ET down, set down your honourable load,- Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds! B Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it! May fright the hopeful mother at the view; If ever he have wife, let her be made Than I am made by my young lord, and thee !— And, still as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. Gloster. Stay you, that bear the corse, and set it down. Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds.? Gloster. 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. Gloster. Unmanner'd 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.— Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, Anne. Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds. Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death! Gloster. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. Anne. Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! Gloster. 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, Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, My tongue could never learn sweet soothing word; My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. Lo! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; 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 despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward :[She again offers at his breast. But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. [She lets fall 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. Gloster. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. ACT IV. SCENE I. Elizabeth. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory; To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why ?-When he, that is my husband now, Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands, Which issu'd from my other angel husband, And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd; O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, This was my wish,-Be thou, quoth I, accurs'd, And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; More miserable by the life of thee, Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death! Even in so short a space, my woman's heart And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse : Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. Elizabeth. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining. guide thee !— |