music plays] Music do I hear?
Ha, ha! keep time. How sour sweet music is When time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men’s lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear To check time broke in a disorder’d string; But, for the concord of my state and time, Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numb’ring clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial’s point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell. So sighs, and tears, and groans, Show minutes, times, and hours; but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke’s proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack of the clock. This music mads me. Let it sound no more; For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For ’tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter a GROOM of the stable
GROOM. Hail, royal Prince!
KING RICHARD. Thanks, noble peer!
The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? GROOM. I was a poor groom of thy stable, King, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal master’s face. O, how it ern’d my heart, when I beheld, In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary- That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dress’d! KING RICHARD. Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him?
GROOM. So proudly as if he disdain’d the ground. KING RICHARD. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! Why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be aw’d by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spurr’d, gall’d, and tir’d, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter KEEPER with meat
KEEPER. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. KING RICHARD. If thou love me, ’tis time thou wert away. GROOM. my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. Exit
KEEPER. My lord, will’t please you to fall to? KING RICHARD. Taste of it first as thou art wont to do. KEEPER. My lord, I dare not. Sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from the King, commands the contrary. KING RICHARD. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the KEEPER] KEEPER. Help, help, help!
The murderers, EXTON and servants, rush in, armed KING RICHARD. How now! What means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death’s instrument. [Snatching a weapon and killing one] Go thou and fill another room in hell. [He kills another, then EXTON strikes him down] That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the King’s blood stain’d the King’s own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies]
EXTON. As full of valour as of royal blood. Both have I spill’d. O, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead King to the living King I’ll bear. Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. Exeunt
SCENE 6.
Windsor Castle
Flourish. Enter BOLINGBROKE, the DUKE OF YORK, With other LORDS and attendants
BOLINGBROKE. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consum’d with fire Our town of Ciceter in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta’en or slain we hear not.
Enter NORTHUMBERLAND
Welcome, my lord. What is the news? NORTHUMBERLAND. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent. The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here. BOLINGBROKE. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter FITZWATER
FITZWATER. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely; Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. BOLINGBROKE. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter PERCY, With the BISHOP OF CARLISLE
PERCY. The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy, Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. BOLINGBROKE. Carlisle, this is your doom: Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So as thou liv’st in peace, die free from strife; For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
Enter EXTON, with attendants, hearing a coffin
EXTON. Great King, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear. Herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. BOLINGBROKE. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander with thy fatal hand
Upon my head and all this famous land. EXTON. From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. BOLINGBROKE. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee. Though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour; With Cain go wander thorough shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent.
I’ll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after; grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier. Exeunt
THE END
<
1593
KING RICHARD III
by William Shakespeare
Dramatis Personae
EDWARD THE FOURTH
Sons to the King
EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES afterwards KING EDWARD V RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK,
Brothers to the King
GEORGE, DUKE OF CLARENCE,
RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, afterwards KING RICHARD III
A YOUNG SON OF CLARENCE (Edward, Earl of Warwick) HENRY, EARL OF RICHMOND, afterwards KING HENRY VII CARDINAL BOURCHIER, ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY THOMAS ROTHERHAM, ARCHBISHOP OF YORK
JOHN MORTON, BISHOP OF ELY
DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM
DUKE OF NORFOLK
EARL OF SURREY, his son
EARL RIVERS, brother to King Edward’s Queen MARQUIS OF DORSET and LORD GREY, her sons EARL OF OXFORD
LORD HASTINGS
LORD LOVEL
LORD STANLEY, called also EARL OF DERBY SIR THOMAS VAUGHAN
SIR RICHARD RATCLIFF
SIR WILLIAM CATESBY
SIR JAMES TYRREL
SIR JAMES BLOUNT
SIR WALTER HERBERT
SIR WILLIAM BRANDON
SIR ROBERT BRAKENBURY, Lieutenant of the Tower CHRISTOPHER URSWICK, a priest
LORD MAYOR OF LONDON
SHERIFF OF WILTSHIRE
HASTINGS, a pursuivant
TRESSEL and BERKELEY, gentlemen attending on Lady Anne ELIZABETH, Queen to King Edward IV
MARGARET, widow of King Henry VI
DUCHESS OF YORK, mother to King Edward IV LADY ANNE, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son to King Henry VI; afterwards married to the Duke of Gloucester A YOUNG DAUGHTER OF CLARENCE (Margaret Plantagenet, Countess of Salisbury)
Ghosts, of Richard’s victims
Lords, Gentlemen, and Attendants; Priest, Scrivener, Page, Bishops, Aldermen, Citizens, Soldiers, Messengers, Murderers, Keeper
<
SCENE: England
King Richard the Third
ACT I. SCENE 1.
London. A street
Enter RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, solus
GLOUCESTER. Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums chang’d to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visag’d war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front, And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady’s chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I-that am not shap’d for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass- I-that am rudely stamp’d, and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph- I-that am curtail’d of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform’d, unfinish’d, sent before my time Into this breathing world scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them- Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the King In deadly hate the one against the other; And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew’d up- About a prophecy which says that G
Of Edward’s heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul. Here Clarence comes.
Enter CLARENCE, guarded, and BRAKENBURY
Brother, good day. What means this armed guard That waits upon your Grace?
CLARENCE. His Majesty,
Tend’ring my person’s safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to th’ Tower. GLOUCESTER. Upon what cause?
CLARENCE. Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours: He should, for that, commit your godfathers. O, belike his Majesty hath some intent That you should be new-christ’ned in the Tower. But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know? CLARENCE. Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not; but, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies and dreams, And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, And says a wizard told him that by G
His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Hath mov’d his Highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER. Why, this it is when men are rul’d by women: ‘Tis not the King that sends you to the Tower; My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, ’tis she That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she and that good man of worship, Antony Woodville, her brother there,
That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is delivered? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE. By heaven, I think there is no man is secure But the Queen’s kindred, and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the King and Mistress Shore. Heard you not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was, for her delivery?
GLOUCESTER. Humbly complaining to her deity Got my Lord Chamberlain his liberty.
I’ll tell you what-I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the King, To be her men and wear her livery:
The jealous o’er-worn widow, and herself, Since that our brother dubb’d them gentlewomen, Are mighty gossips in our monarchy.
BRAKENBURY. I beseech your Graces both to pardon me: His Majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with your brother. GLOUCESTER. Even so; an’t please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say:
We speak no treason, man; we say the King Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore’s wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the Queen’s kindred are made gentlefolks. How say you, sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY. With this, my lord, myself have naught to do. GLOUCESTER. Naught to do with Mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow,
He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best to do it secretly alone.
BRAKENBURY. What one, my lord?
GLOUCESTER. Her husband, knave! Wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, and withal
Forbear your conference with the noble Duke. CLARENCE. We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey.
GLOUCESTER. We are the Queen’s abjects and must obey. Brother, farewell; I will unto the King; And whatsoe’er you will employ me in-
Were it to call King Edward’s widow sister- I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE. I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; I will deliver or else lie for you.
Meantime, have patience.
CLARENCE. I must perforce. Farewell. Exeunt CLARENCE, BRAKENBURY, and guard GLOUCESTER. Go tread the path that thou shalt ne’er return. 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-delivered Hastings?
Enter LORD HASTINGS
HASTINGS. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER. As much unto my good Lord Chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook’d imprisonment? HASTINGS. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must; But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER. 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. HASTINGS. More pity that the eagles should be mew’d Whiles kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER. What news abroad?
HASTINGS. No news so bad abroad as this at home: The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily.
GLOUCESTER. Now, by Saint John, that news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long
And overmuch consum’d his royal person! ‘Tis very grievous to be thought upon. Where is he? In his bed?
HASTINGS. He is.
GLOUCESTER. 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. Exit
SCENE 2.
London. Another street
Enter corpse of KING HENRY THE SIXTH, with halberds to guard it; LADY ANNE being the mourner, attended by TRESSEL and BERKELEY
ANNE. Set down, set down your honourable load- If honour may be shrouded in a hearse; Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
Th’ 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, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered 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. O, 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 miserable by the death of him
Than I am made by my young lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul’s to be interred there; And still as you are weary of this weight Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corse. [The bearers take up the coffin]
Enter GLOUCESTER
GLOUCESTER. Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. ANNE. What black magician conjures up this fiend To stop devoted charitable deeds?
GLOUCESTER. Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I’ll make a corse of him that disobeys! FIRST GENTLEMAN. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.
GLOUCESTER. Unmannerd dog! Stand thou, when I command. 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, be gone. GLOUCESTER. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. ANNE. Foul devil, for God’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 congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells; Thy deeds inhuman and unnatural
Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood mad’st, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink’st, revenge his death! Either, heav’n, with lightning strike the murd’rer 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. GLOUCESTER. Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. ANNE. Villain, thou knowest nor law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER. But I know none, and therefore am no beast. ANNE. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER. More wonderful when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed crimes to give me leave By circumstance but to acquit myself.
ANNE. Vouchsafe, diffus’d infection of a man, Of these known evils but to give me leave By circumstance to accuse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER. 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. GLOUCESTER. By such despair I should accuse myself. ANNE. And by despairing shalt thou stand excused For doing worthy vengeance on thyself
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER. Say that I slew them not?
ANNE. Then say they were not slain. But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER. I did not kill your husband. ANNE. Why, then he is alive.
GLOUCESTER. Nay, he is dead, and slain by Edward’s hands. ANNE. In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murd’rous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER. 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 dream’st on aught but butcheries. Didst thou not kill this king?
GLOUCESTER. I grant ye.
ANNE. Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me to Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!
GLOUCESTER. The better for the King of Heaven, that hath him.
ANNE. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER. Let him thank me that holp to send him thither,
For he was fitter for that place than earth. ANNE. And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. ANNE. Some dungeon.
GLOUCESTER. Your bed-chamber.
ANNE. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. ANNE. I hope so.
GLOUCESTER. I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall something into a slower method- Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner?
ANNE. Thou wast the cause and most accurs’d effect. GLOUCESTER. 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 your sweet bosom. ANNE. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER. These eyes could not endure that beauty’s wreck;
You should not blemish it if I stood by. As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life.
ANNE. Black night o’ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. ANNE. I would I were, to be reveng’d on thee. GLOUCESTER. It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be reveng’d on him that loveth thee. ANNE. It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be reveng’d on him that kill’d my husband. GLOUCESTER. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband Did it to help thee to a better husband. ANNE. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER. He lives that loves thee better than he could. ANNE. Name him.
GLOUCESTER. Plantagenet.
ANNE. Why, that was he.
GLOUCESTER. The self-same name, but one of better nature. ANNE. Where is he?
GLOUCESTER. Here. [She spits at him] Why dost thou spit at me?
ANNE. Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER. Never came poison from so sweet a place. ANNE. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes. GLOUCESTER. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. ANNE. Would they were basilisks to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER. I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Sham’d their aspects with store of childish drops- These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-fac’d 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 smoothing word; But, now thy beauty is propos’d my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. [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] Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry- But ’twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; ’twas I that stabb’d young Edward- But ’twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She falls 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.
GLOUCESTER. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it; ANNE. I have already.
GLOUCESTER. 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.
GLOUCESTER. ‘Tis figur’d in my tongue. ANNE. I fear me both are false.
GLOUCESTER. Then never was man true. ANNE. well put up your sword.
GLOUCESTER. Say, then, my peace is made. ANNE. That shalt thou know hereafter.
GLOUCESTER. But shall I live in hope? ANNE. All men, I hope, live so.
GLOUCESTER. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. ANNE. To take is not to give. [Puts on the ring] GLOUCESTER. Look how my 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 favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. ANNE. What is it?
GLOUCESTER. That it may please you leave these sad designs To him that hath most cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby House;
Where-after I have solemnly interr’d At Chertsey monast’ry this noble 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 boon.
ANNE. With all my heart; and much it joys me too To see you are become so penitent.
Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER. 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 two GENTLEMEN With LADY ANNE GLOUCESTER. Sirs, take up the corse.
GENTLEMEN. Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER. No, to White Friars; there attend my coming. Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER 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, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of my hatred by;
Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I no friends to back my suit at all But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb’d in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman-
Fram’d 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 woeful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety? On me, that halts and am misshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while. Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marv’llous proper man.
I’ll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain a score or two of tailors To study fashions to adorn my body.
Since I am crept in favour 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. Exit
SCENE 3.
London. The palace
Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH, LORD RIVERS, and LORD GREY
RIVERS. 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 eyes. QUEEN ELIZABETH. If he were dead, what would betide on me?
GREY. No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH. The loss of such a lord includes all harms.
GREY. The heavens have bless’d you with a goodly son To be your comforter when he is gone.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, he is young; and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVER. Is it concluded he shall be Protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH. It is determin’d, not concluded yet; But so it must be, if the King miscarry.
Enter BUCKINGHAM and DERBY
GREY. Here come the Lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM. Good time of day unto your royal Grace! DERBY. God make your Majesty joyful as you have been. QUEEN ELIZABETH. The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby,
To your good prayer will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she’s your wife And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur’d I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY. I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accus’d on true report,
Bear with her weakness, which I think proceeds From wayward sickness and no grounded malice. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Saw you the King to-day, my Lord of Derby?
DERBY. But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his Majesty.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. What likelihood of his amendment, Lords?
BUCKINGHAM. Madam, good hope; his Grace speaks cheerfully.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. God grant him health! Did you confer with him?
BUCKINGHAM. Ay, madam; he desires to make atonement Between the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And between them and my Lord Chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Would all were well! But that will never be.
I fear our happiness is at the height.
Enter GLOUCESTER, HASTINGS, and DORSET
GLOUCESTER. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it. Who is it that complains unto the King That I, forsooth, am stern and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his Grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and look fair, Smile in men’s faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live and think no harm But thus his simple truth must be abus’d With silken, sly, insinuating Jacks?
GREY. To who in all this presence speaks your Grace? GLOUCESTER. To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injur’d thee? when done thee wrong, Or thee, or thee, or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal Grace- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!- Cannot be quiet searce a breathing while But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter.
The King, on his own royal disposition And not provok’d by any suitor else-
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred That in your outward action shows itself Against my children, brothers, and myself- Makes him to send that he may learn the ground. GLOUCESTER. I cannot tell; the world is grown so bad That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. Since every Jack became a gentleman,
There’s many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester:
You envy my advancement and my friends’; God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER. Meantime, God grants that I have need of you. Our brother is imprison’d by your means, Myself disgrac’d, and the nobility
Held in contempt; while great promotions Are daily given to ennoble those
That scarce some two days since were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH. By Him that rais’d me to this careful height
From that contented hap which I enjoy’d, I never did incense his Majesty
Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER. You may deny that you were not the mean Of my Lord Hastings’ late imprisonment. RIVERS. She may, my lord; for-
GLOUCESTER. She may, Lord Rivers? Why, who knows not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high desert. What may she not? She may-ay, marry, may she- RIVERS. What, marry, may she?
GLOUCESTER. What, marry, may she? Marry with a king, A bachelor, and a handsome stripling too. Iwis your grandam had a worser match.
QUEEN ELIZABETH. My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs. By heaven, I will acquaint his Majesty Of those gross taunts that oft I have endur’d. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen with this condition- To be so baited, scorn’d, and stormed at.
Enter old QUEEN MARGARET, behind
Small joy have I in being England’s Queen. QUEEN MARGARET. And less’ned be that small, God, I beseech Him!
Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. GLOUCESTER. What! Threat you me with telling of the King?
Tell him and spare not. Look what I have said I will avouch’t in presence of the King. I dare adventure to be sent to th’ Tow’r. ‘Tis time to speak-my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET. Out, devil! I do remember them to well:
Thou kill’dst my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband King,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs, A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends;
To royalize his blood I spent mine own. QUEEN MARGARET. Ay, and much better blood than his or thine.
GLOUCESTER. In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret’s battle at Saint Albans slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere this, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET. A murd’rous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER. Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick, Ay, and forswore himself-which Jesu pardon!- QUEEN MARGARET. Which God revenge!
GLOUCESTER. To fight on Edward’s party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up. I would to God my heart were flint like Edward’s, Or Edward’s soft and pitiful like mine. I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET. Hie thee to hell for shame and leave this world,
Thou cacodemon; there thy kingdom is. RIVERS. My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow’d then our lord, our sovereign king. So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER. If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar. Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof! QUEEN ELIZABETH. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy were you this country’s king, As little joy you may suppose in me
That I enjoy, being the Queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET. As little joy enjoys the Queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient. [Advancing] Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill’d from me. Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not that, I am Queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you depos’d, you quake like rebels? Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away!
GLOUCESTER. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak’st thou in my sight?
QUEEN MARGARET. But repetition of what thou hast marr’d, That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER. Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET. I was; but I do find more pain in banishment
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. GLOUCESTER. 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 fall’n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagu’d thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH. So just is God to right the innocent. HASTINGS. O, ’twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e’er was heard of! RIVERS. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET. No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET. 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 woeful 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 mayest 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 length’ned hours of grief, 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! GLOUCESTER. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither’d hag.
QUEEN MARGARET. 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 slave of nature and the son of hell, Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb, Thou loathed issue of thy father’s loins, Thou rag of honour, thou detested-
GLOUCESTER. Margaret!
QUEEN MARGARET. Richard!
GLOUCESTER. Ha?
QUEEN MARGARET. I call thee not.
GLOUCESTER. I cry thee mercy then, for I did think That thou hadst call’d me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET. Why, so I did, but look’d for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER. ‘Tis done by me, and ends in-Margaret. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Thus have you breath’d your curse against yourself.
QUEEN MARGARET. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune!
Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled 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 To help thee curse this poisonous bunch-back’d toad. HASTINGS. False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET. Foul shame upon you! you have all mov’d mine.
RIVERS. Were you well serv’d, you would be taught your duty.
QUEEN MARGARET. 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! DORSET. Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET. Peace, Master Marquis, you are malapert; Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What ’twere 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. GLOUCESTER. Good counsel, marry; learn it, learn it, Marquis. DORSET. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER. Ay, and much more; but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar’s top,
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET. 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 aery buildeth in our aery’s nest. O God that seest it, do not suffer it; As it is won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity! QUEEN MARGARET. 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! BUCKINGHAM. Have done, have done.
QUEEN MARGARET. O princely Buckingham, I’ll kiss thy hand
In sign of league and amity with thee. Now fair befall thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM. Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET. 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. GLOUCESTER. What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET. 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 BUCKINGHAM. My hair doth stand an end to hear her curses. RIVERS. And so doth mine. I muse why she’s at liberty. GLOUCESTER. I cannot blame her; by God’s holy Mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH. I never did her any to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER. 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! RIVERS. A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us! GLOUCESTER. So do I ever- [Aside] being well advis’d; For had I curs’d now, I had curs’d myself.
Enter CATESBY
CATESBY. Madam, his Majesty doth can for you, And for your Grace, and you, my gracious lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH. Catesby, I come. Lords, will you go with me?
RIVERS. We wait upon your Grace.
Exeunt all but GLOUCESTER GLOUCESTER. 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, who I indeed have cast in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls;
Namely, to Derby, Hastings, Buckingham; And tell them ’tis 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, Dorset, 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 thing?