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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [140]

By Root 18583 0
didst thou see them dead?

TYRREL.

I did, my lord.

KING RICHARD.

And buried, gentle Tyrrel?

TYRREL.

The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them;

But where, to say the truth, I do not know.

KING RICHARD.

Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper,

When thou shalt tell the process of their death.

Meantime, but think how I may do thee good

And be inheritor of thy desire.

Farewell till then.

TYRREL.

I humbly take my leave. Exit

KING RICHARD. The son of Clarence have I pent up close;

His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage;

The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,

And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night.

Now, for I know the Britaine Richmond aims

At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,

And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,

To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer.

Enter RATCLIFF

RATCLIFF. My lord!

KING RICHARD.

Good or bad news, that thou com'st in so bluntly?

RATCLIFF.

Bad news, my lord: Morton is fled to Richmond;

And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,

Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.

KING RICHARD.

Ely with Richmond troubles me more near

Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.

Come, I have learn'd that fearful commenting

Is leaden servitor to dull delay;

Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary.

Then fiery expedition be my wing,

Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king!

Go, muster men. My counsel is my shield.

We must be brief when traitors brave the field. Exeunt

SCENE 4.

London. Before the palace

Enter old QUEEN MARGARET

QUEEN MARGARET. So now prosperity begins to mellow

And drop into the rotten mouth of death.

Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd

To watch the waning of mine enemies.

A dire induction am I witness to,

And will to France, hoping the consequence

Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.

Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret. Who comes here?

[Retires]

Enter QUEEN ELIZABETH and the DUCHESS OF YORK

QUEEN ELIZABETH. Ah, my poor princes! ah, my tender babes!

My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets!

If yet your gentle souls fly in the air

And be not fix'd in doom perpetual,

Hover about me with your airy wings

And hear your mother's lamentation.

QUEEN MARGARET.

Hover about her; say that right for right

Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.

DUCHESS.

So many miseries have craz'd my voice

That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute.

Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead?

QUEEN MARGARET.

Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet,

Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs

And throw them in the entrails of the wolf?

When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done?

QUEEN MARGARET.

When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

DUCHESS.

Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost,

Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd,

Brief abstract and record of tedious days,

Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, [Sitting down]

Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood.

QUEEN ELIZABETH.

Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a grave

As thou canst yield a melancholy seat!

Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here.

Ah, who hath any cause to mourn but we?

[Sitting down by her]

QUEEN MARGARET.

[Coming forward] If ancient sorrow be most reverend,

Give mine the benefit of seniory,

And let my griefs frown on the upper hand.

If sorrow can admit society, [Sitting down with them]

Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine.

I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;

I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him:

Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him;

Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.

DUCHESS.

I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him;

I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.

QUEEN MARGARET.

Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him.

From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept

A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death.

That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes

To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood,

That foul

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