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First Lord: O Tullus,--

Second Lord: Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.

Third Lord: Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet; Put up your swords.

AUFIDIUS: My lords, when you shall know--as in this rage, Provoked by him, you cannot--the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours To call me to your senate, I'll deliver Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure.

First Lord: Bear from hence his body; And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn.

Second Lord: His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Let's make the best of it.

AUFIDIUS: My rage is gone; And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.

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 changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded 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 shaped 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, Deformed, 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. Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace?

CLARENCE: His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the 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 shall be new-christen'd 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 Have moved his highness to commit me now.

GLOUCESTER: Why, this it is, when men are ruled 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, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.

CLARENCE: By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his 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'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this 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 his 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 gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this?

BRAKENBURY: With this, my lord, myself have nought to do.

GLOUCESTER: Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone.

BRAKENBURY: What one, my lord?

GLOUCESTER: Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me?

BRAKENBURY: I 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 whatsoever 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; Meantime, have patience.

CLARENCE: I must perforce. Farewell.

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-deliver'd 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 eagle should be mew'd, While 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 Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed?

HASTINGS: He is.

GLOUCESTER: Go you before, and I will follow you. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall 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.

LADY ANNE: Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The 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 slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be 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 he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor 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 the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse.

GLOUCESTER: Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down.

LADY 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.

Gentleman: My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass.

GLOUCESTER: Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.

LADY 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.

LADY 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 deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer 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.

LADY ANNE: Villain, thou know'st no 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.

LADY 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-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself.

LADY ANNE: Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.

GLOUCESTER: Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself.

LADY 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.

LADY ANNE: And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others.

GLOUCESTER: Say that I slew them not?

LADY ANNE: Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee.

GLOUCESTER: I did not kill your husband.

LADY ANNE: Why, then he is alive.

GLOUCESTER: Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.

LADY ANNE: In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous 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 slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.

LADY ANNE: Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king?

GLOUCESTER: I grant ye.

LADY ANNE: Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous!

GLOUCESTER: The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him.

LADY 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.

LADY ANNE: And thou unfit for any place but hell.

GLOUCESTER: Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

LADY ANNE: Some dungeon.

GLOUCESTER: Your bed-chamber.

LADY ANNE: I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest!

GLOUCESTER: So will it, madam till I lie with you.

LADY ANNE: I hope so.

GLOUCESTER: I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner?

LADY ANNE: Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect.

GLOUCESTER: Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.

LADY ANNE: If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.

GLOUCESTER: These eyes could never endure sweet 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.

LADY ANNE: Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life!

GLOUCESTER: Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both.

LADY ANNE: I would I were, to be revenged on thee.

GLOUCESTER: It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you.

LADY ANNE: It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband.

GLOUCESTER: He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband.

LADY ANNE: His better doth not breathe upon the earth.

GLOUCESTER: He lives that loves thee better than he could.

LADY ANNE: Name him.

GLOUCESTER: Plantagenet.

LADY ANNE: Why, that was he.

GLOUCESTER: The selfsame name, but one of better nature.

LADY ANNE: Where is he?

GLOUCESTER: Here. Why dost thou spit at me?

LADY ANNE: Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake!

GLOUCESTER: Never came poison from so sweet a place.

LADY ANNE: Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes.