BOLING. Good aunt, stand up. DUCH. I do not sue to stand, Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. BOLING. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. DUCH. 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. BOLING. I pardon him. DUCH. With all my heart A god on earth thou art. K. RICHARD II., A. 5, s. 3. THE MOTHER'S AGONY. Q. MARGARET. O, Ned! sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy! Canst thou not speak? O traitors! mur derers ! They, that stabb'd Cæsar, shed no blood at all, He was a man: this, in respect, a child; No, no; my heart will burst, an if I speak How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! remorse: But, if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off, As, deathsmen! you have rid this sweet young prince! K. EDWARD. Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce. Q. MAR. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me here; Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death: What! wilt thou not?-then, Clarence, do it thou. CLARENCE. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. Q. MAR. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. CLAR. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not do it? Q. MAR. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: Murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. K. HENRY VI., PART III., A. 5, s. 5. THE MOTHER'S BLESSING AND ADVICE. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father In manners, as in shape! thy blood, and virtue, Contend for empire in thee; and thy goodness Share with thy birth-right! Love all, trust a few, Do wrong to none: be able for thine enemy Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend Under thy own life's key: be check'd for silence, But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will, That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down, Fall on thy head! Farewell. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, A. 1, s. 1. THE MOTHER'S MALEDICTION. EITHER thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance, Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse; And there the little souls of Edward's children K. RICHARD III., A. 4, s. 4. THE MOTHER'S PLEADING AGAINST THE FATHER'S REASONING. WHY, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? And rob me of a happy mother's name? 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, K. RICHARD II., A. 5, s. 2. THE MURDER OF THE INNOCENT. RUTLAND. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes! Enter CLIFFORD and Soldiers. CLIFFORD. Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, CLIF. Soldiers, away with him. TUT. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man. [Exit, forced off by Soldiers. CLIF. How now! is he dead already? Or, is it fear, That makes him close his eyes?—I'll open them. RUT. So looks the pent up lion o'er the That trembles under his devouring paws: CLIF. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words. should enter. RUT. Then let my father's blood open it again; He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIF. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine, Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves, [Lifting his hand. RUT. O, let me pray before I take my To thee I pray; Sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIF. Thy father hath. But 'twas ere I was born. |